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Puddles-rain-clouds


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#1 Nihilio

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Posted 03 Ιούνιος 2007 - 00:31

Βία; Όχι
Σεξ; Όχι
Αριθμός Λέξεων:554
Αυτοτελής; Ναι
------
Puddles


The little boy stood over the puddle of water. Feet bare, he stepped in it and watched its surface ripple. The man stood beside him, casting his hulking shadow over him.
“So, this is the end of the road,” said the boy, without turning around to face him.
“Yes,” the man replied, his voice deep.
“It was not a question,” said the boy and knelt down. Knuckles bare, he sank his right fist in the puddle and watched the surface ripple. The man still stood behind him, looking at his reflection ripple and then clear again.
“It was a long road though, was it not?” mused the man.
“Yes, it was,” the boy replied. “Now kneel and watch the water.”
“Why?” asked the man.
“Because,” the boy replied.
The man did as he was told. His reflection stared back at him.
“I am missing something here,” he said.
“Yes, you are” the boy replied.
And the puddle rippled as the first raindrop broke its surface.

Rain
A heavy canopy of raindrops obscured his vision. The boy was nowhere to be seen. The boy that led him here, in this deserted valley. One moment they were together, staring at a puddle of water, then the boy was gone, as soon as the storm that was brewing all this time broke out. And he stood there, alone, soaked to the bone.
Then he looked down, to his feet, seeing only the puddle swelling with the rain, mirroring his face distorted by countless ripples. The boy had offered Absolution and offered only a puddle of water and a distorted image of himself. The image of a man shattered by water drops violently hitting the surface. Was his life not different?
All his life he wanted to be a man. But he had lived by the rule of a lie for a lie and a fist for a fist. Just as his Sunday school teacher had preached, 'an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth'. He suffered the lies and the cheating and the abuse and he paid them back in earnest. It was, after all, the right thing to do. And by the time the score was even, he was less than a man, an image of a man rippled by the turmoil of his life.
And now he knew what his life had been, the surface of a puddle broken by a storm, an image distorted by life and his sins the ripples life caused, a man shattered by them.
He knew, and his eyes were heavy, like clouds pregnant with rain.


Clouds
The boy touched his hand.
“What do you see?” he asked him.
The storm died down. The raindrops became scarce, then stopped altogether. The leaden clouds loomed heavy above them, once again calm.
But the puddle still rippled by drops, a rain from a different kind of clouds, clouds of guilt hidden inside the man's eyes. Raindrops that ran down his face and into the puddle.
“Myself,” the man answered.
“Now you are free,” the boy answered, his eyes red like burning coals.
The man remained silent and just nodded in agreement. And above them, the leaden wall of clouds was torn in two and the first rays of the sun seeped through the crack.
He walked away, free at last.
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- Civilised men are more discourteous than savages because they know they can be impolite without having their skulls split, as a general thing.

R.E. Howard - The Tower of the Elephant

#2 iliosporos

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Posted 26 Ιούνιος 2007 - 02:05

Η ιστορία ενός παιδιού, όχι απλού παιδιού, που διδάσκει το γέρο είναι έξυπνη και καλογραμμένη.
Μπορώ να διαβάσω την ιστορία άνετα αλλά όσο και αν έχω εμπλουτίσει το λεξιλόγιό μου διαβάζοντας αγγλικά βιβλία δεν είμαι ο κατάλληλος άνθρωπος να σου κάνει διορθώσεις για το πως θα μπορούσε να βελτιωθεί το κείμενο απο τεχνικής πλευράς.

Δεν ξέρω αν θα μου έκανε την ίδια εντύπωση αν είχες αποφασίσει να το γράψεις στα ελληνικά. Ακόμα το σκέφτομαι.
Πάντως έτσι είναι πολύ πιο ατμοσφαιρικό

Και η αγαπημένη μου φράση: The image of a man shattered by water drops violently hitting the surface. Was his life not different?
There is a secret song at the center of the world, and its sound is like razors through flesh...
I'm here, to turn up the volume


"Pinhead" - Hellraiser 3

#3 Nienna

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Posted 26 Ιούνιος 2007 - 12:06

Γνωστή αρχετυπική ιστορία, αλλά όμορφα γραμμένη. Εξ άλλου όλες οι ιστορίες έχουν γραφτεί, λίγο-πολύ, όπως λέει κι ο [current obsession μου] Borges. Ίσως να ήθελα λίγο πιο μεγάλο το μέρος των συννέφων, λίγο αργότερα τα δάκρυα. Δεν ξέρω. Πάντως είναι όμορφο, είναι παραβολικό. Έχω κάτι με αυτά.
Her hair spread out in fiery points glowed into words,
then would be savagely still.
– T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land.

[ ποίησηκαιτέτοια * οπτικάπράμματς * μεγάλ'ηχάρητης ]




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