روی تخت دراز کشیده‌ام

پنجره اتاق

قاب رنج است و خزان.

تو آخربن برگی

آخرین برگ داستان “ا.هنری”

اگر بیفتی من می میرم!

.

* از ایـنـجـا

How right our Aryan ancestors were to create gods. We seek $..€..X, and are left with two private bodies on a stained bed. The larger €r0tiC dream, the god, has eluded us. It is so whenever, moving out of ourselves, we look for extensions of ourselves. It is with cities as it is with $..€..X. We seek the physical city and find only a conglomeration of private cells. In the city as nowhere else we are reminded that we are individuals, units. Yet the idea of the city remains; it is the god of the city that we pursue, in vain.

پ.ن. ما آزمودیم در این شهر بخت خوبش - بیرون کشید باید از این ورطه رخت خویش

[Behzad]: ‘But I love her still. I still think of her.’

[Naipaul]: ‘How often do you think of her? Every day? Once a week?’

[Behzad]: ‘I think of her when my mind is clear. There are many things now. but I think of her.’

و در آن روز
به احتمال زیاد
از شما خواهند پرسید
با کسی که دوستتان داشت چه کردید…

.

* نقل از ایـنـجـا