Sometimes we have the gift of oratory. We're good or believe to be so in speaking about almost everything about us. We can give opinions on food, politics, bottoms, jobs, love... it's a never ending list. It is so much easier to give an opinion about a real concept. When it's bottoms or food, well, either they are good and tasty (respectively) or bad and tasteless, or bitter, or souer. But non-physical things, such as love, are a whole different matter. Specially if you're in the middle of it. It's blurry and messy, and foggy and your words seem just a bunch of bloody stains in your speech. I need bleach to make myself understood. Neoblanc gentil, maybe? Why is that?
The mouth opens up but it's being disconnected from the brain. The heart wants to take charge of the situation. The anger, the pain are filtered because rationality has signaled them to the litter box of the brain. However, The heart keeps on sending this ridiculous impulses up, setting them lose through your mouth and at a certain point, you just wish you were a surgeon to slash this autonomous organ, and shut it up. How does it dare to command my speech?
When you're done with slashing and cutting up the words from the heart, you're soul is bloody and you're brain severely stressed from having done all the censorship by itself. You sow your heart back in but it takes a while to beat again... your beating is weak, your words are few and you might need some CPR. Please bring the paddles. Charge them with as much love-joules as you can.
P.S.1 - Please do ignore the violence the photograph might suggest. Don't ignore its beauty.
P.S.2 - Sometimes, writing is a relief.
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