Dream, Feb. 26, 2014.

If one arrives to the ultimus arrondissement of the psychology, to the last straw of the pedantry, we're gonna end admitting (or fearing) that nothing is free, that every thing is limited by a furious determinism

that the sky, the star, they have already all the scene pre-arranged for us.








































I was standing at the gates of the hall, waiting for something.


The father of ******* was huge
very tall and moody, and jealous
he looked at me with terrible eyes of fury.

In certain moment ******* appeared in the scene. she seemed to come from a long-transoceanic flight, she almost didn't look at me face to face... she treated me in a extremely cold way, or to be exact: she almost didn't treat me at all.
As if I were as anybody else there, almost a stranger.

As if she would take my presence there for granted, like something that doesn't deserve attention, like a prosaic commonplace, self-evident, uninteresting, as if she would know beforehand that I was there.

My siblings were there too, or at least my brother, he made some sarcastic and facetiously malicious remark about the way how ******* treated me.
 
******* had to go later to an office, I accompanied her but I don't remember to have talked to her.

Then, I don't know why, I found myself doing a queue in that office, when two Japanese men, like agents or maffiosos appeared in that grey, bureaucratic and hard area.

One in front of me and one behind me... they manipulated and moved two sorts of modulators or cards around my chest and around my back, moving those modulators very fast, like prestidigitators (the modulators, so to speak, emitted something similar to the x-rays).
 
I guessed they wanted to see through my clothes, maybe to see the number of my credit card.


I don't remember to have seen her anymore. 
Or maybe just descending by a sidewalk, down and away

like a slope of pavement toward my loneliness.



Forever.