I’m not happy again today because the situation is not happy. I can write the aseptic article of everyday but I don’t want to do it. I can find many things in this stinking country like envy, stupidity and many more words but I have still a little collection of pipes and the Government doesn’t look to be interested in –if they were, be sure they have stolen me yet-. I write articles for Yareah about everything and I miss my dear books. It’s nice to begin writing and finishing the work in the same day, but when I’ve written a book I could feel something one thousand times more interesting, deeper than I write a little article.
There’s nothing bad when you write an article, of course –at least, if you like it-. But I like to write books and that’s the thing I was born to do. No lies, I told you before. I spent a year writing a book and it was frustrating, bad, nervous, fascinating, divine, human poetic or prosaic but, in the end, it was MY work and that was the more important thing when I wrote books –and I know not all the books are so personal as mine-. An article is something different. You can talk about another person or even you can write about yourself but you know the words you must write to finish the article and you must consider the SEO (don’t you know what the hell is SEO? You will die happier than me).
But I won’t talk about SEO today. When I think about my books I feel something similar when Marcel Proust took the madeleine and he remembered his childhood. There’s something infantile in the fact of writing personal novels in a man near the 40’s –in fact, very very near-. I know the people who love novels and I must confess I stopped to read novels years ago –I know, it’s my fault-.
These are my words today. Sad words maybe and I know this is not a good article. I might explain something interesting to someone but I cannot do today. I’ve been walking and I am going to take a walk with Jack. I don’t want to do anything more and I don’t want to explain anything. Existentialism? Maybe I’m just depressed and it’s not necessary to talk about Simone de Beauvoir to explain this sadness.
I promise, tomorrow it will be a better day. I will talk about the snails reproduction –if it’s sexual, I’m not interested in natural aberrations, sorry-. Have a good day and very very sorry.