“Sauver quelque chose du temps où l’on ne sera plus jamais.”
First weekend in a while where work was not part of the plan.
Freedom and not pressure at all, letting the words to fill my mind, time passing around but everything feels retained while reading occurs.
That magical feeling of being merged with an author’s story. Floating through spaces that were never mine, acquiring property by the simple fact of being there for a few minutes. Merging roles. Raising up those sleepy memories.
“Soy incapaz de encontrar en mi memoria un sentimiento, el que sea, aún menos un pensamiento.”
lectura,
last year was the first one that I was unable to read, my mind wasn’t aligned to the flow of words of those pages, there was a lot of dispersed energy.
day by day to rhythm is returning, that block has been removed or maybe it was just incorporated into my normal flow.
and all about of this is just fine, there wasn’t a real pressure to have this fixed earlier rather than later. It’s just about a personal path each one can take.
All of those worlds created by untold phrases, that unappreciated importance of absence, some kind of presence that only can be read between lines. Uncertain abysses.
je t’aime, mamá.
caminos, destinos. finding home. xxi.
the very first hours and many other incentives linked to the world happening before 6 am.
reading.
writing.
tasting.
flowing.
motion.
“Nous ne serons heureux, se dit-elle alors, que lorsque nous n’aurons plus besoin les uns des autres. Quand nous pourrons vivre une vie à nous, une vie qui nous appartienne, qui ne regarde pas les autres. Quand nous serons libres.”
ballad of early pages. while shadows are still governing landscapes and all remains covered by silence. only slow motion in here. messy thoughts around the air. dislocated emotions. finding space, finding home.
stillness.
5am, horizons covered by darkness, silence around, fixing me up. embracing space.
early destinations, muted voices.
secuencias interrumpidas.
and to never let it go.
l'air.
le calme, la tranquillité, le silence.
la mer.
disconnected mornings to stay alive. ballad of early hours.
puntos de referencia, que nunca nos quedemos cortos de ellos.
made these two a year ago, I had no idea how everyday life was destined to change. were two points of reference at that time, were two spots to remember how ephemeral perspective in life could be. things that were something bigger than those facts. funny path of life.
destined to retention.
dreams, coexisting over different spaces and times.
awakened all night due to 2WD fun. can only think about coffee and bed today.
5 am, Saturday & 1wd. Darkness still ruling outdoors, silence filling these early hours. I’m here. I’m fine. Finding space. And it feels good.
MMXXI.
MMXX.
lune d’hiver.
“Votre âme est un paysage choisi
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.
Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L’amour vainqueur et la vie opportune
Ils n’ont pas l’air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,
Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
Et sangloter d’extase les jets d’eau,
Les grands jets d’eau sveltes parmi les marbres.”
there were roots that lasted for entire generations after death, there were seas of silences that were never dried, mountains were built over their ashes, whole lives were raised by their rests. stories written on the sky.