Blind days, blind notes.

Some weeks ago I’m just trying to turn on something that’s not real. Sometimes reality and solitude are huge and we cannot hide. Is hard the concept of “Loneliness”. It’s a big word and moreover when we don’t find ourselves and look always out for things we should find inside. But theory is always easy. Always easy to say “enjoy your life” “enjoy the things you do” blah, blah, blah. But… some days we are just sad and there’s nothing else to do but to bleed. Then, good times come to our minds and we always remember those sweet things so nostalgically... And pathetically complain about our present or whatever the dark moment is, and hope it was another time.
Then we clean up our wings and remember we are sitting on the damn floor because we fell and all things around us have a “special broken” touch… What a child!
So put out dust from your eyes. You wake up and find out that you made it. It was only too much drama on your work, on your normal duties…

How novels are made this days? Where are the good ones, the bad ones, the interesting ones, the fool ones? Where is Mr. Prince charming? Where is Ms. Pink Bunny?
Then let the wind blow your imagination. You are not anymore stoned by your own sympathetic sadness.
Is weekend, there’s a lot of music and a beautiful way to watch the world.

So it was not like everything was useless, it was only you, having a bad day and thank God there’s still music, people, mountains and good fortune.

I think I will erase a couple of words here… But it’s so hard to leave the
picture with the colours we'd chosen.

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Indiana May 1963

There was that man talking to me at the bar. Some physics and some atoms. He reminded me old Robert, so amazed about physics.
He was asking strange and tough questions. He asked me about travelling through the time, so unreal, about the time line. He said he wished he was again living some personal stories in the past. He was feeling so lucky just thinking about such a magic coin.
But I told him we shouldn’t move back. Our reality is not there and even it was possible, that couldn’t be real because our role is coming from present and belongs to the present. It could be a hurtful fake.
He looked sad at me and nodded. So sad he couldn’t go back, to his old love…

So I kept the last tear for you dear little darling. Now we are moving to the south and they told me they need a deadline for the project. I think they didn’t know it was January (…)

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