Guitare…
March 18, 2006
Languishing under spells of constant change….they make me move, I don’t want to move….why can’t I remain?……
Maybe if I went and spoke to my dear guitar (she was my first, you know that? my very very first…) and if I spill some tears over her everything will be alright….but I remember that my sweet, black, hourglass waist guitar is angry at me because I have forgotten her for phones and notebooks and lovers that do not correspond me…
She says that she has been there for me all this time! (But what else has she to do??)
Maybe it is like they say: the more you want something, the lesser chance exists that you will get it…my comments are stupid, I am just rusty and old and covered with red dust….the less you want something, the greater chance exists that you will get it….
The lunatic is in my head…there is someone in my head that is not me….
You see??? My head is swelling and my limbs are severed, I am not attending any cure or paliatives for a death that will present herself soon. You know, it is really very sad and unnerving and deppressing when your guitar screams at you and rejects you…when she refuses to aid your fingers and become of consolation to you….
I had no one to trust, just the pretty guitar…but I forgot it and the other ones degluted me…they swallowed me and then I couldn’t reach for my guitar….in time I couldn’t hear her caramel chords and I became this puddle of human being….
LAnguishing under spells of evolution and oscillation….was it not this for what I wished?……
