Lonesome tears… It’s not that I can’t cry them anymore – I just refuse to do it. Why should I commit myself to a self-pitty mood when it’s perfectly possible.. err, ok, not perfectly, but just plain possible.. for me to take a virtual control of my life and pretend that I can lead myself on any direction I intend, so that life could be just a little bit easier… But even someone that appears to live on psychedelic dreams filled with surrealistic figures, wakes up one day feeling that nothing is possible anymore. And so, what then? Where are you headed?
Salty H2O, which instead of serving the useful purpose of cooking, becomes a hidding instrument behind a cold mirror of faces that don’t dare to look you in the eye. Or instead they do, but without compromise, they just avoid every element of life in you and come to what is known as common place. The most common hiding place. The heart. Or the brain. Iris. That’s what it is to me. To look oneself in the eye and to find yourself. Not daring to pretend, but instead confronting yourself. Not like your own enemy, but forgetting you should be your best friend.
And then another story goes by and you just forget how important you thought it was. The people you would die for yesterday are the same whose names you don’t pronounce anymore. Not even in a whisper. Not forbidden, merely forgotten. And then what? Life goes by and people chose to hurt you or leave you and you’re not up for that. Because sometimes you remember there’s still a bit of self-esteem somewhere in your ambiguous mind and that makes you take the next step. Which frequently ends up at something you were not supposed to do. And you do it. No but, just do it.
After… headache.. then you’re self-conscious again. And you remember what you had never forgotten. Which is the melody inside yourself. Self melody. Life = a sexy melody, I would say. But then again, who actually understands in all their essence the ones that we love? On that one we agree. But coming from you is always a sweet & sour melody.