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desolate look disjointed notes on a staff I have shaped absurd meaningless, unreadable ... Highlighted eager to be touched, eager to be represented in the deafening sound of my old grand piano that adorns so many years ago my living room, plus your melody and not enough to be heard anywhere. Just dust your surface strokes crude attempt to make it visible.
I am sitting in my longed sidewalk years ago has accompanied me on many tunes, so many creations ... Then I was inspired, full of ideas and feelings that raced through countless scores that sounded like sirens in my piano inseparable. However, now that time has passed, the muse of inspiration seems to have abandoned me no kind of resentment. I can not create anything that has a modicum of consistency, harmony, heart. I am only a mediocre, tired of being so, tired of notes and scores that do not fill an empty life around.
I get frustrated after two hours walking around with hollow eyes and inscrutable staves. I turn shot at the door of my house and open it to escape a world that is not mine, that has ceased to belong to a control escaping believed to possess.
I go out and inspire the aroma of noise every day decorating the big city where, not if, fortunately or unfortunately, I grew up.
I see a sea of \u200b\u200bhuman bodies that run from side to side looking for something that never meet. In search of a dream that does not want to dream ...
I go out and repair the first thing my eyes is a vagabond who clings desperately to a small plastic bowl inside which there is only a single penny. Rest sitting on the sidewalk with a frayed blanket as sole provider for protection from uncomfortable cold that hits the streets in winter.
I approached him and watch it. Their eyes look tired of living rise and land on mine. My heart skips a beat, my pulse speed up seeing for the first time in my life, a look like that. A penetrating look at which one can distinguish the abandonment of a life full of suffering and pain, disappointment and bitterness, and yet I'm surprised to discover in those eyes transparent sincerity, a glimmer of happiness, joy, hope.
I go further, perhaps with the intention of giving a coin, and shelter in a small cardboard hanging from his neck which can be read, not without some difficulty, the word grace. Currency deposits in the dirty plastic bowl, still captivated by that look that seems to have seen it all, unable to contain my curiosity absurd ask
- Excuse me ... Why has the sign around your neck? Would not it be more comfortable leaving it in the ground?
Man whose age is unexpected, I nailed his powerful eyes and answered in a voice as strong as safe:
- You see, sir. It's in my neck because every day I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful to see a sunset colored by the sun, and one night wrapped up in the most beautiful stars. If I leave it on the floor, no one will see how much I appreciate your stepping on a land that many can not.
back to my house look absolutely entranced by the wisest and most moving I have ever seen, I could never perceive.
I sit at my piano y. .. My God, the notes start to come alone, they begin to flow in an unstoppable cascade of inspiration. The melody is perfect, the chords are sublime, the work is my great work, my piano again have life, and sound travels every corner of my house.
The title of this splendid harmony for so many years had resisted, could not be another: THANK YOU.
I am sitting in my longed sidewalk years ago has accompanied me on many tunes, so many creations ... Then I was inspired, full of ideas and feelings that raced through countless scores that sounded like sirens in my piano inseparable. However, now that time has passed, the muse of inspiration seems to have abandoned me no kind of resentment. I can not create anything that has a modicum of consistency, harmony, heart. I am only a mediocre, tired of being so, tired of notes and scores that do not fill an empty life around.
I get frustrated after two hours walking around with hollow eyes and inscrutable staves. I turn shot at the door of my house and open it to escape a world that is not mine, that has ceased to belong to a control escaping believed to possess.
I go out and inspire the aroma of noise every day decorating the big city where, not if, fortunately or unfortunately, I grew up.
I see a sea of \u200b\u200bhuman bodies that run from side to side looking for something that never meet. In search of a dream that does not want to dream ...
I go out and repair the first thing my eyes is a vagabond who clings desperately to a small plastic bowl inside which there is only a single penny. Rest sitting on the sidewalk with a frayed blanket as sole provider for protection from uncomfortable cold that hits the streets in winter.
I approached him and watch it. Their eyes look tired of living rise and land on mine. My heart skips a beat, my pulse speed up seeing for the first time in my life, a look like that. A penetrating look at which one can distinguish the abandonment of a life full of suffering and pain, disappointment and bitterness, and yet I'm surprised to discover in those eyes transparent sincerity, a glimmer of happiness, joy, hope.
I go further, perhaps with the intention of giving a coin, and shelter in a small cardboard hanging from his neck which can be read, not without some difficulty, the word grace. Currency deposits in the dirty plastic bowl, still captivated by that look that seems to have seen it all, unable to contain my curiosity absurd ask
- Excuse me ... Why has the sign around your neck? Would not it be more comfortable leaving it in the ground?
Man whose age is unexpected, I nailed his powerful eyes and answered in a voice as strong as safe:
- You see, sir. It's in my neck because every day I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful to see a sunset colored by the sun, and one night wrapped up in the most beautiful stars. If I leave it on the floor, no one will see how much I appreciate your stepping on a land that many can not.
back to my house look absolutely entranced by the wisest and most moving I have ever seen, I could never perceive.
I sit at my piano y. .. My God, the notes start to come alone, they begin to flow in an unstoppable cascade of inspiration. The melody is perfect, the chords are sublime, the work is my great work, my piano again have life, and sound travels every corner of my house.
The title of this splendid harmony for so many years had resisted, could not be another: THANK YOU.
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