I returned before my time.

There is an effort to compress time. Every man is under pressure, ready to burst on something. Nothing will be revealed except morals and puss.  Steam leaves a vessel inside an unknown room. Really, what is the use of a broomstick here, or of these night bulbs. Somewhere, an orphan cat is roaring. Going out of control scares me a little. Between me and Death, not much distance is left now. I am thinking about you as I comb my beard. The sun hasn’t shone since a week. All the roads are slowly disintegrating. There is always a problem that can kill a good sleep. If I open this window, is there anything to watch? The possibility of it alone can deliver a permanent shock to me. Impossible is not a limit. Some things exist beyond that, and I sometimes wonder what they might be. The idea is quite enticing. Walking down three flights of stairs could have been a holy act. But what if it is done everyday? What about simply opening a door? Or forgetting to wash your face or brush your teeth?

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