I like all that is dark, melancholy, tormented, it's emotion i relate and crave, the blood flowers, serious and true, picked along the path, i prefer rain on a filthy, gloomy street than the sun over the uniformity of an exotic beach;
Rain has more intimacy with me than the praised sun, will we see an apocalyptic knight riding on a warm spring afternoon?! No way! He goes, wild and insane, in a stormy night, with pouring rain and heavy lightnings;
It's how i roll, it's my motor, and i'm proud, i've accepted it, it's my joy, different from the majority, welcome mister Sinister, it's how i feel alive, my sensitivity burns, my imagination grows.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsbxV7Y-trQ&feature=feedf
Did you photograph that page in your notebook? If you did, it's interesting for me to see your handwriting.
RépondreSupprimerActually yeah, it's the very page i photographed when i arrived home, because i wrote while walking back a long road, at night, it began to rain lightly but steadily and i felt to write, you can see the blurs from the leaking ink, it's funny that the photo is that big and you can even read me in the notebook, you'll notice that the text is in a different order than how i typed it on my blog, and also that i write quickly and instantly without hardly any retouchs, i can tell that i haven't written with a pen in a long time, i'm so used to the keyboard, though i always had a bad and weird handwriting. I enjoyed the whole process leading to that post.
RépondreSupprimerI was thinking that the words look shaky, either you were nervous or in a hurry. It's cool to see the writing and know the story behind, that you could write in the dark lightning and through the rain drops.
RépondreSupprimereh eh if it's shaky, it's plainly because i was walking, not so easy to write while walking, and thereafter because i was standing in someone's porch to preserve the pages from the rain but i had no support, just my wide open hand at the back of the notebook. I rather felt the incandescent swirl of expression, scorching from inside me, and tingling the tip of my fingers, i had to write now, on that incongruous moment, and it was nice, it was passion and not nervousness.
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