I opened my eyes and gasped with a startle…The mirror was starring back at me. Purified from the trip’s fatigue, I got prepared to meet my friend...Julian for lunch. He was an English architect living in Paris for several years. Tall, dark haired, warm grey eyes, a large forehead with locks of hair falling in disorder, he was hardly a typical forty years old man. A permanent smile tinted with shades of sadness never ceased to evoke in me the image of a resigned artist, a young one, who never. Masked stick figures dance to silent beatsOver moonlit sheets,Oblivious to the world,To each other.Until they press together,Morph into one,Bouncing over beds,Bouncing against walls,Down empty boulevards…Bouncing, bouncing, bouncing…Until they separate againInto two distinct forms,Silent again. Considering each otherThe way I guess the Martian and the manMight… What the shit is that?Who are you?What are you?Alien dreams inConvoluted space.II. Bubble Gum“Caution, approaching platform.”The. More

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