if life can have a cut

whenever i am awake, i talk to myself in mute. whatever have passed are strings in the mad hands. up and down, cells dividing inside me. natural ecstasy, endless torture. my present lives in past, and ceases. every inches of times could never possibly be illuded. if live can have a clear cut, i never meet i, i would leave empty handed. things with no need of result, people with no need of answer. so one can free. or past links with the supposed future. where i am less stupid for understanding. either way, present missing, in time of a finger bang, even though blank clean greyness sounds stupid. no way a story has no answer. but for years the last book can be published. or what if the authors die. that could be easier actually, as soon as i know it will terminate. no need to take it to my grave. haha i would laugh.