The ridiculous artefact
Ordinary days in a row
No gaps, no rest
No pause, no restful breath
No silence is worth anything
You repeat it to yourself:
“There’s nothing beyond the weekday”
Even when you shut off
Even when you feel free—
Those few years
Maybe a couple of decades
Your money, your status, your power
And your stuff
Will end up as ridiculous archaeological finds
While anything you believed
Beyond numbers
It was probably a lie
A smeared-out landscape
A fading love letter
Your great ideas are swirling down the toilet
Your name and balance
on a bank statement
Dust in a concrete crypt
I just smile
Same old stories
Embarrassingly identical archetypes
I listen to the rain tapping
Some are planning their success
Someone’s dying
Someone else is having an orgasm
Maybe there’s only one of us
And whoever it is—
It is dreaming all of us.
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