Monday, 1 August 2011


Diluted into a callous sea, much like any emotion ever tossed into the world in search of an echo from a distant resolution, this tale will find its ending on this abiding shore. As echoes fail to arrive, to comfort any anxiety, silence turns in nothing else but proof that such desolation does exists.

And so, while an acrid breeze sways the innocence of a xanthous landscape, where any person may find itself pinned at one point in time, staring in the distance for answers, any useless choler one ever experienced changes from a vague doubt into a certainty, which will never leave a once valiant mind.

This struggle, between a sly oppressive world and one’s na├»ve desire to overcome any emotional riddle, begins and instantly ends; a glistening moment that seems infinite in time and space…

As sure as beauty possesses the surroundings, silence seizes everything. Here, a ponderer unveils, to his own astonishment, the last act of a story never to be heard, for the only observer of his struggle, a murky atmosphere, has obscuring the horizon as its only Mephistophelean ambition.

Everything is yet to be concluded…


silence again

silence still

Could be that this constant endeavor gives us strength to believe the future will be ours? Or could be that we morbidly deny our bounded existence, afraid of the unknown, hoping to at least save our souls through one silently yelled story, stating that one did existed here…

Silence, Constanta 2004

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