I swear I have a bug hidden inside my head so as to witness and record everything that dashes and storms along the sliding streams of my thoughts. Otherwise, all the fractals, puzzling shards of such mosaic that modifies the transparency of the window within my perception would waft off lost in this fierce blow of wind caused by the abrupt closing of my eyelids which I truthfully need and perform in order to prevent the so escaping of my sparkling glimpses from the borders bound between my immediate image and abstract action.
Bernardo Bolt Gregori is a poet who has recently moved to the countryside where he is ecstatic to learn from the birds and squirrels and bushes various abstract and obstupefactive ways of dwelling and swelling as a human. A solipsist serendipitist more concerned with his better half than his worst multiple, he’s a hundred per cent one third fleece, one third shears, and one third sweater. Publications? Tuesday Shorts, Flashshot, Daily Love, 3am Brazil, among many others.