lighthouse

that big dirty planet spinning around me is just a huge dark-blue bucket of stars which have actually long ago died, some of them have been dead for not too long – those still shed the light on some strangers, and those strangers think they're following a beautiful road full of streetlamps shining down just so they don't ever get lost. 

i once was that stranger.

i'm not anymore, for i've become wiser – now i know what's hidden behind the streetlamps, lost souls, let's sit together and promise each other we will never again talk about the meaning of life. take that meaning in your hands, roll it in your palms, see how it shrinks, convulses then disappears at all.

see? your hands are free now.

the whole galaxy to fill in. throw a dice then decide what comes first: before you can think of anything else than music, there comes music, so you feel it in your hands and your palms and your arteries until you consist of music and there's nothing else to put in.

stupid damned dice failed again.

so you continue moving along that road. lit with streetlamps, scratchy and coarse, do not stumble. reach the sea, special place, good enough to throw the damned dice away to disappear in the dark cotton waves, there's a boat, take me further, take me away, take me home, take me nowhere until i'm lost.

everything's dark but the music.

it's glowing within, full of stars and souls and buckets and meanings and palms and convulsions and galaxies and dice and cotton waves and nowheres and darkness. nothing else exists, noone to show you the meaning, no way out, no way out, no way out, until someone tells you he's coming back to be a lighthouse.

then there's a lighthouse.