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...
Friday, March 02, 2012
Talk to her
I see this picture in my dreams since I was five.
Sometimes captured in a long wooden shelter.
Sometimes lying on a pile of decaying leaves.
She doesn't move.
She only speaks.
How would a boy envision a scene
that would be produced years later.
