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The struggle

Modifié le : 2019/08/04

What about those emp­ty hours of the night, when you wake up, tense, between two breaths and two dreams, between two rounds of a game that is repeat­ed and nev­er won ?

Insom­nia, short, tran­sient or per­sis­tent and end­less, shines a light on the psy­cho­path­ic work of the brain, a tire­less library rat who not only reads the infor­ma­tion received, but gulps it down, erects vol­ca­noes of mean­ing, is too drunk to walk well and also force-fed to under­stand it.

Despite the appar­ent order of my days and the harsh need to live, it seems to me that I can hear, even when awake, the savory step of those nights, in which only sleep can real­ly speak.

I still have to dig grooves of inspi­ra­tion on this cold Ice­land, to hold the pick­axe of labour firm­ly. Silent­ly fight dis­cour­age­ment. The wait can be long. Well, why don’t you sing ? All in all, every melody is a cry, a com­plaint, a victory.

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