L'art m'omple les venes, puc sentir rius de color dins meu i la flama de la inspiració guspirejant als meus ulls. Una bellesa enorme i universal impossible de plasmar en un llenç. La veig, però no la puc materialitzar. És dins meu, és a tot arreu. En cada cosa que veig, la meva ment hi imagina un to, unes pinzellades, un quadre penjat finalment a la paret mentre el contemplo satisfeta. Sento una frustració enorme que em recorre en saber que no ho puc fer sortir, que quedarà aquí guardat entre pensaments inhòspits i necessitats insatisfetes. Potser és per això et miro tant atentament, perquè tu ets el que em fa deixar-ho anar i sentir com tot flueix. M’inspires.

Death - White Lies

I love the feeling when we lift up
Watching the world so small below
I love the dreaming when I think of
The safety in the clouds out my window
I wonder what keeps us so high up
Could there be a love beneath these wings?
If we suddenly fall should I scream out?
Or keep very quiet and cling to my mouth as I'm crying
So frightened of dying, relax, yes, I'm trying
But fear's got a hold on me
Yes, this fear's got a hold on me

I love the quiet of the night time
When the sun is drowned in a deathly sea
I can feel my heart beating as I speed from
The sense of time catching up with me
The sky set out like a pathway
But who decides which route we take?
As people drift into a dream world
I close my eyes as my hands shake and when I see a new day
Who's driving this anyway? I picture my own grave
'cause fear's got a hold on me
Yes, this fear's got a hold on me

Floating neither up or down
I wonder when I'll hit the ground
Well, the earth beneath my body shake
And cast your sleeping hearts awake
Could it tremble stars from moonlit skies?
Could it drag a tear from your cold eyes?
I live on the right side, I sleep in the left
That's why everything has got to be love or death

Yes, this fear's got a hold on me
Yes, this fear's got a hold on me

Tanca els ulls i dorm una mica

(Odio quan un calfred recorre de sobte la meva esquena i en un instant molt petit sento aquella sensació d'inseguretat total. El fred no és res més que l'absència d'escalfor, deia Einstein. L'absència. Res.)

Les coses no surten com tu vols i et frustes, petita. No t'havien dit mai que plorar i amagar-se sota la manta només servia fins a certa edat. Tu odies els calfreds i les tardes que es fa fosc massa aviat, així que ara hauré de venir a abraçar-te i dir-te coses boniques a la orella.

(M'agrada tapar-me fins l'orella quan dormo. Em protegeix de tot allò que no vull que m'afecti. També del que vull oblidar. El meu món fa 2x90 durant unes poques hores i això em tranquilitza. Que no vinguin els monstres.)

Mike lived in London’s night. No direction, wild parties and strange substances. He got by with a little help from his mum, who though the boy was studying in the big city. Angie met him by chance in a dark club. She was as lost as he was. Maybe they were made to be together. But their lives were very different. Angie was hiding from a future she didn’t want; a big car, a nice house, a good husband, a family who chose all for her. She was longing for freedom. Long kisses and smoking nights leaded them to share a little flat where they spent a lot of time looking each other quietly. They didn’t fall for, but they felt good being this way. Why not?