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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2008-10-06 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] |
where I come from my dear traveler
it’s the stage of a vineyard form of amphitheater dug by my father among the others when he was still in his vital states of mind when he was drunkenly adorable beyond mountains and forests beyond those noctambulist draculities and argues on the nationality of dear mother of God where I come from there are people not landscapes of plastic with mannequins nor freaky castles with touristic news it’s me and you and all who still believe in that dubious rest of humanity where I come from the single life insurance that makes us true is the bread and the salt of the land it’s everything that keeps us free and madly together from there I mounted on my eyes a kind of wasting and alcohol of vanity because the vineyard is gone for good and above all even above my dad the forest is growing high thus my joy is a kind of dream on the edge kind of resentment and tears swallowed again and again by the rage
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