I love becoming a spatial being, walking through the city. Silence in my forehead, two lakes of Sun and Moon caterpillar in me. I do not keep track of dates nor names, temporary placed myself in another century. My wooden lungs shore lack of meaning in all of this human construct, I can't even feel own strings. My senses are impure, ungraspable for they are settings, placed externally to me. My wishes do not know themselves for my throat was lost in a public decay. It is a wound that does not hurt, a wound on a pattern of collective unconscious behaviour. I need to arrange myself... I need to swim alone, for days, for months, for years to crimson through mosaics and ink that wrapped me in Exodus where my body was left. I am an internal writing carried by candles of mind tongues and Gothica that changed the route of so many trains... Seamless Souls, interrupted by Time... Physical object of reality that is, recorded my being in it, just like mirror - meditation that carries a Soul. It is a film roll, in looking closely at which we see only hanged above light and therefore can touch that hanged above light in a film strip of a mirror that lays deep inside our retina...  carved out this eye is and light is a distantly sensing organ, part of which we do not know we are. Holes in mouths, eyes, ears, no throat bell. All souls in the 20th century were stapled into a batch of punch cards to simply generate profit where all is obsolete and therefore tongue no longer uncovers a veil, an entity of what a real you means to be, but carried a badly gassed throat, physical, too physical of a self, disharmony and blood. These deserted walls bring me to rags, to needles that made the everlasting, to the shadows of choired Time in a circle. Raw decorations we are, bodies in graves, not engraved. Bodies without a path and direction yet sent to incinerate Eternally. No arches, no calcium tissue, no umbilical cords, no leather wounds, no hanged above languages and even no thermometers of numb. Our skeletons were taken out and are still burning in fields. Forever. Intermezzo.