Sono qui davanti a questo schermo e mentre digito i tasti, sento il rumore di tanti piccoli semi che cadano da un sacco bucato, fumo una sigaretta alla menta perché ho il mal di gola e vorrei scrivere in 20 righe something as beautiful as Finnegans Wake. will not succeed because I was born loser, and this competition as all the others in which I participate, I serve as the therapy: are talkative, but too lazy to leave the house, so I decide to throw up words by writing.
My thought is faster for my actions and sometimes wrong to crush button, but set a spell-check solves the problem.
raining today and there is wind, it rained yesterday and there was wind, rain and maybe tomorrow there will be wind. But you who read, you do not want the weather forecast but senses: touch or sight? Before me is a white wall, rough and cold, leaning on his hand so cold that radiates a chill following the winding course of the veins to the elbow.
I had a very bad idea: scratch an eye with the cold hand, and now also my eye is cold and motionless.
I'm writing with one eye and one hand: my right side is gone, I can "feel" only half! To do well you have to rub repeatedly and strongly, I feel the cushion of the couch, another incident: my hand becomes inflamed and starts to tingle and that's icy and fiery, with one eye finish my Finnegans Wake!
I do not care if you liked it or not, this is what I do and while I was allowed to write to you has been given only to read!
I do not care if you liked it or not, this is what I do and while I was allowed to write to you has been given only to read!
will be happy my Italian teacher: in so little space I could use almost all the time and manner!
Lukas, Wien
0 comments:
Post a Comment