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Dear Iris, how are you?... I'm writing you while
I'm being under the spiritually and "lisergicly" effect
of Nick Drake's Autumnal feel and atmosphere that seems to dominate
my wandering soul, still blazing and asking, and beggin' someone's
attention, an unknown attention, for a peculiar hyper-sensitive
guy, I just let my ego be carried through the wind of unconsciousness,
trying to deliver my very last whispers of this early summerish
morning prisoner of a slightly yet overwhelming misty white....
Hazey Jane does not intentionally seems to turn back and say
once more "farewell my dear...", before she steps into
the obscured path, gently fading through the uncertain stream
of oak trees, those trees gradually vanishing into the eerily
unusual foggy atmosphere............ I sweep my eyes along the
phantasmagoria of this apparently uneventful day, crawling my
tired legs through the stages of a territory I still haven't
got the opportunity to learn about.... while warm, soft and calm
tears of solitude and frightening melancholy fall down from her
weary and exhausted eyes, expression of a soul torn apart, her
precarious, broken thoughts thrown away with no reason... Early
afternoon is up-coming, maybe the nth afternoon filled up with
unorthodox and dreams gone bad, doubt over doubt, forbidden aspirations
and paranoid still thumping with evil intentions from side to
side inside my raging, tumultuous head. I every once and a while
attempt to eat and kill those tiny painful, dark shadows of grief... |