In the waxing hours of dawn, a lone man lies in bed, pondering. About life, about his dead mother, about the insects eating his flesh, and about green soap. Georgia Xanthopoulou invites us to peak into the brain of an individual whose racing mind cannot be settled and whose soul is so stained by memory that even the strongest of solvents may not sterilize it. A captivating mood piece.
In the waxing hours of dawn, a lone man lies in bed, pondering. About life, about his dead mother, about the insects eating his flesh, and about green soap. Georgia Xanthopoulou invites us to peak into the brain of an individual whose racing mind cannot be settled and whose soul is so stained by memory that even the strongest of solvents may not sterilize it. A captivating mood piece.