There is never a fog up in my eyes when I wake up early in the morning, the air feels like it’s rich in spices, and I feel full for my breath beats like a waterfall crashing with grace. I feel very happy whenever I wake up early, it’s like I’m learning how long a day lasts. You feel motivated on doing a lot of things and when you go see what time it is it’s still 10am. I feel such joy when that happens. I could lay down in an everlasting morning if it was set for me, if it was the bed I would crash gracefully in. Mornings seem a terribly hopeful time of day to die.

I was not particularly depressed today, but you’ll see throughout this text this hand covering my mouth, grabbing the words by their lonely hair. I don’t know why. I feel fine. Especially in a day like this.

The first thing I wanted to do as soon as I woke up was try and watch a movie on my new DVD player. I collect DVDs (and CDs now, even though I still only have three), and they were collecting a bit of dust without a good player. I tried watching something the previous night. I got my DVD of Wild Strawberries, Bergman. I watched Persona recently and it made me want to rewatch this earlier movie of his. But then I overslept on the idea. I wanted something fun, so I got Trouble in Paradise, Jarmusch. I was not the biggest fan of my last Jarmusch, but he’s loved by so many filmmakers I love that I still feel curious about his work. But the idea got cold. Today was the next day. I felt like watching Certified Copy, Kiarostami.

Beautiful movie, certainly. I will talk about it more on my film magazine’s site in the future; the Close Up thing that’s empty on the front page. As of now, it’s safe to say it’s one of the best things I’ve ever seen. No chance to be different; Kiarostami feels like he carries a reality in his language that cinema never knew it was able to house within itself.

I was struck by the lightning of a kind mind, and dizzily I moved my body to the whim of a fire hovering the temple like an unuttered prayer scolds a faithful fool. I walked up the stairs to the terrace. The Sun was still here; he’s been shy these days. Today he came to see me. He waited for me to come. What a friend, this big ball of fire. What a fool to burn in any other flame, castaway of nothing and in hold of a truth that does not expire. But to be pressed against the body of the Sun. I’ll expire after tonight. Today, I’ll dream for him.

I came up the stairs to sunbathe a bit. I’ve been lacking sunlight, whiter and whiter I get until I’m gone in the light. What a shame. But it also helps with the mood. The heat invades every part of my body and I’m lost in thought. I like to be lost in thought. I feel like I’m having nicer conversations with myself, which fills me with joy. I’m learning to hold my hand when my hand waves, caught in the fog of the outer affection like a frog on a fish trap. I feel like I want to come home to the house of the mind, rest in a phrase and a memory, all heated under my friend, the big ball of fire.

While sunbathing, I noticed there were cracks on the terrace floor that had grass growing out of them. The floor was not made from earth and it was the second floor, so that kept me in its hypnosis, the green growing silently like the song of a love gone.

How beautiful. Nature persevering. I wish I could speak to it. Or maybe not speak, I already am someone who talks too much. I wish I could listen to it. I wish I could be in a conversation with the world. But maybe I will get that once I’m gone. Buried and growing trees out of my body. How beautiful. I want to be a tree.

A single feather started falling slowly beside me. It looked like a dandelion. How gracious. So slow in the light breeze. I wish I could float. I wish I could float away, thinking and dreaming above the air, a makeshift heaven to be gravity’s rival. Curse you, gravity. Curse me all to be loved by your hands.

I saw birds flying above me. The sky was so blue. No clouds, but some white brushes. I saw the local chapel from where I was. Also dangerous in blue. I wondered what color would heaven be: White or blue. Maybe blue with white brushes, white with blue brushes. I started to gracefully be enamored with life, and even its cousin, death, as the Sun colored me darker and brightened my face in happy gloom. It’s a lovely smile; death. I hope it doesn’t happen soon. I see now in the sight that bears my eyes a world I could live in forever. How beautiful it is to live in the smile of death, but to take the dull blade to guts I would not do. But let me think of flying for just a few more seconds. It’s so beautiful up here.

I got downstairs, kissed my grandma and layed on the bed with the fan turned on in my direction. I loved the way I layed on the body of the bed, with my soul lagging behind. Gravity, what a gracious thing. What a violent beauty, what a sleeping wake. Thank you for loving my feet.

My brother sent me a text talking about a movie theather he was going to that afternoon where they had a few independent movies rolling. I wish I could be there. I wished to be between the legs of the black room, intoxicated by the silver screen. What a beautiful way to die. No, enough of dying. Sorry.

I saw that Howl’s Moving Castle was playing in a nearby theather today, so I rushed to my sister and asked her to go with me there. She had already watched it, but I hadn’t, and we were wishing to watch a Ghibli movie on theathers ever since we saw they were being screened where we live.

The screening would be at night. We waited for the right time to leave and still got a bit late to it, as always. I missed a bit of the beginning. Again, thoughts of the movie in another time. But I was very happy.

We got outside and started walking around in the shopping center.

She showed me this sort of gaming center for kids they built in there. It was so funny, to see all of that in a place that didn’t used to have anything ever interesting.

dude they had a temple run one wtf

While I was growing up I was always at this shopping center. My mom used to take me there all the time.

Thinking about that started to make me feel a bit alienated, I think. Even though I often complain about the island I live in, I never really noticed how our relationship was so troubled. I felt safe in its streets, but I also wanted them to be more memories than anything concrete. It’s like family, I think. Some of them you just can’t share a house with forever; you clash too much. You fight too much. But if they’re away, they’re memories. And memories are often sweet. In the old we carry all the burden of life, good or worse, as we remember the houses we built more than their noisy neighbours.

Does that make sense? I guess not. To be honest, I started to feel a bit down.

My sister went to get something in this fast food restaurant; we were still at the shopping center. She asked me to sit on a table while she would get us arranged. I looked around.

I saw a man walking strangely, by his side it was a boy. In the spoiled shroom of my thoughts, my OCD hissed. It said “Imagine how many fucked up stories this guy must have in his life”. I felt worse, being confronted by malice that I was failing to ignore. “Honestly”, I thought, “all of these people are monsters. All of them”, and looked at the people passing by and sitting on the tables. “All of them have thoughts they wouldn’t like to have. All of them have done things they’d wish to forget. If they could become public figures, quickly the public eye would turn on them. Because they’re common. Because they’re human, and they either think they’re monsters for what they’ve done or thought, or they are monsters to someone else.”

I don’t know if I agreed with that. I saw a boy happily playing with the toy that came with his fast food order. “He’s not a monster”, I thought. The OCD hissed: “Not yet”. “Then let time kill him as it does us all. If he is the postponed hell, we’re wasting our time.”

I didn’t like that. I saw the boy was with his sister. At this time, my sister returned. She made some jokes only we would understand. She made me laugh really hard. “She’s not a monster”, I thought. “There are some people that just aren’t monsters. I know that.”

Before we exited the shopping center, we saw this huge dinosaur asshole staring at us. We had to take a picture of this beautiful sight. Also there was this fucking triceratops that seemed like he was about to throw up that was also very good. It was good to laugh with her.

I was happy to be happy again. I missed my skin, I missed the taste of my words.

I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow and meet my friend again, the big ball of fire. We have so much to talk about. The movies I watched, the life I lived. But most of all how death is no coin for the living, it’s just a sleepless night for the bed of a long sand river, blind like the love of gravity, strong like my love for the ones who love me.

Beautiful cover art by Mickey Mason.

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