the main idea must be illogical, must be short, must be simple, the flow of thought is lost as the words go on, the sound spreads, hits, turns, reflects up, down, right and left and in the middle, nothing, me, in the middle nothing, the sound is lost, a black hole sucks me in, lurks, for when the sound will disappear, so that I will disappear, the idea of me in space, the idea of me on the walls, the cables, above, below, right and left and the idea of me in the middle, the perception of time through a prism of despair and, basically, of anticipation, of the unknown and the nothing, of the infinite and, consequently, of the total loss of self, words I am ashamed to say await for me and laugh as I think and as my words are left alone for them to run, to shout, to talk, to get lost, to sing lies, to lose their breath, to make mistakes, to get confused, to ask you where you are going, ask you where they are going in the darkness alone again, in a sea full of letters, full of sounds, full of ideas, helplessly lost somewhere between before and after, gasping for breath from the now, frantically running to catch up, running too, not to be left alone in the middle, alone in the space that shows that nothing is respected and nothing is held sacred, the in-between kills, the in-between dies and I die with it, a shadow in the backrooms, eternally trying to tune in a dark rehearsal and a promise of a curtain that opens, every time there is applause, the lights go out again, the audience disperses, in its place I wait for the shadow to appear in the darkness, when only I can see, only I can understand and only I can for once, thinking there is no one else, applaud myself.