segunda-feira, 18 de julho de 2016


sometimes i think, i feel, i'm almost scratching the non name, the non center, the center of almost nothing, the nothing of almost, even there. but, soon, then, i resist. i return to the wrong name of things that are almost things, almost words, almost real. i remain here, where you can, by little, still do some thing, almost no thing, for what was not, is not, may be. who knows if there, where i almost went, which i foresaw, maybe i also could, maybe it would work, but there is so far, so near, i'm not going, no. 

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