Ninopoli

@ioenina

Sometimes the genie of the lamp is the lamp — the genie realized.

@ioenina

@ioenina

@ioenina

@ioenina

@ioenina

@ioenina

@ioenina

@ioenina

@ioenina

@ioenina

@ioenina

Sometimes I find myself so immersed in a strangeness that resembles me, that I feel as though I’m wrapped in a wadding of cotton then I walk into a room full of balloons and soft soap bubbles and I feel like a sharp beak that will never find a place to rest – but nobody asked you to feel at home everywhere.

The words you don’t say remain in circulation, on a merry-go-round whilst you don’t speak the words, they carry on playing in their playground waiting for the game of words to be free to be played the swing is always empty; it’s the only game they never play. words – spoken or unspoken – don’t like to come back, they say.

The more you think about it, the more your gut feeling will believe that you don’t trust him — so don’t complain later if he wanders off into the countryside, to gaze at the windmills that tell him stories of Don Quixote.

[liberamente ispirato alle endless tales di Remy Charlip, 1969]