Automatic photography

For André Breton and Jorge Luis Borges

This evening I followed my feet and the cold came upon me.
"You're lucky sir. The hotel room is available this evening. Down the hall."
At the end of the corridor I turn right onto another corridor, which leads to another corridor, and more corridors.
Troubled by this labyrinth, I stop.
The room is here.
I go to bed.

In my dream, I see a door that opens onto a corridor which leads on to other corridors, but it's not the same hotel. I've seen the hope, the revolt, the passion and the doubts of the people who have slept here.

The telephone rings and the receptionist asks me to free up the room. I go back to the corridor to… carry… on… passing through… time… like a ghost.

Pedro Marzorat