Psychedelic perturbation


I enter the room, in which she is sitting on a black stool, waiting, with an appearance of curiosity, for what will happen. I told her that I had something important to give her, that I had found. A book, she must imagine, one more of those things, written by meddlesome and irrelevant third parties, to which she dedicates much of her time. She does not know that it is not a book, but I did not want to tell her what it was, because I thought that only by waiting for more of those quotidian objects would she come so close to the room, and wait there until she received something.

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Letter to Love


Something burns my throat, it is the evil again, the evil that attacks me each time something achieves to debilitate me. They have not been few, the days of my live, the days of dizzy presyncopatic states. At those moments, there are only two things that can elevate my spirits and eliminate my suffering; these are the medicine and the love. But the medicine takes hours to make effect, whilst love takes only a few milliseconds; however, the effect of the medicine is more durable, while the one of the love fades away as soon as I apart myself away from the one whom I love.

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