on transparency

I am like a ghost.

I move through the living and know nothing of living.

I am like a memory, I see myself only faintly in others...

others who are lost in the infinitude of the present.

Do I know the future? I only wonder because I feel as if I do.

Not by my inclinitions, nor by instinct, but by my knowingness and despite of it

I continue to wander about as if without one.

The extremely wealthy are only dreams we shape from a million desires.The fraction of the 1% that comprise them, who control our lives, control nothing more than our own dreams do. We will never see them, or touch them, in most cases, we would only know them through stories and images, and statistics, and these are no more real than any symbol from a thousands year old cave painting.

This is not so spoken often symptom of today: dreams are imbued with lines thought to be crossed towards reality. But they are not the same. And in this way they rule our waking lives.

Somehow it may be that i am more real than dreams, but in being so carry on the quality of being a dream myself.

People see through me yet still sense my movement, albeit only in fragmented moments.

There are things that are always empty and things that are always the same.

these are where ghosts tend to arise.