On the edge

I live on the edge. On the edge of the border between the day and the night. On my left side when I sit in front to the west I can see the light of day with almost yellow-white sky and on the right I can see dark blue sky that hosts the moon who changed with the Sun few days ago. And I live on the edge, just in the middle of the line. My left leg is in the daylight, my right in the moonlight. But it exists only for two hours each day, the best are middays, but it really doesn't matter because all is changed, all is mixed, all is weird and all is beautiful. And after those short periods of Dali's paintings darkness comes all over and inside you remains the feeling of unreal dream that you have just experienced. And you are not sure if that was dream or real life. Everything is switched, everything is mixed, everything is weird and everything is repetitive.
As the trips, the loves, the people, the knowledge and the feelings. Repetitive, weird, mixed and switched.

So I say goodnight and come back to my Sandman's life where I can meet all I want to meet here. Where I don't need money to travel, where the hunger doesn't exist and where I can sleep with whoever I want and wherever I want and non-why-ever I want. I come back to the life of improbability to meet my friends and my loves. And even if I wake up I will beg my mind to come back to the life where everything is easier even when the trees are growing into your friends bodies and warms are surrounding you with their tongs ready to lick you with their poisons and where you are coming back to the school yard where blood is dripping from the trees and your friends are more older than your grandma and the guy with the knife is waving to say hello to you. And to the world where you can walk with the woman to the end of the dream without one word, you can feel the space and tension between your bodies and talk to her by the nature over which you have complete govern, and listen to her responses that talk with her breath which creates the air you are both breathing. You can be the best piano player ever or the worst criminal you can imagine, you can become the scientist or instead the god of the oceans.

Everything in a second, in a blink of the eye, everything in the world behind the closed eyes.

Everything so real that becomes your world.
Everything so fictional that becomes your mar.
Everything so sweet that you ask for more.
Everything so bitter that you beg for sore.
Everything so close that you don't even get up.
When everything so far then you act with calm.
Then you start to run, then you start to cry
Then you start desire the life you have just passed.