Everything has eyes, filters which let pass whatever can be digested inside, all the while remaining open towards the outside as much as what is inside permits it;

When nothing inside feels like getting an outside whiff, then the stench of death penetrates those eyes, turn them into black pond never to glitter again, for immediately, those turn themselves into a recycling process, departing forever from the present;

Looking into other eyes is the most efficient way to meet a life's own fluctuations, interrogations, curiosities, enquiries;

Only then can a one communicate from one's own life into another's one, exchanging bits of this or that, all those useful to keep moving as a living entity, an immaterial, existential, imaginary astronaut, but without any hermetic envelope, since this would provoke immediate inner drowning, leaving only a kind of organic structure spasmodically agitating itself along the hardened corridors of a specific society;

Here, is me as I am, starry eyes, infinite eyes