Erasmus#27 what might a picture hide?
Oxford Circus, during the night. A leftover of a remenbrance, half nitid half blured, of all these nights we've been into lately -and why we, not I? -. Rushdie's novel is right, the sensation of transformation pervades me and I can't decide where am I, who am I. Hybrid confusion of senses, sensations, beliefs, references, unbearable sinestesia.
What should I do, when I can't even define what "I" means?
Oxford Circus, when? Who? In what circumstances?
posted by Tom at 6:37 AM
1 Comments:
Glimpses. I would say you have seen it all before. Not once, but many times. And each and every time, you were not you either. Glimpses of the origin.
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