The story I'm going to tell, is not my story. It is the story of someone, who is telling a story which is very similar to his own. The dream I will remember, won't be mine. It's the dream of someone who remembers a dream, that is very similar to his own. I think of stories I like to make stories. To tell them. I know this must sound like the dream of little Iasonas. What will he be when he grows up. When I wake up, it'll happen again. It'll start all over...
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Last dusk on earth
Οι παρενεργειες μιας θεραπειας.
Αλλοιωση της σκεψης.
Σε σκεφτομαι.
Εισαι μονη πανω στο καραβι και δεν ξερεις που πηγαινεις.
Δεξια σου βλεπεις φωτιες, αλλα δε διασχιζεις τη Γη του Πυρος.
Σου λειπω.
Ο εγκεφαλος ομως προτιμα να σκαρφαλωνει ψηλοτερα απο το να ερθει κοντα σου.
Βρηκα ενα νεκρο εξω απο την πορτα το πρωι.
Εκλεισα τα ματια και περασα πανω του.
Ετσι συνεχισα να περπαταω.
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