Like an improvised stroll in the confines of our stuck imaginations, we observe the repetition of the throbbing rhythms of our gregarious cultures. Perched on our ash thrones, we can no longer see 100 meters away as our eyes hurt, full of black and burning dust. Then the other organs of our body wake up, allowing us to see with our heart. An inconceivable project of society, making us cry with laughter or emotion. Never before have we found the proposal so sensible and impossible at the same time. Yet a few musical notes already lead us on this path beaten by a thousand others every second. The flapping of a butterfly's wing generates the desired diversion. A few cards are then awkwardly shuffled and we enter into the conversation. Pouring badly shaped hopes on our calm oceans of unconsciousness. In lethal position, the soul leaves its cocoon of stone, and tells itself that it would be good to enter the dance. A collective one. And disordered. Certainly not choreography. Much more, a round of bodies with several heights and geometries. Not so round anymore, as the mathematical rules of the souls are yet unknown to us. Even more than sleep, it is the awakening that we seek. But not any kind, not in any way. This awakening which seeks in us coloured gleams, shades crossed by the light, reflecting on our loose and fatty bodies - thus adjoining in a much more graceful way - moving in surprising and charming amplitude and undulations. Smiles reflected in the iris-ivory of our glazed eyes. Wild animals on a new path, not yet walked, traced by desires in perpetual collision, forming the volcano-resource of our generous propulsion. ☯
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