Fra Mandallen

Girl opens the doors. She sees the Ocean and the waves that belonging to their master have forgotten that he is made of them. Her father left in the time where the time was still in front of his own reflection, in the times when people didn´t know about his existence.
Sometimes she dreams that she can recognize his face amongst the ones that are spinning on the wheel of whispered wishes. She tries to grab his profile, to encounter the glance that she has never been given, to embrace the hair that smell no other that she knows. From the savage rage, from the bottom of her shell, she can observe the world that remains her own imaginary fantasies about the love, about the past, about her hidden half that she couldn't have established. She enters the room full of sparkling lights, the candles invite her to the common walk. Step by step, uncertain of the next one, she sinks deeper in the ,moving train. Even if she knows that those can't stand together, that the train cannot cross the river, that the water could easily kill the light, even though she knows that she dreams and she dreams her own dream, where impossible becomes real, where real creates only the structure on which she hangs the images. She sits comfortable on the sofa. In front of her like in private cinema the movie has been screening. She applies more volume that she could hear more clearly, that the sound becomes unbearably obsessive. She wants to listen to the words, she wants to see behind them thousands different worlds that created by the single waves can multiply her visions, that she could try to select the one that will remain even after.
A girl is accompanied by a man. They pace together on the colorful streets of abstract and undiscovered smells of spices. They try to talk the language that they can barely understand. They look into their eyes and they know the words are over them, over the market, over the street, even over the realm of the dream in which they perform to be actors. They know that in front of the screen there is a woman that waits for words, that waits for the ensure of her thoughts. But mouths of both of them are closed, only eyes smile and glimpses dance along the road of hidden senses. Suddenly the road is followed by the path, the path is followed by the stream, the stream is followed by the drops, small pieces o cry that falls on them with tension. The girl takes the mans hand and drug him to the tree.
- Look there is no leaves on this tree.
- You can hang them if you want. Answers the man, and he room is fulfilled with the words, echoing the last 'want' in serpentine of thoughts.
- No, I will not do that. People should hang them, not me.

The end of tape wakes her up from this strange dream. She tries to carry her body up, but in the head like the bombs explode the last sentence of her dream. Why does it have to happen to her. Why all this sounds and images terrorize her each time when she want to rest from her life, from the presence. Why cannot she dream about something else. Actually, why she has to dream at all.