recovery

Running in the forest. Climb the trees, challenge the brambles under the support of the branches which, if previously represented the brigands at the edge of the wood and prevented you from continuing your journey, are now the ones that will move you forward.

Write without thinking, under the music that reminds you of memories. Something sad, melancholy, adventure, love perhaps, waltzing from one to the other without worrying about what your text will mean, crying over words, rushing without thinking, saying what language can never pronounce, taking back the talent that Providence once gave you, taking back your identity and continuing. Let yourself be guided by the rhythm of the song, imagine people dancing, spinning, laughing, playing as if tomorrow had never existed and yesterday had not yet arrived. Take the words, turn them, make them laugh, make them cry and never stop again. To stop is to remove the part of oneself that has always elevated you to the height of beauty. Enter the circle, write, write and write again, even if it won’t make sense – the meaning will be the one in your heart. I had written inside, but I didn’t like the consonance of this word in the sentence and its context, so I deleted it.

I want to tell his life, the lives of these beings that I gave birth to there, somewhere on another planet, on another world. To forget them is to forget me, it is to make me live with illusions that I…

Well, I’m tired of writing about points!

Life is beautiful after all.

Beloooong…

Be quiet. Music plays. The ear listens.

And the universe takes over the song

January 6, 2012