All day subjectivity is an endurance awaiting objects for a minute digressing
And it hopes for objects eager and unbaffled in spaces somewhere near eye level to greet it with comprehension during its waking hours
Everyone knows that in the dream called "Will My Sprit Live On When I'm Dead" as in the dream called "Will I Be Fired" and the dream called "Do You Only Pretend To Love Me" there are no objects In the dream called "One Who Is Poor Passes By Inch By Inch" there is no object
Subjectivity at night must last hours with nothing to judge but itself
The walls of the hemispheres face and this produces life to closed admiring eyes
We regularly anticipate this moment at around this hour underway gradually
Images are emitted which through fear I might gradually miss wincing and blinking piecemeal bit by bit
Yet I know that now the day is running well and paralleling yesterday inch by inch
But we'll never get to tomorrow this way
It is under other terms
The fists at the end of the hands strike already
Slowly there are bends in the bank to what happens
Between the two shores down comes a sound track
We get music which is time moving loudly
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