Thursday, April 12



Imagine, one sweet morning you and I woke up dead. Amines, and cholines , and all those prancing fairies of our carbonaceous being stop their trickery.


Hooked to machine.
No pain.
No elation.
No nothing.
Is not it something to be nothing?
“All that remains is a fate whose outcome alone is fatal”*
And imagine,
One sweet morning woke up not …

* from Ephemeral Creation. Albert Camus)

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