(O Consciousness overwhelmed three pages)
The quiet is a relative good. While I enjoy a cup of tea after a remarkable evening with a good friend, with whom snuff smoke a pipe and drank a scotch 12 years, several things start to reread. Documents on my computer, loose papers on the desk, piles of feelings in notebooks, a tangle of memories walking through the cingulum and the rest of the crust.
In the rereading, especially because the last thing you put in this blog, I realized something. No peace, never in my life. I'm always on the edge of the knife, it does not matter how stable it seems that is, forever my life is a sustained spin on the end. Always turning, always standing, swaying and stumbling.
sometimes gives the impression of a noble firmness, a position worthy of a Prussian an oak or a stretched width Araucaria, extending in drink his arms toward the horizon, heaven, receiving and thanking. But it is not always so. Sometimes it takes a flexible stance dancer moves and gravity-defying, but certainly that has dropped thousands of times in the attempt. Of a willow, which pleased her hair swaying in the wind, or reed-playing limbo with time.
This looks wonderful. It sounds as if life was rigged, as if they were just wants to stay in such a way, enjoying the resort. But the need is not that the desire is not that, and therefore the quality is not.
The Prussian refer pain in the legs, back. But it does not support unrestricted in his life or his stop. Want to retirement, awkward sitting in a chair reading a book of novels, or watch the fire consume the logs in the fireplace. The oak is cracked, the Araucaria calls for a solution to difficult to get your nutrients, and the same, it stretches up to see if his prayer is heard better. For its part, the dancer is tired of the beatings, his joints hurt, your feet hurt, your cadence away with the enthusiasm of those who see it as graceful, and forget it instantly. And the sauce you want to have sparse hair, or not have them, for no longer hide her grief, or the junk you want to be more determined to face the wind that challenges you, that threatens it.
As always, I went by the winding paths of language. Where the comparison, the beauty of language takes precedence over the child screaming drives me to write. And perhaps the existence of a child that makes me uneasy thus, to live in this unstable equilibrium that drives me to live in a world full of handles, railings, of pans and media, while others Sometimes I can flaunt my balance, I have gained strength.
Because the child is naughty swanky goods you have. Boasting of his new gifts or skills, get in the face of the most unfortunate possession of attributes that are only a gift, be a consenting father of a lucky genetic or challenging mystery of God that has been misunderstood as a gift.
And I do not care to tell me I'm a crybaby. I have no real dilemmas of whom worry, that my life in the worst of terms is privileged, full of comfort that I'm not missing anything. But the child, What the hell cares what you think? Children may mourn and complain about what they want. If spoiled, as he is, may be all you want weeping, for it has been trained for long years to get what he wants in that way, to complain about the least to consider bad or harmful, or undesirable . Only this time there is no one listens, because nobody would be able to meet such deficiencies or to ignore these releases.
is so easy to talk in third person. You undress and violating any privacy in that it describes. You know you're the same, which is your own essence, leaving the ring, but still continue. You know it is you who will say Prussian, or dancer, or last child, or Marcel, or David, or Francisco. That the same are the ones who never forget anything, remember all the faces, each one will associate a particular smell, thanks to a privileged smell, a song for your music listening privileged. A feeling and color, thanks to a spirit that does not follow that instructed him (but do not know what s).
That love beyond what is permissible, do not forget that love, and never stop doing. You have no guts for many occasions, but your spare to others, many of which oppose, or worse, are correlated.
will never forget the beautiful teeth you know, those green eyes, the unique scent, voice, and the taste of your lips. The warmth of wool around your neck, the texture of your nails, the softness of her singing, the taste of your tears and the cold of the season. The light in your home, window and curtains. Facet that you saw in dreams with more clarity exists overwhelming, and never got to know.
not forget the last grace of the word, the whiteness of the skin, the warmth of the voice, the remarkable ability of her hands and unfocused. The existence of a girl matching itself. Their sentences, and how you found them. How much you deny that, and how much that confirmed it. It's easy to forget wisdom, how difficult understand. The desire to know the secret that he hid under the one inch that separated all the time. From everything I cursed the weather, the circumstances and your fearlessness, your lot of guts and your great cowardice. Damn you for not doing what is timely, and, simultaneously, to which also belonged, and all, again, for the dreamlike visions.
"You are a child who has behaved well so far, not because it is good, but because you are very moral. And now you want to behave badly because you got bored of being good, but you do not much because, basically, if you are " . Someone told me that I have seen twice in life. I just remember his face, but I can not remember his name. Hit me deep, I could not do more than nod, thank, with deep reverence.
the end, I was able to act out may have changed the fact that I will never forget such things, and others went in different areas of the past. May never stop loving those sad green eyes, who sang illusions that I never understood. That may not stop my love for who ever was within my reach, much as they thought, because they can not read well. After all, enough to "... and I Want You To Be Nothing More Than That" , right?
will never forget that afternoon in children so far not forget, as much as you want. I will never forget the loneliness of the crowd or the crowd in the desert. Do not forget to have right when he did not want, or I keep forever the unfounded anger of not fulfilling my whims.
knew That if coffee sweet, it was for sugar, not emotion, and that the account was more salty than what you felt at that moment. A carton is not worth it, but nothing worth it if it comes to silver. That Scholes et al. have nothing to do with you. That as much as your heart rests, always a lap given to the willingness of friendship. Those eyes, ultimately, you look like someone friendly.
What you're looking for is not how asked for it. You are desperate and wild, yet you are lucky and grace, though he renege. Always talk over the bill, but you are lucky enough to forgive you, or hide the error gracefully. You should apologize to your last saved.
I care a shit about fat Argentina and advice on how to write, or that school of idiots who swim at your own leisure, self-centeredness and self-aggrandizement. I give a ball that I read because I write at length, if the final day to read two thousand pats of 150 characters are no better than reading a great poop three pages with some dedication.
And I have repeated many times "that" and many times speak for myself as for him, that in the confusion, everything is clear now. Of course, do not fix anything of the fuzzy approach in language, it is precisely what gives it meaning.
The arrangement of unrest, as always, is a process that concerns me in a proactive mode, only active. I must do my share in a minute, but do not force the key to unlocking a door that is not your fit. Mature the child alone, or may never do it and stop bothering alone. Or continue to do so, but I used to be. After all, as we have fun, we only need to fill certain gaps and now, happiness around the corner, if total, I have fed basis points. Family things are clear (which may come in the future will be there), what I'm doing at the University
crest And when love tap on the door. If we open strong play if you bring a whiskey better. But if not, we know that will in some way. Here in the party like it is good, the child is intoxicated with itself, its thanks and its penalties. The envelope will not matter, not quality, will come in time, but we want to give a deadline. And when arrives, we will not give opportunity wasted , drink all the whiskey and we really get drunk. Perhaps not as mature, maybe not twelve years of aging. But we get drunk, wake up with a hangover correlated with its quality, and try to live according to that, the best.
hope that does not stray, that if, because of these tangled instructions.
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