Listen to the Present

I’ve finished the exercise called Listen to the Present by follow the book along with the strained heaves of my stomach — I saw the red can was bouncing on the road out the window; Imaged the heavy fuzzy sounds of the cars drive over the manhole covers is the land’s heartbeats; I’ve heard the second handing again which I’ve already got used to.

I opened the eyes and found that literally everything in front of me is full with visible memories through by what I saw on my big wooden desk, the easel and water paints hanging on the white board.

Just like how I remember of following the back shadow in Louvre;

Just like what was I thinking of buying the peace symbol which is on the door;

Just like the lamp on the edge of the desk, how irony is the mental contrast of both time I install it. Even for the bulb under the cover, the memory comes to the mind of it just by knowing it’s there.

All of the “past” seemed such unordered, scattered. Just as the four-dimensional space, unrelated, non-causal, all-in-hands.

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