os trabalhos e os dias vivendo o sonho e a realidade ao mesmo tempo (1)


Noite funda

Juntam-se muitas vozes na minha cabeça, ou será só a minha? São convivas habituais, juntam-se em mim como vizinhos que desde sempre se sentam à mesma mesa do café. Juntam-se e falam:

Coleridge lamenta:

Who is the God of the dead? where doth he make his dwelling? what sacrifices are acceptable unto him? for I have offered, but have not been received; I have prayed, and have not been heard; and how can I be afflicted more than I already am?

Diz Poe:

Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

Ian Curtis grita:

Touching from a distance, further all the time

Emily, deliciosa Emily, fala tu, fala até que eu durma:

I ’m nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They ’d banish us, you know.

Falam as vozes, não fala ninguém.