TE16 Turkish Delight

Mario Levi a narrator, he once more nervously considered his role in such a dream; the covert agreements he’dmade with certain protagonists, the unfinished, unrealizeddesigns, and the lies that hadnever taken anyone anywhere in the history of this long body of text. He made coffee on the stove and checked that he had enough cognac and tobacco, wishing inwardly that he could tell someone about the magic of withdrawing into the night, of seeking sanctuary there after a barrage of songs. These were actually among the details and themes his author also frequently returned to and for some reason enjoyed repeating. Such nights contained unspent sentences and words that invited certain memories and sorrows; such nights meant a journey, belated and oft-unrealized, to a person, a story, or a far, extremely faraway country. (He was no stranger to such sentiments, of course, or to similar turns of phrase, considering the adventures he’ d previously experienced or had to endure. He was a prisoner to certain obsessions, he was aware his author had introduced him as such, a prisoner to certain obsessions. The trouble here stemmed from the fact that as with almost all matters and sentiments, there was a hyperawareness concerning certain truths. As it was, however, hopelessness tended to knock on our doors at unexpected times in unexpected forms. One could never know their location on the path to transformation and self- reflection, and could never hope to know. The pain of wisdom, however, had been mentioned many, many centuries ago.) That’s part of the reason why I must devise a completely different history and if necessary an appearance, some sort of mask, he thought to himself, so I can enjoy certain longings and bittersweet joys, and that was partly why he didn’t condemn this groundwork, was


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