Bøger af Angelos Michalopoulos

A man and his Conscience are having a conversation about how to handle what they don't know how to fear, how not to pollute their world by letting their own silences live forever in them, how not to let everything that makes them sad make them also uglier than they are. As the conversation progresses, they move into such subjects as how many walls must they construct in order to become more visible to their own ambiguity, how many bad checks must they write to each other to be happier, how many sentimental fogs must they cross together before they feel they don't have to move forward anymore. After all, honesty is not to hide the truth from others, while happiness is not to try to hide it from one's own self.

The story of three couples who are about to discover that a marriage's happiness has many entrances but only one emergency exit. Living a life immersed in the questions of relationships that never cared to learn in what order to write their pages, they ended up embracing the part of the other's logic they understood best and the part of their own silence they understood least. The air between them is ready to take into its arms those endless hours of their lives they covered in silence all that they never found the courage to cover in words. It really wants to turn it into the song of six hearts that hand-in-hand will lay siege to the part of their truth they seek from their common future. You see, when a person is no longer able to own the truth today offers him, he convinces himself that it's time to fell in love with the myth tomorrow will eagerly supply him with.

In a duel with his self-confidence Paul is about to find out that he cannot quarrel with his future without quarreling with his favorite version of his own past as well, the one his self-confidence has deliberately forgotten in the most visible spot of his memory. You see, silence is not just the death of a word, it's also the death of a self confidence. Maybe this is why there are no insensitive hearts, just hearts that don't find it profitable anymore to feel. Are illusions the gifts a man's ego gives to his stupidity? Most possibly because rich is the person who cannot turn on the lights in that room of his mind where his poverty permanently lives. By doing everything to forget that he has appointed himself the favorite servant of the steepest cliffs that live inside him, the ones that swallow up economy-class truths and spit out first-class ambiguities, Paul will soon discover that he is the gratuity he gives his self-awareness so she will let him live another day without asking him too many questions.