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...
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Κι εσυ να λειπεις
… η πολιτεια… τοσο θετικη σαν μεταφυσικη
που μπορεις επιτελους να πιστεψεις
πως υπαρχεις και δεν υπαρχεις
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Not Rita
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