If anything I have a problem is that I noticed the problems. These days, I am in the conflicts in the area. The waitress at the place I usually go to lunch I doubt see a few seconds in front of the menu, me and spit in his face: "you have to desambiguarte ." I am a street index, a symptom perfect. How much of a phenomenon is explained in its visibility? Anyway, if I go back to write here will not be because of that ridiculous call. Today, most nations are silent whispers, no longer hear the singing of the Sirens (Ulysses knew that silence was a most terrible weapon the same song), today, again, another voice is audible. How much of a phenomenon is explained in their audibility? A voice that do not quite know, cut inside my head, does the voice of conscience?, which insists as a God or love. A voice that is very similar in tone to that of the Arcadian neighbor girl next door, casual but precise voice, subtle but monumental, whose perception is painful. I mean, not if I should listen but not hear what you have to say a voice? If I write here is because there is no way to deny it. How much luck have been blind ever seen? How much misery are in their backpack, attached to the body, psychoanalyzed? His absurd argument is full of innocence but also of hope: if I accept the challenge, writing anything and as you can (does not require results) if I face all my impossibilities, from discipline to indifference, from the fear of conformity, if the project out of me, if I create them because I leave to act as if they exist, I will generate other types of provision and promote Instead, I will emerge from the fight synthesized in a better guy, a guy who writes that, therefore, is more civilized, is closer to what you want to be and was not note the problems because, perhaps, no longer does.
0 comments:
Post a Comment