terça-feira, 12 de junho de 2007

PSICANÁLISE XXVI

I write, Charlie.
And that is the only thing I know for sure. It’s the only thing I’ve ever known for sure, all my life, since I was 8. And it’s the only thing I know now, for sure. The only thing that matters. The rest, everything else, is peanuts ...
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I write. Writing is like breathing. I will always write. I will write until my last day.
I will die over a piece of paper, my hand will slide softly over an unfinished word and that will be my last breath …
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And if it ever should happen that I was prevented from writing, by some reason, I would surely die. Written words are oxygen to me. For written words have kept me alive so many times. And they have never let me down.
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And so I will honor words like gods. I will respect them and work relentelessly to sculpt cathedrals of words. And if it takes a life time to make but two words to match perfectely, I will try that life time.
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And then, one peaceful, blue or rainy day, my aged hand will slide softly over that piece of paper and …
jgfkljg

2 comentários:

Dry-Martini disse...

I'm glad to be a peanuts :)
Keep writting

Andrómeda disse...

Figure of speach, Merlin ...
But sometimes, that's how it really feels like.