There’s this game of cat-and-mouse we play with memory. I know I, for one, wake up sometimes after having dreamed the perfect sentence, the perfect combination of words. There’s this mist enveloping my head, this feeling of elation, from which I don’t want to depart but which I will have to destroy soon. Very, very fragile, this ecstasy. So fragile, it comes to me in fragments, not as a full-bodied article.
Light, the destroyer
|Source: Deviant Art|
“A dizzying commedia that is inscribedinside the eyelids’ monastery walls.A sole exemplar. There it is right now!It is, in the morning, altogether erased.The mystery of that great extravagance!Obliteration… As when the tourist is stoppedby suspicious men in uniform –they open his camera, unroll his filmand allow the sun to kill the pictures:so dreams are blackened out by the light of day.”