I was hypnotized by the second hand of my wrist watch.
Standing by the highway with no people, no shelters, no gamblers I continued looking at the rythyme of passing time.
There must be a town ahead where it’s full of life…full of glitzy pubs, full of women with crossed legs and kohled eyes…
there must be a place behind where all these happened a little earlier, perhaps they are getting ready for all the sex, for all the late night musings through tuned guitars.
All the second hands of a the places are running and making fools out of memories.
The invisible prison for the hypnotized prisoners.
You can beat time only by the presence of real lights or real obscurity…it’s scientific,
but what’s poetic is that we all are made with both of them…and it’s not very romantic to beat time.
I stood there. Rain came…the realisms came…and I went back to the town I came from, with the help of my circling watch.
The fall must be coming there…how I wish I could write a fiction out of the dead ferns and invincibility of the time and tits of women on late night neon streets.
What else do you need to sit through a awful puppet show?

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Photograph: Google images.