Here’s to all the people that photobomb my holiday pictures,
unsuspecting exhibitionists in my summer memories.
After a while, I become fonder of them than of the places I’ve visited.
They now seem to know me better than most of my friends and relatives,
we start sharing secrets and unspeakable thoughts,
we become connected by an invisible red line,
that passes through all the virtual mess
and intimate celluloid of our afterlife.

I’m sure that somewhere,
in Russia,
or maybe in the Czech Republic,
there’s some poor *** schmuck that’s working up the nerve
to ask me out for a drink
or for some pasta,
not caring that I’m rushing through his photo,
on my way to a public restroom,
or a bar that serves all you can eat, drink and love.

The photos holding the proof of my existence in a certain moment
are facing the ground,
while their owners rehearse their speech
in front of the mirror,
leaving me and all the other tourists through life
behind the black hole library shelf,
in perfect equilibrium,
not knowing if I’m coming or leaving -
an impersonal group of pixels and dots, on a white piece of character.

Here’s to all the strangers in my heart!
Here’s to all the hearts to whom I’m a stranger!

I always wondered what it would be like if,
suddenly,
one of those "famous internet people"
would start liking me,
hitting each and every one of my posts
with one of their virtual emoji reactions,
sharing my words
and my soul
all over their sordid walls,
making me trendy and clickable,
part of the same pretentious content
that they're always displaying.

Will I feel sick
(like I do every time I read what they're sayin' in their trendsetter social media universe)
or will I feel proud?

Will I think that is a terrible waste of good procrastination or will I smile?

Will I roll my eyes,
after looking at their "common garbage"
or will I take a deep smell of the "beautiful bit flower that they seeded in their garden"?

Will I ever find out?
Will I have the will?

You always said you believed in people,
even though they didn't always had faith in you.

You also said that your brain
does not believe in a primordial God  
but that your heart does.
It was always a matter of proximity,
with the brain being closer to the mouth and
pushing all of its messages..
the right messages.

You said that you weren't convinced by
the making of the cross sign
because it started with the brain
and ended with the heart -
people always remember the last part and never the beginning
you said.

But I knew you had it in you - the words
in the prayers you mumbled on the metro,
hoping that no suicide bomber went in the same direction,
in that moment,
helped you have a pleasant journey.
Yeah, I heard you.
It convinced me to not push the button.

the words came from the heart and,
by the time you got to the end of it,
your brain would have no other choice but to surrender.

Another victory.
Another loss. You pick.

May your non God not bless the non believers.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iGxoJnygW8]

Last night I dreamt that Google
was celebrating me
through one of its doodles.

It was the simplest of them all,
the most ordinary and vanilla -
common as a rock, low-pitched with a cherry on top.

You clicked on it and it didn't have any answers.
It showed nothing.

No sound was added,
no funky animations,
no gamification.

Corny and simple.

I think they did a pretty good job in celebrating me.

Sometimes I Shazam random songs.
I don't even have to like'em or anything..
I just do it.
Press the big blue button and wait for it to do its job.
I'm always sad when it says it's sorry and returns no result.
"They didn't quite catch that. Try again". Who does?

Sometimes I Shazam random noises on the metro,
Hoping it will pick up the coolest soundtrack of a movie I'm in,
Just before the credits,
When everything goes dark - but not because of a random suicide bomber that hates life and wants revenge or something.
It returns no results and the TV suddenly goes louder in my head and there are 23 victims and we're all posting kittens on Facebook to show that we're not afraid.

Sometimes I Shazam my parents voices
while they're telling me how their day went
and I discover really cool indie artists
that make me listen to their work in a loop.

Once, I Shazamed your heartbeat while you were sleeping.
It returned my name.
Can't remember the album, but it had a nice cover photo.

I never Shazamed my own voice, nor my heartbeat.
I'm too afraid it'll show nothing worth listening to.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A107BwLLGbE]

I see great ***** every day
in the subway
and, suddenly, my favorite Hitchcock movie changes from
Rear Window to Vertigo.
The movement of the train calms me down and I fall asleep quickly,
dreaming that I'm in Kerouac's car, quietly hitting the road
like ******* hit his canvas.

I see great ******* every day
on the bus that takes me home,
but not one single *****
for me to lay my ear on.
The dream comes to a crossroad where me and Jack have to part ways.
He'll go down in history like a great writer
and I'll quietly go down on memory lane in oblivion.

Memory disappointed me
and left a bad taste
in my mouth - literary ******* ain't what it used to be.

He was afraid of heights.

He wasn't afraid of the sky,
but of the earth in which he dreamt every night of falling.

He knew no angels, no devils,
He was in a perfect balance between heaven and hell,
stranded upside down, in a reversed world,
waiting for all things to happen or to end.

He was incinerated.

He then was stuffed inside some crackers and got to fill the sky one more time
with his explosive personality
on July 4th,
before falling on everybody
and then into the ground
he so much feared and hated.