One Before Me

I think I have something to say but you have said it already. You always have to be the first. First you want to be the first, then you are the first but you still want to be the first. What is so first about the left? It is only by standing on the left you are always on the left of the next thing, the second thing on the right. But what if the right is right in their own right ways? Oh well, my projections, I always project on the tall wall left to me, because she is the first word if written in English. But on her big screen lit by my projection, is it me or is it her? No sir, It is your projection on a big screen, neither you nor the screen or the wall which came 1 before you. You are 2.

1 is at the center. You always have to be at the center, all consumed by what is inside you. A 0, left to you who came before you, but no one else can see— only you. You are my center and you have a void at your center, like I am at your. I am both left and right of you, like you are exactly everything outside my 5’5” age 50 weight 39 kg. It’s a win-win situation. Take it.

I didn’t paint or write a poem when we were entangled in a non-numeric space. This is quite before there was life on earth, possibly right after it banged and started to go cold. No one cared to paint back then. Just you and me smearing. I didn’t want to write. Don’t get me wrong, writing is my hands now, I will explain that later. Long story short— I write now like we used to smear each other back then. So, I am writing, smearing, returning, taking, cumming, going, vibrating and heating myself up. It’s a cold world love. You are as alone being 1 as any other number, 0 counted. Look at 11, he looks so stupid. 10 should have reflected on his miserable self but no. 11 is recursive stupidity, if it all is ever going to add up. You know what? Whatever you think it is, just vibrate, stay warm.