Birth of yyyyynnn
In the ‘meaninglessness’, infinite possibilities are concealed, so it seems that we have to tear the back side of the brilliant light of our creation which we obsessed with. The meaninglessness cultivated in the vacuum state of the time when the condition, the meaning and the form doesn’t exist, and it is now on indifferent blank-paper.
Blurred boundary of creation
Thousands of anxieties and worries. The realities of the poor beauty accompanied with pain drive us to the edge. The source of aesthetic destitution is ourselves! Clear line deosn't seem to be drawn. We will disappear into a more hazy place and remain nothing beside the blank. The boundary is harshly confusing. On this hazy boundary, we will meet a 'miserable miracle'.
At the edge of a tropical ocean, in the thousand shimmers of the silver light of an invisible moon, among the undulations of the agitated waters, incessantly changing... Among the silent surges, the tremulations of the illuminated tablecloth, in the va-and- comes quickly martyring spots of light, in the tearing of loops and arches and lines of light, in the occultations, reappearances, in the dancing fragments distorting, reforming, contracting, spreading to redistribute again before me, with me, in myself, drowned and in an unbearable rustling, my calm violated a thousand times by the tongues of the infinite oscillating, sinusoidally invaded by the crowd of liquid lines, immense with a thousand folds, I was and was not. I was obsessed, I was lost, I was in the utmost ubiquity. The thousand and a thousand rustles were my thousand shreds.