poland is like a sanctuary filled with unintended blasphemies.
that's where its weakness springs from - the forcelessness of what should be powerful and devoted to an idea, defended with the life and flame of the believers. if lucipher rebelled like that, he'd get stuck in heaven eating dog food.
still there are steps to be found, leading down into an ancient pride, strong beauty and
omitting the atavistic or idealistic solutions, unveiling the truth. i guess they are the bourderlines. the tension inbetween unleashing the energies of both realities, uniting and amplifying them upwards. to the stars.
letting then fall in a rain created somewhere over the clouds.
everything happens on the bourders, universally. they can merge together but if the existences are strong enough, they can merge into each other and broaden the common-event-bourderzone without losing themselves on the way. there's the air of the inspiration days.
chimneys and faeries in a leukemic country.
time to throw the door on the back in a self-imposed exile, drift until they carry somewhere. far from mother suckling with bad milk. far from bread with stones.
MORE LIGHT.
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