Like that song of Bono with The Coors, when the stars go blue, or something like that, right? That moment in which you finally know almost all the possibilities of reaction, and right there, the possible reactor stops existing. It is then that all the predictions fall apart, not because of your incapability to predict or, better said, to prevent this or those angles of light, but for forgetting the most basic thing, that the light might stop existing. So it is not that the star mutates to a sad blue, but it mutates to absence, to something that was.
When the absence becomes present on its own way, almost inextricable, almost inaccessible, with its own infinity of codes that go from the absurdity to the most idiotic balance, with all that irrational load as theological, and of theosophic effort and of metaphysical nonsense that force you to muscular waste as to the highest of the drunkenness, it is when the chance is given, so many times unique, of the dispense, of the completeness of dispense. Like, if you don’t have with who to talk to, your ears magically wake up, in spite of continuously remembering the sound of its voice whisperings notes.
I don’t know, maybe, at the end as at the beginning, everything is only in our head. Perhaps everything are just things that are in the head of everyone, the ideas of time, the emotions, the nervous sensations, and all the tricks and all the certainties are only agreements of something near to an imagination that we begin to understand, and from which we go away every time that we do not accept the absolute dis belonging* of the one we have next to us, even though we worship its supremacy of any kind.