Too many things at once make me an unhappy twilight campfighter.

Most people believe that, when we’re born, we’re a clean slate. A tabula rasa. Not to say that most people don’t believe – or like to believe – in predestination. Indeed, most people are comforted knowing that wherever they end up aligns exactly with where they’re supposed to be, at that precise moment. But this isn’t a story about being happy where you end up. It’s a story about forgetfulness and eternal despair.

Fosse che sopratutta la verità che mi ha raccontata era

E lei mi ha mandata una lettera in cui era scritto, <

Non era decisso avanti tutto quello che ha successo. Era solamente l’opportunità che c’avevo.

La decisione è arrivata à me così, era una cosa semplice. Una volta sola. Non era per

qualche motiva, una motiva al cassacio. Non è perche tu mi hai annoiata-quest'è vero si-ma

comunque-non era perchè mi stancavo di tuoi abbraci, i tuoi baci... questa non si puo succedere

mai. Forse per tutti venga un’altimo quando non si puo’ continuare. Ti devi rallentarsi prima di

perdere tutto>>.

Io l’ho letto e à me significava niente, proprio niente. Era come ha svegliata mentre

stava addormitanda. Non mi ha promessa niente. Non ero spoventato.

Without a doubt it was the most nervous moment of the year. There were no certain solitudes in the morning rush that day. It was as if no trace of any sort of strange being was blocked in the air current in the evening of the twenty-seventh. After which, nobody really made any promises.

Penetrate our silent lies.

Wasn’t there any satisfaction in knowing it was a salient plan to begin with?

“I wasn’t alone back there,” she said. “The conscience was tingling. It was a sensational moment. One of those…” Her voice trailed off, and everyone closed their eyes.

I put the recorder back in the middle of the room, and the wet sponge grabbed it.

I remembered instantaneously what species I had seen back on the traffic yacht. Sunlight reached the far recesses of my rare-tapped cerebellum. I hadn’t had any idea what that felt like. It actually hurt. A lot.

“What are you waiting for?” she snapped. “We haven’t got all fucking day. Just like you to wait around and squander a perfect opportunity.”

“That hurts,” I said, genuinely meaning nothing at all. Then I forgot what I was doing.


This piece is completely absurd.