Σάββατο, 25 Ιουνίου 2011

Μονόλογος #2 (To Hamlet)



You wake up at 5 a.m. for no apparent reason. Your brain decides you don’t need that precious extra rest so, what the hell, “let’s wake ‘im up”.

You look outside the window. The world is still, silent. Like someone took a picture of it and put it in its place. And suddenly you feel that someone did the same thing to you. That you’re just a three-dimensional picture, captured and forever enslaved in the hands of a god-photographer with bad taste. A photographer who plays with you like an infant with its dolls, moving you and battering you around.

You look again outside the window. The world seems like it’s been separated from its colors. Like someone stole the reds, greens and blues and locked them somewhere safe, far from the grasp of colorblind madness. Like someone made a movie about the world so damn sad that all the yellows, magentas and cyans wept and bled and, ashamed, turned to white and black and gray.

You look outside the window. Again and again and again. You see a dying world and you suddenly realize you’ re seeing it through the eyes of a dying man. “No more games”, you say to yourself. “You’re a big boy now, no more games”. Even if every god damn molecule of your body wants to let go. Let itself flow through the colorless, damp lights of the silent city. Be one with the atmosphere, inhale light and exhale happiness.

But it’s almost 6 a.m. and soon your fellow humans will ruin the sweet sadness of this giant photo of your city. And you feel just fine, so gloomy and so blue that you’re actually liking it and your lips are forming a strange smile. So, let’s not ruin that. Time to sleep. To sleep; perchance to dream.

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