Status Updates From As Noites Frias da Infância

I'm on medication. I'm put to sleep. My friends come to see me. Some bring me flowers. Some bring me fruit. They go back to city life. Leaving me to never-ending solitude. Nights come early to this hospital. But they don't know how to end. Dawn never comes.

[Este estilo telegráfico não resulta comigo...]

“No one mentions that life is none other than the days, nights and seasons through which we pass. We wait there waiting for the sign. Preparing. For what? (Now I am living in that future that rushes ever forward. No one is preparing me for anything any more…)”

Fragmentarisch en soms wat duizelend. Ik weet niet of ik Özlü’s schrijfstijl al helemaal kan smaken. Ik lees verder.

On Sundays…these days…if I am strolling down an alley…and catch sight of a father in pyjamas…or if, on a grey and raining winter day, I see smoke rising from a stovepipe…and windows fogged with steam…if I look in to see laundry hanging up to dry…if the clouds are almost low enough to touch the damp bricks…(..)…if I hear live football matches blaring from every radio…all I want is to go, go, go, and keep going.

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