I was thinking raw. He said that, not me. But I believe I was. Bunch of clever ideas were rawing around our heads and as I seemed to hear wings rustling, calm breeze was tickling my neck. Sometimes I was not fast enough to move away and they hit me. Did I enjoy it? I don’t really know, it did not hurt so much, that’s true. As if it had a little mazochistic bit in it, though I did not even realize that at the moment.

Choreography is a strong enough idea to pull movement into an organised pattern.

I guess this is what people everywhere in the world – more precisely, from the hidden bungalow at the edge of the green steppes whith the overly depressed writer, through the red ear lobe of the scholar slightly despaired by the failure of his vain attempts to heat the ice cubes, to the swinging brown locks of the sweating young dancer misplacing her step once but still remaining charming; that is, everywhere, people think of this statement – as I can now surely declare: the perfect embodiment of the organised mind!

Once came a Thing looking like a huge cell and swallowed it. Then walked away. Little cell, what did you do that for? How could the free thought fly around like this? Spreadin’ its wings in vain? A huge cell will come and swallow it anyway. Everything in the world, not because of this, but goes back to its right place.

The consciousness of streaming.
—-A stream is a stream is a stream.