Thoughts and ideas that never return are being captured by the Past. I sometimes go back a few steps to recover parts of myself but dust is what I mostly see there. Ideas die. They hack parts of my brain when they do that, and leave behind doors with no locks. A creature like me can only imitate, pretend or… I could access another universe and start over. I like to walk around in the same skin but in someone else’s mind like an old subtle devil. I like to taste others’ ideas and be amazed and jealous at the same time. Colors of strange poking my nerves… The past and this second are done for anyway. I must open a book, drink the wine and get a haircut.
Many doors are open and let the fumes out to ease the transition to the next universe.