Scrierile mele despre viaţă: Here It Is

7/23/23

Here It Is

1300 de piese. Ca timp, aproape 100 de ore. Insa, in mod bizar, contin o infinitate de sentimente, emotii, senzatii si batai de inima. Niciuna nu se afla la intamplare, fiecare cu sensul si intelesul ei. Despre tine, mine si un fel de noi inexistent si altul posibil doar in alt concret si probabil, alta viata.

Pornit pe 13 mai 2022 cu zambet, bucurie, intristare si speranta. Nu cred ca se va opri aici, va creste in dimensiune, insa doar daca vor mai exista piese in lumea asta care sa ne cante franturi de poveste, suflet, alternari intre realitate si oniric. Te port in continuare astfel cu mine, desi am ales constient sa ma indepartez total de tine. Brusc, fara zgomot sau cuvinte suplimentare. Dar, asa cum stii, te caut. In mod absurd si firesc. Pe strazile din viata asta, necunoscute sau mult prea familiare. In respiratii, scris, rasete de copii, alti oameni, valuri si mai ales, apusuri. Esti in fiecare si in niciunul.

"The bright horses have broken free from the fieldsThey are horses of love, their manes full of fireThey are parting the cities, those bright burning horsesAnd everyone is hiding, and no one makes a soundAnd I'm by your side and I'm holding your handBright horses of wonder springing from your burning hand."

"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.”