Before philosophy, there was the problem

There is nothing left, but a dream. In the middle of reality.
If the real is a dream then what are we, means of its realization?
Are all these dreams stored somewhere?
Is there such a thing as being a dream and being aware of it?
What is the meaning of questions when there are no answers,
other than creating an illusion of existence while we are swept away by time?
I think therefore... I have the illusion of living, that's all.
That's all...
That's all...
This...
This...
Th...
...
Nothing...
The pitifulness of human being -and they found a name for it: nothing...
The answer to all the questions.
- What is this?
- Let's say A.
- And this?
- B.
- Oh ok, now i get it.
Interesting...
A dazzling stupidity.
An horrifying powerlessness.
- What is this?
- Nothing.
"And they all lived happily ever after with their illusions and gods"
- Happily?!
"Ok, maybe not so happy, but at least they lived, right?"
- Ever after?!
"Hm, they took turns, generation by generation. That's something to be grateful"
All these lives pass by three dot sequences in opposition to exclamation marks.
We fool around with the exclamation as well as question marks
in our little sand pool...

(25 March 2006, 5:00 am - silence - thinking about how to write a synopsis - the desire to hold my lover - hushing nurse pictures in the hospitals)