dis.a.p.r

I sit and i listen to the silence. The room is bleached white with lime. At some time chickens feet of schratches have shot across the white ceiling; at some time, flakes of plaster have come down with a rustle. Shall i reveal that my room has been bricked up? Hows that? Bricked up? However could I find my way out? Here is how the matter really stands:

  There is no barrier to determination. Nothing can resist adamant wilfulness. I need only imagine a door, a fine old door like the door in the kitchen of my childhood, with its iron handle and bolt. There is no room so bricked up that such a trusted door will not open, if only one can go believing it is there.

AKINATON - and the fun begins :D