veiled sun in a sky that does not exist, impalpable. A thick blanket over me. Too thick. Perhaps because of my condition today. Last night, night excesses. As often happens in these times. I remember maybe half the things I've done. I drank, I smoked. This is certain. Is there anyone around me who wakes up with cuts or deadly blows and has no recollection of how he can get esserseli. Who moans turning over in his sleep on the cold marble floor. Who sets the ceiling above it, hoping to find the strength to rise. Around a house that I barely remember who he is. There had never been before and this morning I do not think even the same as last night. It 'a very large window that can to see the sky from the blinding light gray. It seems that the sun has forgotten to exist lately. It 's a more mass in the middle of all that white pearl. But no one ever sees it completely. I prefer it this way, although I must say that the light so clear, though not sharp, it kills me the same. E 'early, too soon, I think. But I have to go home. I'll pretend to be back yesterday early evening. I try to convince me to be able to recognize well the streets of my province in these conditions, and with little strength in my body that I still wash my face and go out. And in a very short-lived glory, I'm in the car. 'S cold, and nobody knows that I have taken last night. We are in September, would be technically still summer. But it is not. Not for nothing. I strive to keep our eyes open as I can, take the road that goes towards home. It 'a bypass, and there is hardly anyone around. Only trucks of all colors and lettering on the trailers in the strangest language in the world. I am certain that being the smallest, silly, and perhaps even useless in this Filamar of colors, albeit distorted by the unnatural light, which at this hour of the morning I feel infinite. Smell of petrol comes from outside, and enters by my window like a slap in the face with the air created by the fast motion of the car. I have indeed noticed that more than one hundred per hour, and perhaps not the healthiest choice to do given my conditions this morning. The road is long and colorless and it seems not to end up over the skyline. I turn on the radio to wake up, but little used. I still turn my head and after-effects are felt more than ever. It seems to me that the road that stands before me is parallel in all respects to the sky. Not only for the position but also for consistency. I seem to be compressed between two worlds colliding. Perhaps the only way for me to be able to save and hold on to the sun. But it hides a contract of indefinite duration. I try to fix it as long and as often as possible, but there's no way. Maybe ... I think it would be enough. Believe that it is released for real. Inside of me. The blanket then it is not too thick. Not turn off the sun if the shooting on ...
http://www.flickr.com/photos/photography_ag/4337497727/
A Vevy, and do not ask why.
Photo Credit: Alex "Grey" Gargiulo
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