Sosima (Vertico's Puppets)

i am sosima
i draw. i write. i restrain myself.
www.verticospuppets.com
http://dr_vertico.livejournal.com
the clock has lathed summer away towards winter, a silk-like kiss on the atmosphere, grey interlude called fall and what has changed? I am deducting all perspectives.When all things sharpen, what you realize is how far away they really are, while things once mistakenly clear seem like blurred curbs of a vanished content. I feel like a traitor selling my numbness as feelings of a human being in bloom. They are like little flotsam slipping through a net full of false prey.The sound the music the voices a convoluted net, molesting me, disturbing my virtual piece, I can’t hear her words no more. There suddenly was this wall of silence of lack of speech and understanding between us, striking me with an unforeseen force of disbelieving awe of how this was happening, could be happening, did happen. We (she) had talked about that just a day earlier, and I often stared in blank. I do stare in blank too often these days, consciously reducing my vision to something indefinite. My mind does not focus, yet obsessive compulsive thoughts keep circling around irrelevant reasons for ongoing denial of what situation I am in. Millions of billions of souls. My mind in a nutshell. Summer is cold. I will never receive an answer. Un-responded begging for a track to a consciously but wrongly chosen placeholder for life.Anger is what has moved society since human beings inherit memory. A heroic denial of humanity that I find in fact almost admirable and fascinating. I do want to go further though, but I never will. I can’t fight, I have never learned it, I drudge gaspingly instead. This is what I am. My bones are made of ground wire. I put my hand on my head, I press my fingers on my eyes and my fingers into my ears.with my other hand i sofly gently stroke this warm breathing moving dreaming feeling skin that is the only element proving me that i shall wanthim.
your siluette, there in the cold light of the street, was perfect. this is how i should see you, and as you wrapped your arms around me. certainty of the moment already hours before. the street is counting my steps, i pay - though secretly - my own depth. My mind wraps itself up against yesterday, today, tomorrow. yesterday is not the yesterday i knew knowing me. i have returned with you to confusion, my way, this is what i know (security in truth and untruth). on my way home i noticed a phoenix falling out of a window (invisible old house, third floor, a hidden accusation of ignorance), it belongs to a soul that discovered everything before us, now nothing will ever be told.
i am your riddle. you are my compass.