Sunday, February 18, 2007
The light make my eyes hurt, but is impossible not to look. The rainstorm is in full rage. I’m save standing on the porch, but my body is trembling. The wind brings me drops, cold like ice, sweet like candy, and these pearls damp my hair and soak my clothes. The thunders scare the earth that trembles like me. You can be afraid but you need to admire the tempest. It’s out of control. Humans can’t prevent it. Maybe this is the motive for me to feel so alive when the storm breaks, the clouds drop their tears and the air comes alive with electricity and sounds. It’s in these moments that I am more aware of the blood running in my veins. I am alive and the world is too.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
They are strangers and maybe that is the reason why all seems so perfect. It’s not their first time, nor the second. They have been seeing each other for some time now, but the intimacy is limited to the sex. They don’t want to know. They don’t have time to care. They don’t need the ties that transform everything. Someday, maybe, but not today. They are anonymous in an anonymous city with anonymous jobs. They are not prepare to be personal, because caring and felling are a burden in this lost world. They don’t know, but in an anonymous way, they are the image of the decade.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Here I am, sitting in my old chair, thinking about nothing. Maybe some day I’ll think about important things, but not today. This day is an old one. A day for rest only, and for trying to remember how things were. Are you following me? Can you understand how old my thoughts are tonight? They smell like flowers and burnt sugar, they feel like silk and pure mountain water. The taste in my mouth is orange from the tree and chocolate from a box. Can’t you feel it? The rain is friendly and falls like sweet tears from the sky. The rain is old, too. It fell on me, a long time ago, on a sunny day in a countryside landscape. The drops make me fell new and the smell of the earth is fresh. Can’t you feel it? My skin is cold but it doesn’t feel wrong, my fingers run over the keyboard like bird’s wings. Wings.... I have wings in my mind, always had, this is old news too. I hear the sound of the wings, like a million bats crossing the night. Old things, old thoughts, old wings. I’m happy I can feel old like that, happy that the sounds, smells and feelings are still present in my spirit. Now, stay still, the moment can run away from here if you don’t stay very, very still. I can hear the pages of the books turning like a mad windmill. A thousand words jump from their pages and make a dance for my old thoughts. Time to rest, leaving all behind me, leaving, for tomorrow, the old things of my mind.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
The day never lasts. Soon is another one coming. It’ll be time to do all over again. You will do it too. We are rats in big cages, big labs and big experiments. But than, maybe we are not. Tomorrow try to do it backwards, or merely in another way. Wake up earlier and don’t rush. Take another bus to work. Try tea instead of coffee. Have a banana split for lunch and popcorn for diner. Call a friend and tell one true thing. Give a smile and a hello to a stranger. Put your best underwear for a dull day. Sing for your dog to sleep. Ask your kids to sleep with them and start a pillow fight. Tell someone how you really feel. Kiss like is the first time or the last one. Feel the power of knowing that you can change small things than change a big one.
Monday, February 12, 2007
The air is full of aromas, the wind bringing me the orient. Spicey flavour wrapped in reds and oranges. The leaves of the trees making music in the night. I try to concentrate, but all my dreams of the past manage to find the road that leads to the present. I surrender-why not? The reality is not appealing. So, I fly with the wind through the open door. The pyramids seem to rest in fluid gold but the vision doesn't last. A castle rests in the mist and I can feel the watery cloak that surrounds me. A river breaks through, the misty castle vanishing. A forest emerges and birds of infinite colors cross the sky. The river then ends abruptly into the sea, islands surfacing like dots on fabric. The sea freezes and the world turns white like memories before birth. I know this will never end if I don't want it to, but dreams can't warm me up in the winter, nor give me flowers in the spring. More than that, dreams can't kiss me with passion under the summer moon and will never give me a strong shoulder to support me during a fall. The dreams don't have strong and warm hands to brush my tears and will never understand what makes me laugh. I return.
Saturday, February 10, 2007
The door is slightly open. All I can see is a string of light making a line in the floor toward me. The noise is disturbing and while I step forward, I give two steps back. The noise woke me. The insistence of it bothers me. The light escaping through the crack in the door disturbed me. I am all alone. It’s the way I like it, but not with the noises from hell and the strange lights. The night started well: good pasta with garlic and olive oil and a large cappuccino, a movie without pretensions and 3 chapters of a wonderful book while nibbling a chocolate bar. All these wonderful little things prepare me for a good night’s sleep in a fresh comfortable bed. The noise… it awakened me in the middle of a pleasant dream where no door was disturbing. I got out of bed, feeling the floor boards still warm from the hot sun that had soaked it during the day and started my search. My mind was clear, my heart was in peace, but not for long. The door was ajar, when I know I had left it fully opened. And the light… Light where shadows dance like in a diabolic ballet. My heart is racing and I want to run, but something hits the door, the light vanishes and reapers in seconds. I hit the floor hard, losing my feet with the shock. The door is half open after banging the panel and the shadows are now alive with colors. I curse aloud. Yes, they are devils, but my own devils. The fluffy things are what are making the noise, closing the door and turning the lights on. I want to scream but I can only laugh. They are my joy, my dogs, but sometimes I think they make a poor use of their brains. The best thing now is to make some popcorn and watch a horror movie. To match the mood.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
All that blood...What did Shakespeare said about it? All I can do is watch the red river spiraling on the floor. I can’t move. I can’t breath. He is in an absurd position and I can't help but think how it happens that he, so strong, lay like a rag doll, old and battled. Something within me aches with pain and I turn to look in the mirror to see a stranger looking back at me. She has purple bruises all over her face; her eyes are huge in a strange sort of way. It’s a cold look. Surprise lies beneath the surface; deeper awakes an iron will, strange to the weakness of her own body. I do not know how much time I spent looking at my own face without recollection. People will tell me, later, over and over again, that it was shock, but I don’t think so. The woman in the mirror is more resilient, stronger and colder than I. And she is just Born.
You can see through the night. If you paid attention. If you don’t fear the unknown. If you have faith in your sanity. Staring into the night you can see eyes who stares back, you can hear whispers in tongues you understand but never learned, you can see shapes and movements and you can feel the breeze caressing your trembling body. It’s for the brave, the night, not for the weak of spirit. Senses go high leaving paths of fire in your blood. The reality is too much for the untrained eye and we close them too many times trying to understand what we glimpsed in the shadows. I have not much more to talk about. You need to be a night’s creature, like me, to understand and see, but if you feel your breath speeding while I talk so low and calmly, than, give me your hand and I will teach you how to walk in the dark.