To begin with, please, pass me the salt! Cause what can you taste in life but its salty spicy threats and challenges they dedicated their life in odes to. I said Please, pass the salt! It’s just like you were left with a dry sea upon your lips while listening to surreal piano music accompanied by complaints: “you shouldn’t leave this pile of cutlery by the sink”, as she said and I bowed my head.

When I first came down to earth I could barely spell my name as you might imagine. Mind you, I couldn’t remember it all. It happens so when you get banned from that peaceful, overflowing-with-harmonious-splashes-of-lava Pandemonium into the uproarious, collapsing real issues of the real, unspoiled-by-illusion world. And what else is left to ponder upon but the centigrams of salt left in the dry sea on your lips? Seaweeds entangled between your teeth and abhorred by orators make you look aphasic. It wouldn’t matter anyway as long as you got no bloody audience.

These being said, I am writing my testament in blood upon a gloomy land that used to enchant me a couple of months ago and it feels like an ablation of my bestest intimate obsessive thoughts and moods. My testament is my name. I’m passing it to my children. So please, pass the salt.

It would be no use carrying on with my loathsome protrusion of my heart’s heart, save for the sake of an infinitesimal fake-productive reverberation. So, here I am, half naked, half hated, pleading for a return to the natural bonds. Like, say, the salty sea. Again you gaze like an empty-minded person and then silence. I stopped listening to your mechanical music, banging my head from left to right like a blessed autistic woman. At least she has her world salty and her sea likewise.

“You’re gonna do what I say!” Who told you you have a beautiful voice? You suck. All the more so, you have no right to tell me off. I’m in the middle of myself and I, at least, got somebody. You’re alone because you never met yourself and you don’t even care to, poor idiot.

This is for all the people who ever tasted salt, who ever felt embarrassed with their own folks and spent a little time learning how to spell their names in blood upon the landscape exiled within themselves.