Where will I seek you now? Where do I wear my steps? I do not know where to go. That I remain motionless, arms dangling, his head raised, the middle of this intersection in the rain. The rain that runs off my life is not sad. But what a huge empty space opens in the world ... is this what the ∞? Here, the towers do not soar, electric lights did not become sidereal, so they do not transcend their incandescent hysterical. And even the crowd does not advance this not calm, which made similar, under the incessant drizzle, to nothing more than a passing thought opalescent opaque darkness in our performances.
Where shall I look for Ulysses, which I seek his opportunity, and that even from the sea ∞, how is it possible, by detours and strategies staggering, to keep his heart, so my time is fractured, fragmented as in effect a silent explosion, and if by tiny cracks that are doing all they walk away with the wind ? I'm the only compass of my dreams, the needle is detached from it, north-north-west ... Ulysses ... I'll keep looking for you if possible but is it still possible to get you otherwise that looks like a shadow in another, in the despair of the night? I do not know where to focus my steps in the middle of this intersection is too narrow ... north-north-west ... the possibility of Ulysses included somewhere in the world, but the needle of my compass cracked it to me almost more in these courses ...
how to not only be a shadow among the shadows? Sometimes I fear that there is no solution, no magic can not protect us as the dissolution of our beings. What improbable detour Ulysses he made his whole life not to be a shadow among the shadows? How could we not be it, nothing else but that, in the twilight, and now the shadows that we have become endless stretch, stretch into the night, lose their verticality, north ... -north-west ... Flickering in the wind of reality is sinking in the depths of the most opaque material, and lost, ending in tiny choking.
Just a tiny choking to get lost all hope. A tiny renunciation does not suffocate. A tiny cowardice. And thereby destroying the possibility of Ulysses.
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