Generally speaking

I am writing with grape ink on snowpaper in my bed of dreams. I am watching how the ink is dripping slowly onto the white sheets melting them not with heat, but with its inert and cold substance. It rather presses it, sinking deeply into the white matter, like my thoughts. I see it drifting away, leaving a slight mark on the sheets that lay under the snowpaper. I realise that the mark will no longer be there after it will be washed by water and foam. But then, the sheets won't have it, as the foam erased it and took it into its molecular structure. Once removed, it will get through water in an unknown place.

You see, our thoughts resemble the ink. From an idea they travel into the pen, onto a piece of paper on which they leave signs in order for others to see and aknowledge the work you've been doing. Then, exactly as the foam removes the ink, the ideas transform themselves into another form: the actions. This is the way man can or can not make a change in his or the others' lives. However, changes last more or less. sooner or later a tide will come and wash it all away. But it won't disappear, it will be found in another form, metamorphosed into some other time dimension or location. Moreover, it is well known that in physics energy is conserved. Aren't thoughts a form of energy? A vibration that sets in motion actions, plans and even life itself? Doesn't life conclude energy? Unfortunately, only thoughts are not enough to please life, determination is needed. Hopes are not the ones that make life better, but the will, the dreams, the aspirations. It's true, hope dies last, so let it die last as long as aspirations die least. Hope is the feeling that can easily and painfully transform itself into illusion if the causes of this feeling are not realistic or misinterpreted. The man must have the ability of balancing the facts given so that he can't be fooled by some random vibration which slipped into his mind. That is why aspirations get fulfilled, as for hopes - close to a negative infinity. Why hope when you can aspire? Why hide under the bed when you can come up front and face the problem? Why stay in materialistic confort, but stand the misery when you can fly through wind and rain and reach the peak of the mountain? Oh, the view... the joy... C'est liberte...It's the sense of acomplishment, given by power. But what is power given by? The drive... But the drive? By aspirations. What about aspirations? They are given by the desire of the thought of having that probable feeling, of that state of being, implictly generated by the inner self, the battleship that strives for its ideals, principles and values.

Sower, thus sweet, it's grape ink.