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Borges said, in an interview, that it is pointless to find new metaphors, similes. Life is always going to be a dream, it won’t suddenly turn into a metro train. I look at the closed library and think. Faces of my classmates suddenly flash. Awkward smiles, shrill voices and reluctant kisses. And, a closed library. […]
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There is nothing to do. Except end. The dreams disappear. I disappear because I am a dream, too. I am my own imagination. I did not exist before I existed. In one dream, I remember dying. I asked myself as I felt myself vanishing, would I become me again? The wall of paintings. The pond […]
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My lips, wine stained, remember the brush of eucalyptus leaves. If you must know me, go back in the past. I am over. In the present, surrounded with only memories of sand, I only remain. There is too much water here. Sometimes, I miss its absence. To remember water. I try to remember what it […]
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Years.
War, like love, exists only in my imagination. A flickering light. In this darkness, I exist only in my memory. A window. So many sounds. In it, there might exist the sound of my mulberry tree’s fall. Must I know? Friends from my childhood rise and fall to this violin’s sound. The past is falling. […]
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Light makes everything visible. Separates everything. Makes everything clear. Light in moderation, of course. Sunlight. Maybe I should get some cigarettes. There is something inhuman about light. Light brags by being. People on the streets look. At what? Mozart’s music on a violin. One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Has misery been going […]
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The Outsider.
I’d realized that the essential thing was to give condemned man a chance. Even one in a thousand was quite enough to sort things out. For instance, I imagined they could find some chemical compound for the patient to take (I thought of him as the patient) which would kill him nine times out of […]
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A white owl on the other building. A blackboard. Something about Homer. Afternoons had stopped visiting us. They didn’t really care about literary theory. Sometimes, looking at that pale, fading light of an early evening (which always has a hint of darkness), I wondered if it would be better to be an afternoon. Or, an […]
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The window. Green. Pond. A man. Crows’ sound. This is a different sky. I know. The trees trying to touch it are not the same as the trees in my sky.
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We are all waiting for the trial.
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It is blue. (Or green). Some shade of the sky. I remember my life in colour. Which is strange considering how much I like the absence of colour in photographs or films. Or maybe not, you know. I have always thought that black and white are colours too. Black is the colour of absence of […]