I was thinking about surrealism and decided to experiment with automatic writing. Basically, you left your mind become empty and write the first thing that comes up.
I was looking into space. “Surviving is not easy when you depend on you own stregth. When you least expect it, you’ll be falling, although everything seemed to be okay”. Those words were floating in my mind, creating strange echoes. “I am not… what?” I’d never end, like if I made a list of the things I hate. I had been reading a book a while ago, about two people that spent twenty years waiting for each other, looking for each other, even they have to travel to another world to meet again there and come back together, after many unnecessary detours, after many unnecessary loneliness. Or maybe it was necessary to make that moment the right time. And they pronounce a phrase I said some time ago, that has made me feel blue, although it’s hard for a book to make me cry. A good story. Two characters were talking about Carl Jung. Apparently, he built in Switzerland, by a lake, a house made of stone, with his own hands. Twelve years of work. And he called it ‘The Tower’. Then, in a stone besides the door, he recorded the following sentence: “Cold or not, God is present”. I don’t have any idea of what it means, but I like it. And it’s cold here, I don’t know if inside or outside, but it’s cold anyway.
A lot of things are stuck in my mind and I don’t know what to do. My heart squirms. Some people are like shadows, shadows of ourselves, silohutted against the full moon. What fills the heart of men? Love, selfishness? The shadow of a vague hope on something better? No, life torture us and cheat on us, laughing at our most noble feelings, exploring our limits. It brings us to the verge of death, not the coarse physical death, but the spiritual death. Justice doesn’t exist. Maybe it existed in the past, but no one ever said it, no one ever wrote it down. In the past… all ages convert in the present, don’t they? Or perhaps we just deny our past. What is need to get to another heart? Left your own behind, but that is painful. Maybe that’s why the distance between people hearts is so big. And I don’t know what I did to mine. I guess it’s lost around, walking through a dark avenue. I should go out to look for it but, what could I tell it to make it come back by my side? I’m sure it wouldn’t want to come with me. So, now I’m cored. How good! Now I’ll have to find someone who lend me his but, what if I lose it too? Then we’ll be two, but it’d be my fault. Moreover, who would lend it to me? No one has face, they hyde it with scarfs and sunglasses, their eyes are empty. I have no choice but to learn to live wihtout it, I’ll have to make something to replace it, like a heart of mechanisms and gears, which cannot feel, but at least it’ll keep me company. Because in winter it’s cold, now I’m cold and can’t stop wondering where it is.
Time goes by so fast. A bunch of feelings trapped in three minutes. That’s what a song is. That’s what music is. It can express what words never could. Some seconds are enough to capture an emotion, an age, a life, with so accurately that it’s scaring. I wish I was good at it, as at many other things I’d like to do. But everyone has to choose his on way, and that was never mine, I never wanted it to be mine. And what should I look for? Something that I lost in a stranger’s eyes? Sometimes it’s not that bad to talk to strangers. As they don’t know you, you can tell them what you really think about your life, the truth about yourself. As they don’t care about you, they won’t judge. Simply you share with them a broken part of your soul and go away forever, heaving a sight of relief because someone has listened to you, although he didn’t really care. It’s sad that sometimes we have to do this, isn’t it? We shouldn’t have reasons. But we’re too busy pretending that everything is alright and we’re perfectly happy. If we wasn’t, it’d be humiliating, a failure. It’d show weakness. Because, today, everyone is happy, apparently. Everyone is happy, there’s no place for sadness, and that is why you have to swallow it all alone. Because it’s taboo. But some day we’ll have to accept that existence is made of that too, we’ll have to give it the importance it has and express it. Until then, nothing will be true.