And I’ve waited again for that small change of drift that could take me apart and shuffle me into the same old puzzle that drawn you towards me… Precision at it’s best was this new old time of our own sake…

I think I could have been more delighted about your shy silence rising above the wild roses sunk into the darkest water of forgiveness… Picking up what is left of it and make it work… This is what I am being told now and then and it seems that I must, or even better, I shall listen.

To be given any piece of advice (without minding the additional layer of dusty memory shouts) it’s a real treasure and a real advancement into your quest of becoming the real thing, the image of certainty that the others seek into your eyes full of awareness… And being not yet the dawn of achievements, you might still catch a moment to savour your imperfect evolution into the tardive, unloving, cruel and dark graph of sufficiency… And why should I move forward when I have this current option to freeze upon ? If it’s all about the road and not about the final destination then I am entitled to shut down a dreaming thread and fall asleep… and maybe wake up towards something less profound but more precisely pictured within a black frame…

Sometimes you need to burn much less than it’s allowed and allocated in order to be more effective and green… All this in relation to a soulless environment that shields you from all the unspoken love you salvaged in all your dark corners over the years…

Memory seems to be flexible enough to let me escape most of my failed moments, my derivative resolution regarding a truth that is most of the time heart breaking… So do I need to open instead of closing, to listen instead of speak, to observe instead of posing, to react instead of running away ?

Do I actually need to confront all this mechanical flow of interactions that yields a fractional truth, embarked into a cleaning or purification process ? Not really. Our evolution on our binary decisional tree will function either way, left or right. Meanwhile, dreaming towards a theoretical middle way might save conscience long enough for the same good old memory to fail the quest of trying hard not to enjoy this final ride…  

In pursuit of an induced therapy I find truly necessary that sweet breaking of an older instance of myself back into the faded pieces that projected once much more sense than the today’s complete puzzle, shining back at me, carved into a shapeless mirror…

Above any misdirection from the outer world I manage to dream again at you, the one that once made possible my recurrent escapes into a space painted mostly with passionate intentions. I am not sure about my words, about any potential thread of conversation, about the safe raising of my re-focused view to conclude either your presence or absence from the scene.

What I hope for is for an ideal silence that can heal the past but also can act as a contingency plan for my unpredictability. And yet, this cold price, paid for not hearing you loving me or, ideally, re-assembling me from the fallen pieces, seems to be the most accurate currency, governing all my non-reactions.

And when your price makes it into currency and you are selling yourself against your remaining time in this world, all seems indeed lost and without the prospect of recovery.

However all the other time, invested into loving your non-communication, your ideal projections of silence and maybe that sweet recurrent disassembly of the frozen puzzle, could be potentially reclaimed and used to solve yourself and to bribe the future into becoming much more suitable for your later expectations.

I finally smile, coming to the conclusion that is I who quietly found my displaced therapy, lost somehow from it’s purpose and functional value. Somehow parked in a similar position as myself. And if by chance it’s composed of dynamic elements (a sweet guiding voice, a scent or a projection of a happier version of you) then this inner join could be nothing but reassuring into a total new re-positioning.

Same idea as before: HitTheRoadJackCover

A video version: https://goo.gl/photos/eLmUeNog9Eb5qdHg9

Just keyboards…. not perfectly in tune but still I will let it fly as it is. Don’t know why. Here it is: Recording_Impro

Sometimes we may believe in the words of the past as they contain all the flavor of breathing the happiness for the unspoken dreams. Sometimes we love the future significance of a gesture captured within the fragment of the second we realize we are in love. And sometimes we just want to be present.

I would have seen the sky in a different shade of blue If I had the time to see myself growing into something bizarre and wild, a circular stone revealed by the moon into it’s surroundings of still water.

I never trusted my image of self confidence, I never stopped to believe in the power of the small things, the ones that make the sound alive regardless of our understanding of a delay. And I wonder, am I too late telling you that you are so beautiful ?

I’ve been an infant spread with joy through the words of my forgetting parents,
I’ve been a prayer for the arrival of the holidays, a constant in the life of the beautiful garden that saved my childhood into a basket filled with summer dreams,
I’ve been religious to the point of giving up hope regarding a world of fear,
I’ve been told to grow up as fast as I can for embracing life as it really is,
I’ve been singing along with the universal silence of those walls, describing the geometry of a much needed conversation about limits,
I found you and realized that love is so beautiful and fragile as a rose, divided among the seasons…

Staying with something long enough induces the illusion that indeed is the best fact for you, required to be performed with regular norm, unbreakable by other wild thoughts of false independence.

The routine must be sweet and thoughtful, must induce presence and must be sought with consistent self – belief. It’s that kind of complex mathematical precision of the sinusoidal representation governed by absolute timing, never going beyond the upper or lower limit.

Between salvaged / imaginary walls everything revolves nicely and placed behind the perfect scripting of the governing power of 2.

Today I’ve managed to record my first draft in a HW / SW configuration that still requires a lot of fine tuning. However it works and makes me feel motivated enough to go on. You can click the link for the download: Soul01.  Enjoy !

Love is not found anymore in the simplest words of redemption, but is advertised on big shiny screens of constant interaction… It is proclaimed to be the destination of all orchestrations and guaranteed with atomic precision.

It is lost and forgiven by time as a prodigy child, continuously searching to bury the cruel memory of not being felt by growing up in a house full of light.

But no tears are to be shed across this faded path of non-communication, it is our silence that brings the best storms to feed the deserted flowers.