write on the streets write in the bar no matter where you are, write.
we write to ourselves we write to the void we write to the passersby in graffiti on brick and street signs
are we leaving our mark
does it even matter
one day we'll look back, say This is where it all happened.
in the corner of the early bar on the late night streets among clamoring crowds in the trendy neighborhood in the quiet night alone sitting only with your thoughts
these days i wake slow slink out of bed to bathroom and shoes take the elevator down from some strange room to walk the city in gray drizzle blue cold midtone wind tunnel
i keep a watch i don't look at i hold a map i don't need the new days are alive all old days are dead leave them in the tissue paper and fall in love with solitude
This is a small story for you. A work of fiction.
I'll write it, even if I don't know what it's about. Shouting to the void, as anyone would want to.
On a pragmatic note, you might like to get emails from me.
I mean, they're not from me. Instead, a computer standing between us sends you a copy of what I wrote. Then you can read it in your e-mailbox.
Maybe you'll enjoy it still. Even with the robot standing between us.
See you inside.
- A. Baer
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