The sails are drooping. My ship is an old buccaneer and I cannot rely on an engine. Speed is completely determined by the wind.

I want to disappear and come back. No one has ever done it before me, but I have to try. The vanishing point in Bermuda lies where the sea merges with the horizon. I can already see the horizon in the distance: it is a bright blue point and it looks as if the heat from the sun gets pushed outwards there.

It is the secret that I carry with me that I want to get rid of. I will drop it off in the vanishing corner of the lost objects and lost thoughts and, in return, I will take the people who are lost with me.



Losing is winning

And winning is losing... 


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