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■ Les saisons
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2008-02-19 | [Ce texte devrait être lu en english] |
Every time I walk beside dark streets, a strong feeling flows through my veins. It’s like a night in inferno, but sensation of nowhere is kept hanged under the odd moon. The trees start moving; leaves falling, noises rising and ghosts coming to life – all these to expose an unusual moment for the dark thoughts unconfined. Anyway, it surrounds you; gets inside your neck, making you swallow deep perspectives for the shock of images that took birth.
The smallest step into unfamiliar will wake up the genuine fear, the cordial idea of solitude without harming you in the animal mood. It terrifies you inside, so no one will have a clue about your heart beatings, about the amplified speed of blood circulating through your veins. All is beyond the perceptive. You can think about the simple sub-consciousness, about the chemical reactions that took place in your brain and start wondering what means the word: realism. Even the ugliest nightmare will be seen as a pleasantry for an empty room, with the same performer, with the same song, with the same audience applauding. The night theatre comes with new prodigal proceeding, mad slashed laughs beyond the invisible, and crisis in a strange time dimension. All these happened in the inferno nights, repeating in chaotic outlooks and getting birth to new creatures that will hunt you till the day you die …
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