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Look into oblivion with an undisturbed gaze. The visible invisible. The emotion ebbing away into the infinity of feeling. See my forgotten thoughts returning. They look around in amazement. They intertwine with the past. Insoluble in their complexity.
I search for solutions. The confusion therein disrupts my search. Even if I were to retrieve the past, I could no longer live in it. The ripple of my present life can no longer synchronize with my past.
Oblivion is endless. Movements slowdown in the perception of my rigid gaze. My canvas moves away from me. My brushes disappear. The music in my ears plays a confused melody. My momentary joy slowly drifts away from me.
Who am I? In my wildest dreams, I cannot escape oblivion. In this stratification I cannot find myself. I realize that now I must not be lost in the oblivion of my thoughts.
In the current din of violence and exploitation of political ideologies, my oblivion is lost. I try hopelessly to cling to my own world, in which oblivion is a part of. I don’t want the world to disturb my oblivion.
The sun tries to penetrate between the clouds. My gaze is illuminated by it. The sharp edges have crumbled somewhat. Can I extract my oblivion from the future? Am I bold enough for that? Or am I overplaying my hand now?
