... Thus, vanishing thoughts were being sublimated into memory, blinding light into the loud choir of cicadas. The sirens’ grinning flatus vocis; double-shaped beings fluctuating from real to visionary, factual to poetical, from one realm to the other. They’re like an empty amphora, memory, starting to get shape as soon as it’s filled up with sense; just like while listening to the flooding sea, actually the floating blood, in a shell. The engaging factor of their song it's not so much about the text as just the glittering coming from afar. If I hadn’t been listening to those enchanting chants, usually needful to last out the prosaic of everyday life, they would have stopped resonating in me; and like unappreciated lovers they would have turned their backs coming back to sink in their enigma.
