Within the following pages, the processes of the author's soul are intertwined and interact as a response to the diverse events of the surrounding world. Initially posted on various virtual Walls, obeying the call of the trend: did you think of something, did you feel something? Post it! Don’t keep it inside, shout it out. Post it!
Scratches of the soul that, if not exposed to the eyes of others, fester, while when venturing out, they perhaps irreparably expose the exhibited. Thoughts openly or implicitly publicized in the Press and on the internet, mainly on the "welcoming" and largely stained gigantic Wall of the "book of faces".
The monstrous Facebook, the modern version of the ancient Agora but also a revived "neighborhood" with all its aspects, the mutual supervision, the gossip, the envy, but also the solidarity, whether sincere or hypocritical. Above all, a constant conversation of everyone with everyone that reaches a cacophony.
With words and phrases that speak and puzzles that mean. Because humans need to express ourselves, in any way possible? Without words, we do not exist. What is contained in this book? Are they prose, are they poems, what are they? What is their theme? When I was asked, I didn’t know how to respond, I hadn’t even acquired a clear perception of the material that had accumulated in my archive over the last three years.
However, I looked again at the entire electronic "manuscript". I peeled it slowly and painfully. I concluded that I would characterize them as little essays. The era we are going through is full of stimuli for the mind, reasons to speak or shout, in whatever way each can, while in every age there is the same need for communication and contact among people – only their tools change.
Quickly, of course, I felt I would be forced to act as an obstetrician or worse, as Herod. Abortion and scraping or slaughter of infants? In the mildest version, eviction and delivery to the orphanage. The harshness of murder is blunted by the infancy of the form, still unshaped – if one can see it that simply.
But eviction? Is it painful to expel your children? any children of any father and any mother, from the house they were born and raised in. However, there was no other way, the house could not fit them all. When I finished, I stepped back and observed the text for many hours. An autistic dance as usual, but what is the center? Finally, I saw it.
Everything revolves around one axis: the intoxicated illusions of early and also late youth for a world as I first dreamed it as a teenager in bed at night. The illusions that suddenly began to bloom stubbornly like obstinate almond trees in a cold February. Without, however, roots to support the trees. Without the possibility of fruit.
Perhaps because they were mutated, perhaps for the same reason that no tree can surpass unpunished the program granted to it by its creator – God or Chance. The burden of Awareness of the real World is heavy and unbearable for many the Self-consciousness.
It is true that whenever my dreams were burned, the storm of Things either extinguished the fire early or scattered the ashes to the four corners of the horizon. The acknowledgment of the immovable harshness of the World is hard. Yet I still hope.
As long as all those things that are derided as chimeras stubbornly cling to the inner shell of our Soul, we will be invincible Bellerophons. Will the World not cease when we, the today's passersby, are gone? However, why shouldn’t it become more beautiful? I now have only questions.
I swim with soft strokes to an ever-slower rhythm in the uncertain sea that widens around me into whiteness. It darkens; but it is not just my eyes to blame nor the years that I swim against the current. And answers require light. And not illusions above all. At the very least, you could perceive them as two dull beams within the fog...
Pages
256
Cover
Soft
Publisher
Ekdoseis Govosti
