If a few atoms can destroy an entire city, imagine the power of the drugs that flow through our veins. I am easily surprised, my thinking is radioactive and unstable. The perimeter of a lamp reminds me of the bitter lips of a volcano, the contact of a body announces an epidemic of sensations.
Let us look around us. Quiet objects are bombs that do not delay anything. Let us observe the people who pass by, the gestures that are created, the wounds, the loves, the hopes that fester for passions. Let us look at the moon, the stars, the monstrous galaxies four billion light-years wide. Yes, four billion light-years to cross them, one after the other.
Four times billions of times trillions of times trillions of times a thousand quadrillion of vertiginous explosions. We are infinitely small, yes, but each of our cells is a carrier, powerful, capable. It is a great thrill to know it, a strange sadness to do nothing of it, a tragic paradox to be able to kill as much as to procreate.
From that no wonder we become troubadours and crazy for the mere hours we are given.