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To the thousand of this email.

Dear explorers of the lost time,
Dear you, in synthesis, that have just arrived to the other side, or will be, in these fifteen minutes, deceased, while I write this email (if God will let me finish it…), you are now already eight hundred.

Another thousand are taking your place. You see, now, how you were not at all indispensable?

But the newborn babies are still without a life history and have nothing to say, isn’t it? And what if we were wrong? What if they - still so close to the absolute – knew everything? But they will forget. While they learn to speak. Like a dream that dissolves.

Nine minutes have already gone by and six hundred already have passed on to better life. Or worse.

To all of these goes this letter of mine, suspended and astonished, while I have nothing to say to them.