Felt
Crumbling the Antiseptic Beauty

Are you familiar with Television? Imagine them playing as if they were asleep. Are you familiar with the Impressionists? Imagine them being friends with the shadows, not the sun.

...

The good energy is impersonal and floating, we slam against it, but the wise Caspasian would say we should let it pass through us.

In the end, it's just a little trick. A small eraser made of bread crumbs. Don't you also think that our bombarded senses need rest?

The world doesn't ask to be watched, touched, or heard at all; the world is just there, subtly luminous and slightly melancholic. Only then we'd have to change the meaning of melancholy.

Is a butterfly, even if white in a white sky, melancholic? Isn't the electron perhaps here, perhaps there?

The fact is that we're used to capturing things, but things are indefinite and elusive. The arrow doesn't necessarily have to hit the target.

But I've already rambled on too much.

However, you should create these little sound poems for open/closed eyes.

An echo within an echo within an echo.