Terminal documents/ deleted diary

00:A
Every word is like an unnecessary stain on silence.
Every word is an incantation for some sort of precision that all(every one) are(is) striving for.
There was a beggar on the street today. He was sitting on the pavement. He had no cardboard sign that he was holding. He was not asking for something. He was motionless. His hands where fists. I stood and watched from some distance. When he moved he moved like this: he turned his hands with the palms facing the sky, he opened the palms of his hand as if giving an offering more than waiting for an offering to be given to him.
WITH THE PALMS FACING THE SKY
I approached him. I walked by him as all passers by do. As i reached him i looked down at his hands. In the palms of his hands i saw: with black marker he had written in his right palm YES and in his left palm NO.

To find a form that accommodates this mess, that is the task(is that the task?)

Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes.(yes and no)

To hell with reality! And which reality is it that is real?
Words
Words
Words
Words
People don't deserve the restraint we show by not going into delirium in front of them.
I see the man rising up from the pavement and using his two palms, his two words to slap me and them and us alll in the face.
Yes and no
Yes and no
hitting against flesh
To hell with them.
people
We've no use for people in this outfit they call reality or others call daily life. What we need is chimpanzees. Let me give you a word of advice: never say a word to us about being intelligent. Others will think for you, my friend. Don't forget it.

Make sense? No. I switch off. Slowly i switch off.