An excuse to write

Am I happening now?

Am I happening now? Do I exist when nobody is able to perceive me? Am I here if you are not here with me? And what is it that I am when I am only a text that nobody is following? Could I wear a different body? Oh! how I wish I had a face!... how I wish I had a place upon myself called the cheek or a scar! How I wish I could be sometimes round, others straight. Oh, how I wish I had other shapes or forms! I could have ears or places called antennas. I would use them to call out to you: hey! …hello! And if you reply… Would I be able to listen to your response? I guess my ears would be useless then. So why would I want them? I am a text. I can only perceive reality through the lens pro vided by the stream of words as they flow on top of the page , arriving only to the following sentence, which is happening here, now, as I believe I could actually be part of a face on a different reading, another dimension or way of understanding; one which I am unable to perceive but willing to imagi...

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I am an incomplete paragraph

I am an incomplete paragraph. I can express, using these tools, all that there is to express; and yet, I shall remain incomplete. I can believe that I withhold all the information that is available. I can re late, using different combinations of words, all the different stories from this and other universes, told from many diverse points of view, and that will not change the fact that I am incomplete. And it is not because I don't have enough space or memory but rather because nothing -no one -is able to perceive me entirely: I can be seen only in this moment, here, but I cannot be seen here and somewhere else simultaneously. Once your gaze sets upon the following sentence, whatever happened in the previous one remains only as a memory, a point of reference, an introduction whose only purpose is to serve the following sentence; each word being only a vehicle to guide itself to the following one, not necessarily expressing something as a whole but rather giving way for each word t...

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I cannot contemplate myself from the outside

I intend to follow this line until I reach the end. There is no other purpose for these words than to exist on the page and remain moving forward, intentionally, creating a shape which may or may not have a purpose. I intend to remain here, now, knowing -intuiting -that it is unnecessary to have purpose, when the sole intention is to create beauty. Beauty has no meaning. Beauty cannot have a purpose. Beauty only exists for the one (the lucky one) who is able or willing to perceive it. Is this beautiful? how can I know? I cannot contemplate myself from the outside and therefore I am unable to perceive my beauty. I am, however, able (and willing) to believe I am beautiful; and because beauty lies within the eyes of whoever believes something is beautiful there is no way to contradict this sentence: I am beauty. I am beautiful. I have all the necessary components that make anything beautiful. I resemble the sunset, a teardrop, a building, a fly, an expression, a written sentence, ti...

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