Imagination or die

Imagination or die

by Martin Cid

Sunshine and Haze, by Courtney Curran

Sunshine and Haze, by Courtney Curran

Remember the childhood, remember that waste long filed. We both are there; we both are lost in foreign waste words of future and borrowed dreams. You will forget this land soon; you will forget these dreams as soon as you buy the years of the maturity with the coins of memory and hate.

We’ve pretended to lose the keys to that world of rabbits and chess, that world that contains all worlds and all words, that Tower of Babel plenty of toys and nightmares, plenty of gifts, plenty of gods and devils… but you have still those keys and you remember it every night, when the prisoner child tries to scape to the jail of reality and logic, the jail of works, the jail of forgotten feelings…, jail of tears and cold sweats, jail of calmed foolish, jail of economy, risk and hate, jail of the fake human destiny, jail for the last of the humans, last human choice of the first chosen one.

Imagination is the road to humanity and the path to the most disrespectful of freedoms. Imagination for creating the book of silence

Imagination to burn the secret of times

Imagination to suicide and reborn

Imagination to think and to die, to lie and to dream.

Imagination is the jail of conscience, the secret treasure hidden inside a never thought dream. Might you believe a never delivered lie? Might you believe into the deepest secret of foolish? We might, I can.

Someday, imagination turned one’s back on me. Why you left me? Imagination is the capricious lady who can change her mind like that the forgotten lover has changed the lipstick. Imagination is the craziness of that fool who believe something can change in this insane world. Imagination is the criminal who prays for life, who prays for freedom, who prays for death.

Martin Cid

Martin Cid

Playing the stuffy game of life, I found her cruelest secret escaping fast from my mind. In this dream, I tried to caught the secret, I tried to grab it as strong as I can remember when I asleep. No luck for the dreamer, no luck for the lover, no luck for the fantasy subject of the book of disasters. I forgot the secret or the secret forgot me and I asked to myself: Where is the confidence floating? I received a true answer, the only answer I was never been prepared, the inner answe, the stupid answer of the conscious.

I forgot it.

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