I was
thinking to sit on the floor while she was reading, to rest for a while and
listen to the music leaking out of her computer. Some sort of old music I used
to listen when I was in high-school. But I continued to stand up near the
bookshelves, looking at the old shabby roofs in the neighborhood, buried into
dust and noise. She kept reading attentively then raised her head and said
calmly: you tend to push all the pronouns
out of the sentence. As if you are pushing people away. That’s really
interesting. You bring aloofness to a new level. A very subtle level. You tend
to omit “you” and “me” is altered to “be”.
A nice Freudian slip I might say. I didn’t even notice. As many
other things that probably I have never noticed. In a world of so many
vocalized “me” I’m taking glimpses into the islands of an equivocal resort to
the self. Thus, the two structures collide in a game between implicit me and
unspoken you, contextually diffused. It’s the quadrant mingling into the
core.
I
remembered the words I was told “do you
remember the song it was played back then, because I guess it might be the key
of the whole story”. I was looking at him completely unaware of the
importance of the message. “I don’t. I
guess it was the second or third song in the set list”. “Find out”. And I did. That feline should
have had some feathers armoring its slim hazy body. The angel of love was upon me. In the end I don’t know for sure
what song was playing back then, how people were breathing or how the sound was
crawling on their skins. But I know how my mind felt it and I would tell you about these things.
