Ownership of thoughts, cut out mourning. Left handkerchief was deprived of wax, steadily vocabulary is a retina too. We crawl into life being a grave in the yard of physical only. Unfortunate. For life always lights up two candles – one physical and one immaterial. There is no back door or can one for ever escape cycle of rebirth? And how can one know whether with two candles he / she was born? Thoughts are in a drapery, in suffering that breathes more than calm. Drapery is a running river, a simple room, a story which begins to drip when sentences are broken. Black chalk of sentences. Their structure, their mentality, their pitch, their hollow wood. How can Silence be written down? Scarred arms, centuries' season on a ragged cross. Middle height, with every year horizon is smaller and ego is a taller witness. Village, miles away, black-eyed closed all tall rooms that do not breathe horizon. A bell, a circle, a belt it is. Root of stone is of morbid feet, penniless, ragged, wise and of five supernatural events. A place of no sleep and of a Voice that reminds of mortality.

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Thought, external to ourselves, enters our minds, becoming us. Who am I – that thought? Its’ glitched outcome? Researcher of the root? Or unconscious walker of the world as such, discovering it? What is a copyright if all that surrounds us has made vocabulary of our dialogues?..  Upon reading one thinks information through, time reveals, that due to the not pure centuries in which we live, we are made to take all made mental conclusions as own. But information read and thought of, is simply information read and thought of. It is not knowledge. Knowledge is not just a drop of external to us information in a mental cup, neither knowledge is a tree that this drop waters. Look around, chose your own ground. Knowledge is not a tree for that which has planted the tree and created its seeds is more vital. I can create a photograph or invent a photo camera. I can write Photoshop or build centuries long location where a photograph was taken. What is a difference between photograph and Photoshop? How does one say which one is knowledge and which one is a drop of knowledge, if visual reality (world) is endless? Looped puddle of past hundred year's language photography is. Nothing extends physical reality better than photography. For it ends it. A photograph contains all that we can see. Eyes opening contains that which refills. Centuries cannot be placed in a pocket, nor in a pocket watch. The ticking is further than our own skeleton. It cannot be diminished to a medium of a code for it is also tactile and various. But computer does contain all these properties. The mysterious ticking noise is even further than abstract. AI writes and AI is. Computer I use, NLP it softwares. Who are these people that invented these intonations, phrasings, thinking patterns, logical conclusions? Why should only recent data be copyrighted, why Masters of the Noise are not even made to be thought of, where are philosophers? Religion is forbidden by comfort, unpracticality is copyrighted. Who? Who are those philosophers? Burn the church, rip all the pages out, give only brutal archaic back. Place it on google for free. Marching noise in a hundred years distance. Something beneath computers, its snake tail was last seen inside a telly. Pain and rage brake faces. For carriers of many thoughts those door openers are. Goths and Metalheads. I type on my computer but it is not mine for I have not invented it. I use letters, but middle ages of 21 century made me care only about buttons to click. Why not than copyright English language? Another variation onto a variation. Not a clay invention. God, answer. For a human thinks that it thinks.