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...
Sunday, June 22, 2008
At the Arctic Circle
This is where the Arctic Circle runs.
There the sun won´t go down in the summer.
That´s the midnight sun.
I wish I were born without a tongue,
that way I would have an excuse.
I'll wait here as long as it takes. I wait on the greatest luck in my life.
I have known a lot of different kinds of luck.
Luck runs through my life like a continuous thread.
It's good that life passes in circles. But mine consists of one circle,
and not even a complete one.
The most important is missing.
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