photo: Taverna, Mykonos, I love the old mirrors that distort reality
The blurry mirror
of silvered glass, a gleam
not quite me,not quite another
like a ripple stolen from the midst of a thought
the light blurs me,like the fog over the sea
below the unconscious depths stir,
the ancient shadows rise,
then fracture into thousands of me,
breaking upon the shores.
*first put on line in 2025, edited in 2026
photo: for somebody like me, who can hardly draw, tracing letters gives me the impression that I create them. Delphi
Tracing one’s emotions
with a graphite pencil
in a lined notebook.
In the whisper of the paper
the words carry their past
the zigzags of their dance
in the whisper of the paper
on the lined paper
d’oracles et de dieux/ of oracles and gods
photo: Taverna, Mykonos, I love the old mirrors that distort reality
The blurry mirror
of silvered glass, a gleam
not quite me,not quite another
like a ripple stolen from the midst of a thought
The light blurs me,
like the mist over the loch,
below the unconscious depths stir,
the ancient shadows rise,
their voices soft as the breeze through the pines
then I fracture into thousand of me,
each a whisper, a wave
breaking upon the shores.
photo: Hydra, at the end of a path, a kind of summary of life.
The question mark comes from the fictional void that I am going through at the moment. I have not managed to finish the fiction book I started reading quite some time ago. I still read, only differently. These days, articles that I find here and there on blame and responsibility, the need to deconstruct one’s own story and the one that is sometimes imposed on us by those around us or our social environment. All this with the aim of lightening the mind. But before getting there, you have to agree to embark on narrow and unknown paths that sometimes make you dizzy.
