Passenger Contact for Hysterical Subconcious

By Gianlubodai

Random meetings, sought contacts, to find in our society.
We dont' judge answers, certain behaviors stay there, near you.
We remain focused on ourselves but we are surrounded by a plurality of experiences, of those who are around us only for a moment or for most of our lives.
Existence and coexistence. A cross-section of life, every day. And then everything around you will have an answer to put on your notebook.
A true tellingstory about our life. 10 chapters, a lot of situations.
With a smile on your face and your eyes wide open. With your trolley near you.
"I left and came back, peeling off flower petals in the places where I left my heart.
I came back because I just couldn't feel the ring of home so far away.
Insurmountable detachment.
I left because it was a shame to leave the trolley emptyfor a long time..."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716312656

Book preview

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Passenger contact for hysterical subconscious

written and thought by gianlubodai, all right reserved 2020

cover photo by gianlubodai

    ISBN: ISBN ING LULU.PNG

Private investigations

on this millennium

Looking around,

sure that no one will be there for my whole life,

sure that someone else will barely touch me.

CHAPTERS

1 Catching a moment, for inappropriate postcard (page 6)

2 Uncomfortable characters (page 24)

3 Weren’t they supposed to be space encounters but? (page 31)

4 Walking with my trolley (page 40)

5 Personal searches (page 49)

6 An exemplary encounter (page 61)

7 Rumours from the kitchen (page 72)

8 Suspicious Dating (page 85)

9 Presidential insights (page 104)

10 Beyond winter hours (page 117)

Sometimes you wait for something.

The notebook is there, it’s ready to welcome your thoughts

and to catch a clumsy contact which will come, sooner or later.  Then everything around, you’ll have an answer…

Walking through this town, during work or in your kitchen:

you can find a way… anywhere, any meetings…

watching who’s around you, maybe beside your trolley,

our partner in this era, who knows a lot about you.

Chapter 1

Catching a moment,

for inappropriate postcard

Catching a moment

The sensations that fade away

shatter in an intoxicated way.

Meanwhile your thoughts run

so much that they get away

before they're even deciphered.

If you

If you were too happy

you might not be able

to meditate deeply

If you were too handsome

the muscles of your face

wouldn’t move enough

to keep shining

If you were too respectable

someone else would insist on oppressing

your noble qualities

If you were too honest,

people would wonder how much insincerity

was hiding behind your ability

and could overestimate your humanity.

The story of a long Sunday

I'm not thinking about anything,

I'm trying to clear my head

beyond the commitments

which nag at me every day.

I have to throw out the Sunday worry, too,

the worry of an inconclusive day

before my brain degrades even more.

Sad sad

A man opens a paper bag, sad sad, throws breadcrumbs into the air, to test the greed of a seagull.

In his crumpled suit, sad sad, he pulls out a whole sandwich.

Then, one after the other, following a flock which grows larger.

Who knows if the diners notice the deep furrow

on the face of that man who wants to share a twist of fate.

I wonder if they can interpret the ending they have in common.

It would be a slap in the face not to know what they’re dealing with.

While another seagull manages to snatch a greedy meal from the air,

overcomes its shyness and risks a kiss on the forehead of his new friend. The agreement is already established.

Fortuitous match

Awkward comments for passenger contacts,

suspended contacts,

rebellious and lighthearted, perhaps self-deprecating,

around us.

It’s possible to travel and to perceive

an infinite number of corridors

in which to sort a multicoloured correspondence.

Need for detachment

What a problem your company is,

I need detachment but if I get used

to seeing you around, when I leave

I’ll get too nervous.

Metamorphosis of