not know if you've ever read Angels of Solitude Jack Kerouac ...
in the book there is' a haiku written by Kerouac (one of many):
Sad.
Sad.
Void.
Sad.
Void.
here, I feel a bit 'so' after writing the previous post.
I feel sad , is' to think about many things (facts, the sentences, the death of Carlo Giuliani, but also roads that take our lives without us realizing it ...), but above all I feel emptied, as if all I had to say has been the said.
I have so many ideas, so many phrases, so many things I want to say in the post, but at some point, I block, I can not put into practice and dematerialize ... and that 's a bit that happens to me in real life.
I feel sad , is' to think about many things (facts, the sentences, the death of Carlo Giuliani, but also roads that take our lives without us realizing it ...), but above all I feel emptied, as if all I had to say has been the said.
I have so many ideas, so many phrases, so many things I want to say in the post, but at some point, I block, I can not put into practice and dematerialize ... and that 's a bit that happens to me in real life.
the other day I threw out all those memories for the first time and now I feel like I've got something to someone very dear to me. was a kind of secret ...
think when I've got my sister wrote in the comment "those things that I never told you" 's true, they did not know anything. In my family we never talked. ever. perhaps out of respect, but I do not have never asked for anything. and also with my friends he's' never spoken. perhaps because 'at the bottom I could not. Only once I started to say something during a meeting that we organized at school, but after a while 'I could not continue.
definitely from the screen of a computer and 'more' easy, 'cause no one can' see the tears streaming down your cheeks and make you look like that from "poor thing, how sorry I am, you do not know how sorry" that I has always had problems talking about it with others.
are no longer 'back in Genoa from July 21, 2001, but I'd do it. I would see if I could remember everything the route taken in this Friday 'damn, I would go see if I would help you to remember, to add pieces to the fragmented memory I have of those two terrible days. I do not remember much, really. everything 'I remember I wrote here, but there are still many pieces that are dark.
and 'a shared secret that many people, certainly not a secret my personal and exclusive, yet I continue to think about what I wrote and the fact that she wrote it, almost as if the very fact of having written (written what , then? there would be so 'many other things to say) is a therapy session for me psychoanalyst. as if it were a problem finally solved, at least between me and my conscience.
and then I feel empty , as well as sad.
and 'a shared secret that many people, certainly not a secret my personal and exclusive, yet I continue to think about what I wrote and the fact that she wrote it, almost as if the very fact of having written (written what , then? there would be so 'many other things to say) is a therapy session for me psychoanalyst. as if it were a problem finally solved, at least between me and my conscience.
and then I feel empty , as well as sad.
I do not have balls to write at this time, although I would have much more to say. who knows', maybe I take a break. or maybe post some result that I had prepared on Africa, or maybe just the song that keeps turning in his head in 'sti days ...
boh, see you when I pass the spleen.
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