This afternoon I went to walk the university cemetery, went thought the little lane of white rose bush. Death mean death nothingness. Air was stuffy just normal so normal. The way the daylight stake bare every gravestone. Not an infinity not a mystery but a death, scentless death. I didn’t have any feeling toward these glittering golden hands shake. Went through bit further, narrow gapped little road and I lost waste kind of inside cemetery. All poking out cross like skeleton hands, waves aimless clouds. Sunday so they might cross crossing their god. Nice spot around ready for another death. You veiled your primordial earning front of lifeless stones. Few pictures around, but they were not lively, the moment of origin is gone so no more invisible beauty in their faces.
Mystery rhythms flows wildest nastiness, all the aliment of life is not there. No one imposed liberty or law or nothing just let themselves be there, but they are not validate anything at all! That is why they are dead, that is not infinity but they lost of their origin of life; that is their nothingness!
No one blogging on Sunday so all economists must be dead on Sunday!! A nice day to be dead for all economists! A nice to be dead the creation of the universe day!
