And there's this guy I've known for a
while, the one with the old eyes and unquiet hands; who seems to be
always in need of something among his fingers, be it a pen or a
cigarette. It's both a curse and a bless to be able to recognize them:
in a crowd, even if I had never talked to him, I would know he's a
writer. There's something in their eyes - but isn't there something in
everybody's eyes? - that tell me they put their hearts into a piece of
paper, and something as fragile as paper isn't a good place to put your
heart into. "It's still better than giving it to another person", he
would say. And I guess I'd agree with him.
If you ask me, I'd say he's one of a kind - exactly the kind of people who bring a name upon themselves, with all that comes with that name. And his name comes with baggage: he might have been a lunar crater and the fuse for the first world war, as well as part of a royalty. But royalty doesn't fit him as well as the guillotine does, like a martyr who, even when dying for hundreds, is still a victim of his own nihilism. And I really believe he did all that; like most writers, he's a twenty year old man who has lived two-hundred years, even if some of them took place inside his head.
Stephen Hawking never had the chance to meet him, but I'm sure he'd agree with me that his quote - "quiet people have the loudest minds" - fits him perfectly. I can almost hear his mind, despite his quiet mouth, and the clue given by his skin's ink is true: his mind speaks music.
If you ask me, I'd say he's one of a kind - exactly the kind of people who bring a name upon themselves, with all that comes with that name. And his name comes with baggage: he might have been a lunar crater and the fuse for the first world war, as well as part of a royalty. But royalty doesn't fit him as well as the guillotine does, like a martyr who, even when dying for hundreds, is still a victim of his own nihilism. And I really believe he did all that; like most writers, he's a twenty year old man who has lived two-hundred years, even if some of them took place inside his head.
Stephen Hawking never had the chance to meet him, but I'm sure he'd agree with me that his quote - "quiet people have the loudest minds" - fits him perfectly. I can almost hear his mind, despite his quiet mouth, and the clue given by his skin's ink is true: his mind speaks music.
and clenching your fist for the ones like us
who are oppressed by the figures of beauty,
you fixed yourself, you said,
"well never mind, we are ugly but we have the music."
Parece que faz um tempão.
Um comentário:
Sdds seus escritos <3
Postar um comentário