It is already 11 PM; 7 degrees Celsius outside; you can’t sleep; you think of yourself, you think off all the things behind yourself; you feel the rain; pricks of conscience; the neighbor’s fence is black, with small and sleazy white circles upon it.
Should you jump in the abyss, with no intent of doing any harm to anyone, or should you wait right here for the Queen to come? After a while, the waiting draws little marks on your soul and gives you hope. But then it’s still you who give up hope of seeing the Queen again; any idea such as this one becomes not only ridiculous, but also obsolete.
Walking through the cold night of February; the insecure and anxious King reads the greatest book ever written in the eve of the war. When the King was a child, he was asking himself ”Oh, Lord, why am I that small and not that big? Why is my head blue, when it was planned to be green? Why do I dream all the dreams that I dream and smell all the smells that I smell? Why am I here and not there?’’
The King is long forgotten now; he was left alone on an eternal and forsaken land of joy and now he can’t remember the path back home. His horse is weak and hungry, his subordinates all died of despair and his clothes are filthy. Yet, he is still the King, at least until his last breath will touch the green leaves of the oak, which has strangely grown in front of his grand-mother’s house. After 30 years, the tree is still there.
The king is waiting for his Queen. Long live the King!
02. fomin kamceatka
04. fosphone D
05. xszeelophon love
08. tuompan termask
09. memor membran
11. decompozitia platonica