Paca: "Damn, I thought I would one day read your blog"
Vitote: "Okay, okay"
Paca: "There on plan" and suddenly came Paca , late as usual "or something"
Vitote: "I note, I note"
(Note: Paca is an uncle, Frank is a name that is being lost ... sniff, sniff)
I jumped up, my room seemed much more alien than it was yesterday even though everything was in place. My green chair, my poster of Marea, "Candela" supported in its holder, the B box inspired by one of MC Escher on the wall, the 360 \u200b\u200borphan and a black book resting on a white whose cover read " Pancreas and Liver Diseases and Surgery ". I took that book, opened it, "A man in the dark" ... suddenly began to remember everything was blurry, like a dream, but more tangible and that book had been the trigger. Not one of those bizarre dreams I usually have, in which walk through the Sahara camel uploaded to a called "Ali" , in search of adventure, but more happy, which ironically has turned me into a man haunted from moment that opened my eyes. So I decide to take a second on the bed to close my eyes and try to rescue some of those images that had made me feel so full.
A house, white with a large garden, it seems to me, although I can see myself in the distance, hurrying a cup of coffee. There is a table and a typewriter, is the old Olivetti Baby my mother gave me when I was a monkey. In those letters she wrote, well, someone saved, or will be burned or buried very deep there, I know. What I know is that I regret having written it, and having said all that. The fact is that when everything happened I put the typewriter in a closet and not take her again. I loved the noise that was, I felt like a real writer to my tender 15 years. There is a woman behind the glass, take my old T ADUS, approaches me and hugs me from behind. At times it reminds me of Elika, but her hair clear and green eyes caught. Now I remember your face, now I recognize the house, now everything becomes clear. After the hug, I approached the chair and start banging on the letters with great agility, she is on my shoulder and whispers "not delay" , I ignore and still embedded as enraptured, caught up in the ink ribbon and the spacebar. Sheet after sheet of paper, my hands hurt, but even attack the carpal tunnel, seem to be on a roll. Suddenly ended, I bend down and find a bottle of Jack Daniel's, the open and cover the bottom of the cup, I drink a drink, I get up and go into the house. I see her lying naked on the bed, breathing slowly, her green eyes looking at me, I come to your ear and whisper "already finished" suddenly smiles, but two tears on her cheeks looking beyond your mouth ... who would not seek that mouth. This incorporates kiss me and I feel as if their hands were digging into me, "is already on your success, my work here is finished, will soon come to find me, so ..." , kiss me, "seize what is left" . That little moment where everything seems to be aligned, where everything is so perfect that you're not sure how you got it, that instant, so ephemeral, that "Zelda's Lullaby" me back to reality. The book I
did connect everything. "A man in the dark" , I realized that there had been a dream, that this had been real fucking, Sophie Auster had kissed me and had finished writing Verses Coagula " , she had really been my muse, as it was of poor Martin Frost. That one August Brill, or a Mr. Blank, I had driven to that parallel universe in which I had to get up early to study, I engaged in what I like, which is storytelling, but in which I rip off my had just muse about my work. Fortunately, "Zelda's Lullaby" rescued me to live how they took her in my arms.
When you spend so much time glued to the books, when your hands are filthy from both fluorescent, when last week, 48 hours, dreaming keeps you awake. It is very important to sleep well and rise above so with a smile of longing and fulfillment.
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