Loose Thought

Markers: Green, Orange, Yellow, Light Blue.

Two plugs. I’m using one, the green. I don’t know why I keep plugging the pink, I don’t use it. Never.

Sting sings to me in my ears.

First, I had two Synchronicities. Then, I’d become the King of Pain. But this feels like a Tea in The Sahara.

Where I’m I?

Where I should be?

What should I be doing?

Backache. Headache. Belly pain. Soul in pain.

No more happiness to me than those light words

With the people that I love most.

I’m tired of being tired

Of having my soul messed with all that crap

I don’t want to have it anymore

Not that kind of things / Not that kind of obsessions / Not that kind of feelings.

I don’t want them.

I love and I hate

But at least, I don’t hate myself… that much.

“Remember when you were young?

You shone like the sun.

Shine on you, Crazy Diamond”

Something inside of me yells me that.

I’d like to be playing drums, singing in a band

I’d like to be writing every day, reading all the world’s literature

I’d like to be a good medic, now. Attending a small office in a small center in a small town lost in time and space. Smiling at kids. Smiling at the women of the town. Chatting with the men in the small market. Being respected, being happy.

I’d like to be with someone

To share all that glitter of our lives.

Now there’s a look in my eyes

Like the black holes in the skies.

I was caught in the crossfire of a war that I don’t understand.

A secret war that comes to the surface when I don’t want it

Everything’s missed at those times

Welcome to the Machine.

Welcome to the “Adult’s World”

Welcome, whether you like it or not (I should have used this phrase before)

Welcome, whether you’re ready or not.

Welcome, my son.

What did you dream? It’s alright, we told you what to dream.

But I don’t want to.

I don’t want to have my dreams to be dreamed by others

Designed by others

Ruled by others

I don’t wanna change the things that make me weak

I’m not like that. I’ve never been a strong guy.

Come in here, dear boy. Have a cigar.

You’re gonna go far, fly high, you’ll never gonna die.

Really?

Me? Really?

I’m gonna make it? How I’m going to make it!?

If I can’t stand against myself, how in the blue sky I’ll be able to make it!

So, do you think I can tell?

Heaven from hell, Blue skies from pain?

I try. I used to do it. But now, I can’t.

I thought that I was able, again, to do that.

But now I know that’s not true.

Running over the same old ground.

What I’ve found? The same old fears.

I wish you were here.

To have something to hold in this blizzard.

To have that lovely breeze that freshens up the hellish summers.

To have the warm of your breath in my life.

To have the charm of your soul overflowing in my arms.

I don’t want the miner of truth and delusions.

I don’t want the boy child, the winner or the loser.

I don’t care anymore about the shadow of yesterday’s triumph.

I want you. Don’t matter how near or far you are.

Don’t matter that I don’t know (or recognize) your face.

I won’t care about anything. I’ll just hold you.

I want to make it simple, again, as it should have been.

Like the spark that shows some suns ago.

Like the flame that I took care to not let burn

Until it was too late.

I’ll go to rest a while.

Even when I know that’s useless.

When I know that… I’ve screwed it at this point.

But, it’s all right.

Somehow, I’m going to make it.

Because at this time, all the things are different.

Not for good, for bad. Just different. And it gives me hopes.

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All the italic-marked words belongs (somehow) to Pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” album, whose lyrics were written by Roger Waters, so, those words belongs to him. Please, don’t get mad at me by using it!