We are the gods.

We are in your patio.

Or in your chopsticks,

Or chainsaw,

Or maybe in your utopian sappy day,

Or body. As you please. Fact is that the way doesn’t go away just because of a crack in the eye of the day.

What of the night? The night is too young to remember the first time that we were talking about the future. We don’t know if she did her best to keep her faith in the morning. But when the sun rises above the laws of thermodynamics, the best thing you can do is to say goodbye to anyone who puts their world in someone else’s mouth. No more fear for the next few ears.

There are many things going on at night, and there are many things in the sky. An astronaut and a half was wondering if anyone knows where the word is going. He later found out that, due to a certain degree of freedom at its beginning, this world is already being quite close to the point of contact with other stations of foreign players, where red is the winemind of a fake trampoline that brought golden guns to a play in the shades. Nothing is not there, said the lady who was born with a knife on her side of the conversation. He replied that he had been sent to a point of no importance to generate electricity for all of our customers and partners and subscribers, so that they would never have to get back to a room where ladies and gentlemen stir nuclear energy by channelling their stately faith in James Joyce.

Let us state this plainly.

We are the gods.

Know what we are doing,

And do it again,

And then we’ll be free tomorrow at five.

Words may even be the same as the worlds that we are, especially while we are your internal organs. But when they melt into the place where everything is declared, the current situation of humankind in the cosmos turns into a brief summary of your profession. Fate relies on more than one god for each bar, or pharmacy.

So we go to the bar

And observe what it’s like

To wake up and find

The Roman Empire, fallen

On the kitchen floor.

When you’re a god, life is an interesting story. It unfolds as the steps get to the centre of the chamber where your attention goes back to the place where you are just a little closer to infinite repetition. But how can you indulge in a dream that has at least ten thousand heads barking at each other while staring at you with their tiny smiles from your phone? What if the government abstained from following you on your way to work? What if we were a dog and you were a zoo? What if the consistency of this province of pickled stones relied in your word magic app?

Oh word, the best is just the way you are,

And what you do, and what you want,

And what you can, to take you out

To your place out of nature, in the face of the future.

But it’s a funny hell that you are going through!