lunes, 25 de septiembre de 2017

Nachdennklich

Nachdennklich. Druck. Feuer. Druck. Zweifel. Vermutung. Stille. Los.

So much to say, yet so little that I wish to share for the world does not deserve much of what I could ever saying.
But waking up it's a difficult job, realizing the peace of sleep is gone and now, as the sun shines, my brain is back again to give me a hard time. I wish myself a brain stopper yet I know they do not work.
One hour rolling on top of an unwanted mattress, trying to remain in an uncomfortable sleep trying to prevent that moment from coming... but the day marches on against my will.


Trying to understand yet trying not to, a paradoxical fight between of two halves of a single brain, wondering why the need for work, for time without using the brain. Maybe I should start getting loads of things to do, it seems to be my kick.

No paths are trod twice, the plants grow ever different.
At least yesterday's sweat was genuine, as true as my voice was...

Maybe this is my escape valve...


Feuer. Druck.


(Random songs that sound in the night)
Vreid - Empty


"A writer out of loneliness is trying to communicate like a distant star sending signals. He isn't telling, or teaching, or ordering. Rather, he seeks to establish a relationship with meaning, of feeling, of observing. We are lonesome animals. We spend all our live trying to be less lonesome. And one of our ancient methods is to tell a story, begging the listener to say, and to feel, "Yes, that's the way it is, or at least that's the way I feel it. You're not as alone as you thought." To finish is sadness to a writer, a little death. He puts the last word down and it is done. But it isn't really done. The story goes on and leaves the writer behind, for no story is ever done." 
John Steinbeck

No hay comentarios:

Publicar un comentario