Scrierile mele despre viaţă: Leave it unspoken.

8/5/11

Leave it unspoken.

Ceasul indica ora 9 dimineata si 47 minute... Nu mai am notiunea timpului real, ma uit la ceas din inertie, mecanic, fara placere. Ore care trec in van, iar eu ma pierd in linistea lor. Mi-am pierdut directia, drumul si franturi de secunde incearca sa ma intoarca inapoi, in timpul cand am avut totul. Acum patru ani, aflam in drumul spre casa, ca Maestrul Florian Pittiş a murit...
Cred ca e necesar in viata sa pierzi tot, chiar daca acel tot este cel care te mai tine in viata, pentru a renaste apoi.

Exact acum un an, timpul avea o alta aroma..o alta muzica, alte cuvinte, alte dimineti...si desigur, cafeaua avea o mireasma aparte... Acum, este fada, o beau dintr-un soi de automatism.
In urma cu un an, ii descopeream pe cei de la Hurts, iar acum cu o mica doza de infatuare, zambesc pentru ca stiam ca vor ajunge mari...

Ceva insa nu s-a schimbat...ascult cu aceeasi placere " Wonderful Life" si aceleasi emotii ma cuprind...dimineata sunt invaluite in ceata, dupa-amiaza sunt scaldate de lumina timida a soarelui, iar seara...aici e deja o alta poveste.

Peste o saptamana insa voi crede din nou ca traiesc o viata cu adevarat frumoasa... Voi fi la Ursus Evolution Tour...in mediul drag, cu artisti si oameni cu zambetul in suflet, pe plaja... Until then, visez cu ochii deschisi si imi alung tristetea ispititoare...

"If it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it. Unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don't do it. If you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don't do it. If you're doing it for money or fame, don't do it. If you're doing it because you want women in your bed, don't do it. If you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don't do it. If it's hard work just thinking about doing it, don't do it. If you're trying to write like somebody else, forget about it. If you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. If it never does roar out of you, do something else. If you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you're not ready. Don't be like so many writers, don't be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don't be dull and boring and pretentious, don't be consumed with self-love. The libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. Don't add to that. Don't do it. Unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don't do it. Unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it. When it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. There is no other way. And there never was." - Charles Bukowski

“Sit down. Inhale. Exhale. The gun will wait. The lake will wait. The tall gall in the small seductive vial will wait will wait: will wait a week: will wait through April. You do not have to die this certain day. Death will abide, will pamper your postponement. I assure you death will wait. Death has a lot of time. Death can attend to you tomorrow. Or next week. Death is just down the street; is most obliging neighbor; can meet you any moment. You need not die today. Stay here–through pout or pain or peskyness. Stay here. See what the news is going to be tomorrow. Graves grow no green that you can use. Remember, green’s your color. You are Spring.”