sexta-feira, novembro 11, 2005

"Our time is beginning to look black"


And while I see that the darkness is already upon us, and my Europe, oh my Europe!, tumbles down like the last broken fortress in the fires of Paris amidst the hellish furnace in which the world burns all around and is slowly eaten away by the hideous monster of right wing extremism dwelling its way into every dream stolen and quickly forgetting conscience in the land from east to west and north to south, a couple of nights ago I couldn't sleep, as always, and I was smoking a cigarette at my window when the chilly wind outside breathed on my face and I turned my eyes inside to see my she-cat Tats sleeping in my bed, awating me in peaceful dreams, and I realised that was a moment to remember and register and cherish, for I still have a cigarette to smoke in a peaceful night where the world but me is asleep and the wind still blows cold but clean, cleansing and purifying, under the dark black-blue sky of the city where the stars never shine.
I cherish the cold silence of the peaceful night before it grows too dark to notice and I register the moment in case I don't survive to tell about it after the worse is unfolded, as it certainly will.

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