Can Piston Rings Stick

consolation

What if the real console feeling to know better?

Yesterday, I yelled, I screamed, I shouted (without telling you) and this morning too. I understand Rimbaud which bases the beauty on her knees and insult. All these poets are one when it comes to his own life, I speak of the inner life, she who, since the world began, was in fact nothing to hide, therefore nothing to suffer.

With the hostile cold days, I thought the winds of snorting thunder that some members of my family, this fatigue that wins too often a sincere heart, to the streets of Chicago that I stalled in my head, Brahms and Schumann are, well, well away from me for some time. This morning I expected nothing and that's when I started to heal. When it comes, healing always amazes me. It is as if it came from another world, in exile from his own heritage. Sometimes I ask her if she is right to insist on her flower unrepentant. She always tells me the same thing, she only comes when I call. That's when I realized that the call is always stronger in spite of us and without our knowledge.

This morning, coffee Kilo Street St. Laurent, I wrote the coda of a moment of darkness. I can not remember its melody, but it is there still unintelligible, waiting patiently for a moment of light. When light comes, I will write another coda to the dark projection. She, again, that enlightens me, so much so that I will not even need to talk on this blog.

good it is to be indignant! It is good to hear once and for all the great cry of rebellion in us! On the bus this morning, the windows castigated my despair. Leaning on the bench, I felt there was not a single drop of my blood was at the height of the beauty of the woman sitting opposite me. But something kept me from the abuse, and it was perfect like that.