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Hora Lunga

WIRREN     
Wirren
WIRREN
2021

๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ธ๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ฎ
Another wild dream. What is that, a wild dream? When you wake up in a room, in the midst of thirteen ghosts curling around their instruments, when you swim in that room as if in a viscous liquid, when you descend, not understanding where the hissing and scratching comes from, when you run after a timid melody, as the room grows longer and longer, a gaping corridor, then cotton wool, when you're electrocuted, or when you fall asleep in a dream, come to your senses in a bass drum, hang upside down from the strings, stick your head out of a tin horn and realise you have it all in your hands: Unimagined blasts of reality drive into you when you are there, or are there, or are lying there, your ears are your better eyes and you are a lucid, blind, composing spirit for yourself.
๐š†๐™ธ๐š๐š๐™ด๐™ฝ ๐š’๐šœ ๐šŒ๐š‘๐šŠ๐š–๐š‹๐šŽ๐š› ๐š–๐šž๐šœ๐š’๐šŒ ๐š๐š˜๐š› ๐šŠ๐š—๐šŠ๐š›๐šŒ๐š‘๐š’๐šœ๐š๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐šœ๐š˜๐šŒ๐š’๐šŠ๐š• ๐š–๐šŽ๐š๐š’๐šŠ ๐šŠ๐š๐š๐š’๐šŒ๐š๐šœ, ๐šœ๐š•๐šŽ๐šŽ๐š™๐š ๐šŠ๐š•๐š”๐šŽ๐š›๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐š๐šŠ๐šข ๐š๐š‘๐š’๐šŽ๐šŸ๐šŽ๐šœ, ๐šœ๐š˜๐šŒ๐š’๐šŠ๐š• ๐š›๐š˜๐š–๐šŠ๐š—๐š๐š’๐šŒ๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐š™๐š˜๐šœ๐š-๐šœ๐š๐š›๐šž๐šŒ๐š๐šž๐š›๐šŠ๐š•๐š’๐šœ๐š๐šœ, ๐š๐š˜๐š› ๐š๐š‘๐š˜๐šœ๐šŽ ๐š ๐š‘๐š˜ ๐šŠ๐š›๐šŽ ๐š๐š›๐š˜๐š ๐š—๐š’๐š—๐š ๐š’๐š— ๐šŽ๐šŸ๐šŽ๐š›๐šข๐š๐šŠ๐šข ๐š•๐š’๐š๐šŽ, ๐š๐š˜๐š› ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐šœ๐šž๐š™๐šŽ๐š›๐šœ๐š๐š’๐š๐š’๐š˜๐šž๐šœ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐š๐š‘๐šŽ ๐šŒ๐š˜๐š—๐š๐š›๐š˜๐š•-๐š˜๐š‹๐šœ๐šŽ๐šœ๐šœ๐šŽ๐š, ๐š๐š˜๐š› ๐šŽ๐šŸ๐šŽ๐š›๐šข๐š˜๐š—๐šŽ ๐š ๐š‘๐š˜ ๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š— ๐š›๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š ๐šŠ ๐š–๐šŠ๐š™ ๐šŠ๐š—๐š ๐š๐š˜๐š› ๐šŽ๐šŸ๐šŽ๐š›๐šข๐š˜๐š—๐šŽ ๐š ๐š‘๐š˜ ๐šŒ๐šŠ๐š—'๐š ๐š›๐šŽ๐šŠ๐š ๐šŠ ๐š–๐šŠ๐š™.
๐‡๐Ž๐‘๐€ ๐‹๐”๐๐†๐€
HORA LUNGA
๐˜๐˜–๐˜™๐˜ˆ ๐˜“๐˜œ๐˜•๐˜Ž๐˜ˆ