Everything dramatically changed in my life when the Archbishopric's car ran me over. Then tensions and possibilities beyond the metaphysical emerged from within me, definitively launching me into the realm of the absolutely tragic.

At that moment, I realized that I had to defend the morality of evil and play the role of a dramatic apostle beyond the logic of clichés. After all, I had no other options in the situation I found myself in except to play with consciences and circumstances.

Only I did not calculate as much as I should have on the bright half of a despair that was called Elpida Yarmas. In any case, the "great death" began on the eve of Christmas in 1981 on Clemenceau Street. In our old house…