Trafika Europe 4 - Armenian Rhapsody

VI mov.: Ha Daisu

None of this is real (is it?) Not the stupid death sowed

in the suburban edge through negligence. Not even the white smoke between rooftops, the same colour as the plaster sky that tore flesh off our bones. History also passed nearby so try looking for traces, but everything is a wide farrago, incoherent sands, and you have to climb up deposits of facts of no importance, dull minutes of worthless lives, rewinding metres of virgin tape, of empty space, blank tape or blank verse, white noise (it didn’t record anything, something must have gone wrong), delays, then interpret the mistakes of the ticket machine, crash into the confused cabalas of useless days, of pocket money, receipts, notes and clippings, signatures, labels, brands, reputation: my name is part of the landscape and I am this name and this body, the character adapted to the sound,

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