from: ...
title: ...
form: text; electronic text file

You are a mathematical expression, maybe an equation. As contradictio in adiecto as a round triangle-shaped cylinder. Do you know how nice is that image for a mirror whose life is full of begging not to let two times two equal to four?

A sound, be it a shout or a whisper...You tell your state of affairs quietly, as if hesitating to utter the words, but always selecting them carefully, as if you are in a hurry and having no self-belief, in a bashful way not suiting you... However, it always requires footnotes, quotations, and “See...” directions.

You are both a gift and a sin...Not only with your image and silhouette, but also with the tone of your voice and what you tell or what you don’t tell, you are a gift, yes, and a sin too, if I can say so...I think you know both words well.

You are a book, frantic are your words and sentences,
they can’t even bear to be finished, and fall side by side with a role-playing refusing to be recognized easily...

You talked gibberish for a while...you become a bird, a lame bird...What you tell were always listened to with interest, with pleasure, and were found entertaining. A lame bird, a bewildered fish, a black lid, a deep well...lame, imprisoned...The mirror had told the reflection upon it to send other birds, however they are...Send them to make the broken wings, torn beaks, captains and seamen happy...the attractiveness of nothingness or what remains of the flow, steam and weight: if no birds fly, it will be a desolated place...again the void remained. See it, but never fill it! Where did you take it, from where you brought it, with your wingless syncopation. From the bird’s view, the mirror is a thief of glances, and you knew it immediately – or did you?

You are sometimes a city, do you know? A city from the bird’s view. A gold bug, behind the red door, an owl or a flying mouse...a road leading to the cities or a secret. It makes one to set off on a journey to find his own city, it forces one to look at himself from the bird’s view, like you and your cities do...It can be called a siege.

A criminal and a public prosecutor...A face you saw through the window of a bus many years later, perhaps you should have been left with your forgetfulness even today, but you dared to challenge your executioner. I don’t know whether it is courage, unawareness or guidance. However, if the knowledge of a mirror is left to another mirror drawn by what are seen and stealing the glances, it will turn into a self-settling, an attempt to take revenge, an ambition to put someone in his place, and maybe a refusal of indifference...

You are sometimes a color...Not a hidden color, but a color favoring the black, supporting the black. Sure, it is luminous, but it is a color owing its existence more to shadows, as if using the light to create the shadow.

You are a wind too...resembling a cool breeze. As strong to move a tulle, to shake the water, to make the wheat ears to shiver, or to blow one or two leaves of paper away...May you shut a door, bend a tree, make them run for shelter... This mirror never witnessed anything, who knows, maybe it always devoted to the most controlled moments, in the times of confronting with that mirror.

The secrets of this mirror include memories of a beach town located in the westernmost coast of a country located between the east meridians 26 to 45, or memories of a water polo game, and a design signed by the great Egon, driving some bugs away which like neither slippers nor shoes at the terrace of an observatory overlooking to roofs, dancing a few tango steps following footprints, etc. But they were excluded because of the fact that they and some others similar to them had been used on an Indian pillow. Those who don’t believe it can ask it to the clouds.