What is the time span to get used to misery … to get used to anything?
And who needs a paranoid, unpredictable, opportunist ruler over their head?
Only lately I have regained hope that educated, visionary people, with no invested interests, will do their best to reverse the "degeneration".
I loved my town, and its deserted streets, and its seas, and its abandoned suburbs, and its raped vestiges.
But I read faces. I have this curse. And the faces express more and more despair and solitude when looking for fairness, justice and hope.
So I choose to flee once more … to survive, to be able to talk again through images ... not that anyone cares (by Michail Moscholios)
"Σεπτέμβρης 1979. Aνασαίνοντας τα χνώτα της τσιμεντούπολης, ανάμεσα σε βαλίτσες και στοιβαγμένα όνειρα, πνίγοντας τους λυγμούς του αποχωρισμού ... η έγκυος παιδεία κάνει μια ακόμη έκτρωση ..."