You stand on an ice-covered road,
Feeling the cold beneath your feet—
Your black, grotesque car is warm
But you don’t get in,
You simply don’t want to go anywhere, not to any house.
The driver who was taking you watches,
He can’t find the right words, he’s confused.
You’re like the hero from Camus’ The Stranger, but it’s cold with you,
Pain torments you because you’ve seen so much,
What hurt you, how much more will hurt you, senseless hatred, too much love, pain, pain, even more pain.
Wrong people, out of place.
You kick the ice,
You feel nothing!
A wrong feeling.
"Wrong" by Depeche Mode is the right song
For this moment.
Wrong from the start,
The wrong people by your side, misplaced.
Where do you stop?
You dissolve into the road, the driver continues in your place.
You’re sleepy, you simply fall asleep.

I want to listen to the playlist I used to play before, when I would carelessly throw thousands of music tracks into love, connecting with another world, traveling through it, finding the people I had lost, and telling them what I couldn’t say back then.

I would reread Mauriac, Hesse, and every book I’ve ever read.

I would relive those feelings, the initial emotions when I first discovered Francesca Woodman’s photography.

I would go back to that café I used to frequent, where I would sink into sadness, have something to drink—even though I neither drank nor smoked back then.

I would find a small dimension for myself, just as I wanted, to escape sorrow. I would shelter myself there for a few years and return with a clear mind—free.

My mind is like an overgrown field, mixed with thorns and weeds.
Like a wandering dervish, but not at peace.
I think I’ll smoke a cigarette on the veranda,
with coffee.
Or maybe I’ll take a long walk,
to open a door for these stifling thoughts.

In the poem, I spoke of:
I wanted to go to Japan,
But I lost my wallet.

In the homeland of  "Thousand Cranes,"
My first touch
With that remarkable
Book, I felt.

I wanted to go to Japan,
To see the rustling of kimonos.

But I lost my wallet.

I was going in the spring, to
Feel the scent of sakura.

One day when I left the house,  
I wandered through the streets of Station Square.  
I was at the casino,  
Not to gamble, but for the spectacle.  
I was walking quickly back home when the only valuable thing I had,  
A Canon camera, fell onto the curb.  
But I returned home calmly,  
That day, I remembered you,  
I sensed you had a problem.  
I wished your wife would lose her child.  
A short while later, a horrible pain struck my abdomen,  
As if one of the vampires from a book  "Interview with the Vampire"had devoured my insides.  
More than that, I entered the bathroom,  
Started vomiting blood.  
I thought for a while, then realized,  
You have the power of pain.  
Now, when I feel the same,  
I curl up on the bed, soothing you.

Cows that get lost without a trace In dense forests, Among sprawling leaves, between green trees, Where there seems to be no end, and if it ends, another identical forest begins...
The fruitless search has its own result — An attempt.
I don't know these feelings, for I haven't lost anything I wonder if perhaps I've lost Something important — I try to remember But in vain, Nothing like that has happened.
Farmers who lose cows, Talk to other farmers About how they lost, Simply put, money.
"I tried but couldn't find it," they say, While extinguishing tobacco in an oddly deformed shape.