I am stroking my cat’s fur – white with a black tail and ears.
I’m lying in a hammock, reading him my latest love novel –
My cat is an intellectual who hates it when I quote Nietzsche in the summer.
Even though it is a perfect nothingness, an emptiness, spitting cherry pits.
Although it is lukewarm lake water, and that’s nothing to complain about.
Summer warmth happiness is to be lucky enough to get rid of all noble tragedies in ten days.
I lazily place June’s paws and slide across the floor, not cleaning my footprints.
Joe and Chandler are cuddling the chickens; I’m watching videos of happy pigs
That live in Hawaii all year round. I will envy them in the autumn.
I watch Stranger Things season after season, I love the young women with
non-trivial powers. I’ watch the Harry Potter – I really like the Bildungsroman moving into cinema.
I wake up late, the porridge takes a long time to cook, the underground is waiting for winter.
I’m alone at home, sniffing the pages of glossy magazines, eating
White chocolate, as white as my cat’s fur, as white as the faded
Philosophies and hair, summer is an athlete, summer runs short
Distances, summer is a popular genre that no longer needs hermeneutics.