Why am I writing? only the oracle knows the answer.. I actually had my first meeting with her at the local greek brothel, me and the gang rambled about false prophecies and hanging in the city..ah, Delphi is not as it used to be..and the oracles are long gone..still we talk from time to time, living our own unwritten tragedies.
Finally Oedipus is stuck in my head, comfortable and sprawly, but right now he doesn't occupy my mind all that much, it's another fellow, illusional as well, called Willy Loman. Of all the good righteous men, he's the best, colorful, beautiful man in this world. And this world is not as fictional as it seems..no, the world is actually quite real, only that Willy is dead, buried, with a child's spark in his closed eyes, he's curious.. I hope he found himself some diamonds in the death's dark womb.
So I'll add "Death of a salesman" to my humble list deep down this chaste site, it deserves the love of humanity, it is humanity.. only that people forgot somewhere down the road what does humanity mean. Now I know what it means, I never doubted it for a second, but now I have Willy on my side. isn't it amazing how a book can effect one's soul? and how mine shed tears during the aching end, asking "why oh why?", and so with his death I loved him even more, now he's beautiful, and no grave can spoil this man's glittering personality. It's a shame that he thought he's nothing, because he's Everything, he's nature, he's the wind, he's the warm earth, oh what a salesman.. a man's profession is not his entity, I would tell him that, I would tell him not to cry, not to die, not to feel so sad..after all- we make mistakes, even the most horrible mistake can be faded and forgotten...
I shall remember this book, for as long as I live.

It's vacation, one day vacation.. whoopie~hey! err.. tomorrow it's routine time again.. can't get enough of it.. so I'm alone right now, trying to digest the impressions, the thoughts, the influence, the renewed passion for literature, for the written word, for the sacred feeling.
Ah, I call them all- Miller, Ibsen, Beckett,
Kafka, Agnon, Sophocles - I am here, ready to gather your seasons, your stories, yourselves!

Oh, I am happy for moving on, with my psyche, to the embracing arms of the soul.
I've just read a story by Kafka about a man who writes a complaint about human apathy, he's so raged about the situation where people don't care if someone falls in the street.
And then a voice of one child's cries is rising through the window, and the man remembers that his child is playing outside, so he goes disturbed outside and then he's so exalted because it was not his child, it was another child.

I think it's so wise.. how he sees those things and write about it, I agree totally.. we always try to be beyond humanity but the fact is that we're a part of it, we can't be pure.. even if we try.
I have to share with you (whoever reads my nonsense) a sweet e-cards site I found, it's really a lovely one! very humorous and inviting! it's here: www.egreetings.com, I hope you'll enjoy it and send some interesting cards to the people you love, I find it amusing..yep indeed.

so I guess that's it..
That book made me think, and as far as I understand I know my life is a mistake - now, I don't mean the actual breathing process, but the way of living, the surrending to social frames, the million things that don't have any meaning.. and why you ask? because we can't decide for yourselves.
God bless democracy.
enough with god, why do I use this word? err..for the record: I'm an atheist....umm...I think..:)

so that's all for today, October now.. wow, damn life..soon it will be over.

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