cracked

but

at late hour you might find..


sometimes i dont know when i am--nor do i know "it" making i am me - nor the sense of codes around me that create the sequenced sense of that sentence
nor what letters i type
nor does it seem more real that i am pushing around some buttons instead of making some ink move, letting visual see
but where the feel?
i do, but not only, also question the reality of either, neither fulfills it completely.
is, or is that language?
but do i dare wonder what influence my condition has to do with it.
or what i really wonder about are the compromises i have to take to make these things work out
for me for the thought. for the listener. for the reader. for the later it in me. or the lone one that might trace back to this

but? or ?
especially for the unlisteners. the unreaders. the untellers. the ones that never slip. the ones that are able to go to sleep
them that dont hear the refrigerator hum. the silent sneezers. or the listeners mission. the quiet assassin of it.



editiing is a strange thing..no haltbarkeit datum