Corfu is known as the greenest of the Greek islands. That is why I wanted to go there, together with my wife, Gerhild. To the sea, of course, because I like to swim as far as I possibly can.
On the day before our flight to Corfu, the postman delivered the book “Autobiography of a Spiritually Incorrect Mystic” by Osho, and I instantly began to read. It gave me the idea to accompany our three-week vacation, which Gerhild and I wanted to spend being exceptionally lazy, with lyric poetry and pieces of short prose.
In Petrití, I finished Osho's book, went on to a magazine about Buddhism in Austria, which I had found in the oratory at Vienna airport, and finally read a short crime novel from the guest library of our B&B, Égrypos. During the rest of our stay I barely read anything at all. I simply existed, and took a good look at what was happening inside and around me. This felt considerably medicinal to me.
At any time during the day or night, I was in a receptive state. Our time in Petrití, and the days shortly before and after, saw the creation of all in all 85 pieces, two thirds short prose and one third lyric poetry. I've put them in this book in chronological order, from August 30 to September 29, 2015: Nature observations, life experiences, ideological considerations, dream adventures, and mischief.
