Today when the power went off, I was in darkness which is not yet adapted my eyes and looked candles. Lit one took her to the living room, lit another. So until I got a set that I liked. Nine candles. They did not much light did not change much that six or nine, but aesthetically I liked when they were nine. And I know it was merely cosmetic because accustomed to bright eyes, big difference does the number.
I went out as natural and impulsive. I do not usually go out at midnight on the street. Not for, as I did recently, go to the middle of the deserted street and watch the sky. But I left, something in me told me I had to see the world differently from usual. Outdoor light is also gone. Do not know where but it was. From the middle of the street looking for the moon but just looked blurry and too little: the clouds covered up. I felt safer without lights, in the middle of the street, at midnight, alone. Looked better without much light.
many days ago that I write about my first experience in gay pub. He wrote a few lines, a paragraph, had no substance, its cohesion is not closed to me. Erased everything and I was going to do something else, something angry, somewhat frustrated.
With the power outage will shut down the computer, it was music, it was everything. I went to the notebook for words that others providing me avoid unwittingly bring mine, chatting, reading. But the Internet connection was gone as well (would he have gone to the same place as the light?). I grabbed the camera and wanted to see how the pictures would candlelight. And I found it to take pictures of most beautiful light of the candles which they lit. Just at that moment, following the impulse I felt to light candles and go to the middle of the street, grabbed College notebook at random and started writing this untidy in lines so equal and orderly.
grabbed the notebook has the colors of the rainbow (symbol of gay). I do not know if it is a coincidence. I do not know if I needed off everything that was around me to start writing, to not focus on anything else, just the route nervous my hand when I write things that have nothing to do with academics, trying to go hand as fast as the mind, trying not to leave those tiny details that end, inexorably, leaving (did meet with the light and the Internet?).
I started writing to get to a point, the gay pub, but the point is becoming further and further away, like my memories, like my details (" make a party together, light, Internet, details, the point to come and memories?). All terms together, going away to where the screen or I spent this paper emerged. I do not get the point about the details, because I love because I know they are the ones that give meaning and complexity to things, but every situation, person, object, thought to be equal to another, would not be traversed by the subjectivity of each, would not be so beautifully complex.
And memories are those that want to bring to light, that energy that is associated with thought, knowledge, which is precisely what this blog attempts, know myself, I have lived or instrument. However, the pub was not bright, it was dark and the colors and flashing lights did nothing to distort how he saw everything with sunlight. However, it was in the dark I met many things myself, women, men, drugs, alcohol, words that had never heard. They were, at last, after all, these days things could not be shown or said.
Today I went to the middle of the street because when you open the window all lit up and I found I wanted to explore lots of sky. When I arrived, I found that was not illuminated by the moon or street lights: it was light pollution. At night, again, I saw what he saw during the day, which could not see to focus attention on other things. He saw the light but not the consequences of that light. Not what was not seen in that light. There's a song I heard when I started going to the pub that night said the whole truth never . I would say that the day either, that each one shows only a certain part of the truth.
That point aside earlier when I wrote just finished eating one of the nine candles. And yet I did not say what I mean and I established all the relationships that I established. In general I try what I write is short and concise, but today I can only dwell and let loose points for each you go linking to your liking. I do not know if that candle turned into a bunch of amorphous wax is telling me not to despair, that I have eight sails ahead or giveaway that I use, like her, in the meantime I write.
The first day I stepped on gay pub (or as we call him with my friends, the brothel) was carnival time and gave a mask input. I remember letting me impulsively put in reverse: where were the eyes was my neck. I do not know if I wanted to cover my face and wanted to see more, which sociologist, analyze everything. The fact is that I noticed that they all wore their masks, some already knew what was anticipated to party and masks with feathers, sequins or colored. But they were like masks. Hiding a part but left another in the open, one that spoke volumes, as the day, what a night, but still only one hand, you want to display. Like the moon, still looking, but the clogged clouds. And that's when I looked better without light, like today, because I saw things I had never seen before.
