We gesture. We ask and we doubt. We query, we wonder, we don't want to believe it. We are a little displeased, and then again completely satisfied. We share looks and we avoid them. We shake our heads, and then again we nod, we understand or we don't. We know, and we agree. We knit our brows. We let our hands and fingers fly.
The landlord comes and is very pleased that there are so many of us. He talks with his hands in a way that only a hearing person can do it, meaningless stuff, he knows that, he laughs, he knows he doesn't know what he is saying.
Well, speaks our interpreter with a smile, thank you that we all are invited.
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You see, here you'll find poems of opportunity and seasons. They're mine, though, so I have to protect them.
Welcome! If you are willing to follow the iconian path, you should know that it is always you we are talking to, even if it is not. And that everything is true, even if it is not. We all are eternally united in the last space possible where even the impossible is real. We ought to believe the foretold: If we'll meet tomorrow, next year, or never, it doesn't matter, it's only time! And everything, even time is fiction.
By the way, typos and other mistakes - we know there are many. If you can be bothered, please let us know. Thank you! And for any legal issues, please contact us before we have to tell you that we're skinned. But you can also write, of course, if you like what you read. Please, write to the webmaster.
