The first flow, still immaculate,
Non-polluted at the source, still unthreatened.
Feeling of freedom. A privilege.
Endless creativity. Unending subversion.
Direct protest and creation. Different hours.
All that we bring in thought: just dreaming for a instant
The image has given us much. And had made us live a precious time forgotten.
We used to walk in the darkest nights. Avoiding danger.
Later, when we wake up, images escape, like water.
And to know ourselves, we need to find ourselves. Images are more than this.
We also need to live. But eyes cannot perceive.
Our pupils do not dare open. Our lips refuse to speak.
We know not whether beauty comes only from the heart or from images.
Images move. And images are not empty.
They have something to say. What they have to say is not set.
Do they say anything? Or do they say nothing.
The image itself, an oniric process.
In an eternal dream, image is energy. The heart is gone.
But images cannot be treated as something or as nothing.
Neither discourse neither silence. The image will find itself.
Images cannot force the heart to think.
The heart cannot force images to move or to rest.
Desire is the essence itself of man. The passion of games.