Look at that, - [best motivational books of all time .TXT] 📗

radar, assuming in the annals the not so enviable rep-utation of the most ephemeral famous writer. Did he, perhaps, like an aeroplane, crash with no survivors or did he – something that did not necessarily rule out the former – intentionally deactivate his transponder? As for the possibility of locating the black box with the internal monologue in the cockpit of his brain, there was none, since some time ago it must have ceased to transmit the characteristic signal. Further-more, what sort of bee, Stergiou kept racking his brain wondering, had got in his bonnet so that in his fifties he would start, out of nowhere, writing relentlessly, the experiences through which he had accumulated all those words inside of him that, inexorably, at some point came to ask for a way out and found it in a work that, considering the amount of time it took to write it, could be best described as pharaonic? Whence did the specific content, style and ethos originate from? How, finally, why and for what did the initial Panopoulos become in the process Panourgias and Panourgias again and forevermore Panopoulos?

And yet, a few months back, Stergiou didn’t know he even existed. And he would continue to do so costlessly and blissfully, had his professor, by the name Trigazis, not had the bright idea of assigning

So famous in fact that the SMS spellchecker on Android phones had included his name in the suggestion list.

It jumps out that you wrote it when Malaysia Airlines plane disappeared. And the above mentioned erga omnes when the Macedonian dispute was rekindled.

And Simos into Babis.

Simos Panopoulos - Look at that

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him a dissertation project on the exact subject of post post-modernism in Greek literature through the figure and work of Panopoulos. He accepted unflinchingly, foolishly thinking that he would knock it off in no time; summer, you see, was approaching and amongst his group of friends, the traditional conversations about the right choice of island to visit had already flared up. Little did he know though that, instead of the ship of the non-profit line44, he would be board-ing on a profitable yet extensive search wherein crim-inal journalism and literary analysis would intermix charmingly. That, because of it, his holiday would go down the drain. That this way, he was