I have not sat in front of the machine for so long. I no longer remember how to start, or how to follow. Just a scattered recollection of images and people, or ghosts of people, by their faltering condition, their flimsy condition, as flimsy as mine. Outside, I can hear the singing of late night birds, as if they had come from a dream or a piece of day that refused to die and persevere all night, as ambassadors of god Ra, who preannounced a still distant dawn.
How did I reach to this? Honestly, I do not know. Maybe it was the death of my friend. But I´m not sure...
"The new mysteries of Noelia"
