a few minutes past midnight. I burn my eyes but I do not want to die in bed, not yet. I'm deserting them, these places feel so cold, and I am pondering the idea of \u200b\u200b(re) back to my old, dear, yellowed diary. I wonder how it happened that I had left there, among so many books never read, flip through magazines distractedly, as if it were integral part of the rest. Yet there are in there years of thoughts, fears, weaknesses, dreams. And it's funny, because I know that if everything is now back rileggessi those same fears, and perhaps even the same dreams.
At the end of the dance step is always the same: I should stop worrying about what is not (and will never, I might add) and be aware of what they are. In the years that have passed, what I built, of what I am surrounded, of what I let slip away, or "simply" I wanted to run away. Step
these moments of stasis, in which I totally block, while the outside world continues to spin around. And I am afraid, fucking a fear of not being able to keep up with everything. To lose pieces, continuously, or do not pay any attention to many things we would like to my attention.
I also wonder what on earth am I doing here I above, to shoot paranoia in 'air as if they were gunshots, and then press "publish post" and expect to feel lighter.
What idiocy.
seems unbelievable now, but I wish you good night, wayfarers.
Ah. I leave this link here http://www.marcellogambini.it
It 's a photographer discovered in a completely random (you know, the powers of this infinite window on the world), that struck me very much.
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