PSICANÁLISE XXVII

One must write, Charlie.

About everything.

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A stone ... A book ... The way someone's hand dances ... A wheel of a car ... A child's secret world ... A seagull floating in the wind ... A cigarette burning on an ashtray in a bar at night ... The sound of someone breathing ... The silence that falls like thunder in the middle of a conversation between two people that have known eachother for years ... The touch of a rose petal on a wool blanket ... The intricate games of the mind a serial killer uses to deceive a trained profiler ... The contrast between a white sheet of newspaper and the black letters printed on it describing the red blood splattered across a palestinian street ... A Modigliani slim woman's face ... A boy painting a canned spray grafitti in the middle of the night ... A baby crying inside a pedophile's brain ... David Coverdale's powerful voice ... The space between a blink of an eye and the one that follows ... A star exploding ... The Earth spinning ... My mouth drawing the word love ... A tear splashing the word hate ... A man tripping on a wet surface ...

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Everything, Charlie ...

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E ... v ... e ... r ... y ... t ... h ... i ... n ... g ...

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