I spend my nights sheltered. From everything. Away from you, despite your suavely mellow, seriously radio-friendly, hygienic and concerned voice. You bore me so much, you cultural comedian, with your over-placed, misplaced, misplaced sensitivity. Long live computers and synthetic voices. Have mercy! Have mercy! Hurry up! Hurry up this world of cybernauts that we've been promised for so long. It's been a long time coming.

The joy of muddy children has no future. That's the unbearable thing about succumbing to time. So I've learned nothing? My main concern is to make sure I'm not a by-product. Fortunately the mimicry is not total. It stops there. My social integration is limited to a minimum. So make way! And sentence after sentence, please. Word for word, one foot in front of the other, I walk in my own footsteps. Direction: back to the real thing after too long a diversion through your lands of inveterate stupidity and invertebrate lies. Each sentence stands on its own and I like it that way. It doesn't need to be surrounded by verbiage if it contains enough poetic power to suffice for the pleasure of having it in my head or reading it. Don't worry reader, I'm talking to myself. You know, you have to be free in your love affairs; totally free to follow your inclinations and the feelings of your heart, the impulses of your body, free to live them as long as they seem right. Freedom of expression is on the surface. So is the freedom to act. In one case, it's words that culturally limit us; in the other, it's our bodies, naturally, that are the impenetrable barrier of our restraint. Only thinking gives me access to the infinite number of paths. It doesn't matter to me if they are signposted, because their design is the blueprint of my very constitution. The only construction of which I can ultimately become master and author. I am my thoughts. There is no need for a conjunction between being and thinking. I am master in my brain, I am king in my home. That is the meaning of life and the Holy Grail of mine. No one can take away my night and my waking up full and happy. Whatever the medium, the poetry is there. The only thing that matters is finding the substrate that will encourage its development without any obligation to harmony, its optimal dissemination in payment for an effort that has finally become profitable.