Phrakonekham Sacramento

Il cursore nero.

Terror of the seas, oceans of all those endless, bottomless, in which the words are lost not only written but also think. The same deep seas, the waves which are breaking the wind blows, those on which the fine phrases whispered, languish enmeshed itself from its roll. Small and powerful, mobile and tenacious. Often languid invitation to failure, frustration, vain and arrogant to the movement of the hands. Not only for hours, my friend, not days. Months on months passed inside the ropes that bind her wrists to the same time, not far away and no better, cut the air in the grip of madness and the regurgitation of suffering. The beautiful wickedness of things, how far we can run, lurks, ready to continue the job of bitter persecution that has voted. Everywhere in the world, appearing even for a moment on the sheet and electric white, waits, with constant motion and extremely nervous, similar to those of foot impatiently waiting for our late, ready to attack us, reproach, on the occasion, all our failures. Sly and cunning smuggler. Apparently harmless neighbor. Discrete playmate. Available when needed, heartless taskmaster with each fall. And 'the stone on the way, the rope along the way, the nail in the tire, the door without a key in our "city personale”. Maledetto!