before the bubbles go flat

Before the bubbles go flat it's time to use up the last few words that are contained in my fingers, I'm dropping them all over the place right now, some even ended up in the physical world, where I still couldn't touch them but I could blur them, scribble them, make them messy. Send them. Stamp and send. Bang!

The siesta was long-lived and the influence of the book in the park, under the tree, was at first distracted by falling invisibleness that stuck the pages together in the most annoying way and in the most strategic spots, a brand new book suddenly destroyed by an invisible killer. The visible ones were there for all to see, proud of their water balloons and pleased with the coincidence of hot weather and holidays. My feet were placed strategically, but although I could avoid the visible dangers, the invisibility fell, and I realised that yesterday wasn't an anomaly: the killer was always at large in that square. I had to go elsewhere, I had to move.

With turbo crunk and words from the future that nobody bothered to find in the past, I flew back to base and collapsed in a synchronous sleep with the foreign writer of the facemail I'd just read, my sleep was long-lived and the energy burst even longer. Back to the future on a bench, with filthy pigeons trying to feed off invisibility: it wasn't falling there, fortunately.

The bubbles have gone, the final few were beginning to flatten, maybe like a yield curve. The book never told me what it would look like in cases of deflation, so my eyes are on the lookout, and my mind is on autopilot. Sleep favours the autopiloted mind.