It was a Sunday in March in 2011, and after a lot of arguing with myself, I started writing this blog, almost as a necessity, some kind of diary without it being strictly; The first thing I post says:
I think that this is not the best or the worst thing that I am going to write in my life, it is simply like throwing a sheet of paper written in blue ink in the wind, and hoping that someone, who does not know who I am, or where I live, at he doesn't care, my name, or how much I earn per month, he reads it and feels alive and says "YES, THAT'S ... that's how I feel right now", well, it's just being able to write about something, "the somethings "They are good things or sometimes not so good and sometimes really bad but the truth is that" the something "is why every day we get up and continue breathing looking forward without forgetting what happened and enjoying the" present "bad or good for That is what makes life divinely BLUE.
Until next time, eat delicious, listen to good music and read some poetry and tell me later how you feel ......
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A short time ago I asked myself why I keep doing it after so many years, that I don't think I am good enough, that few people read it and the answer is this:
왜?
many times I have asked myself, why do I keep writing, why in this world that seems more sterile every day, I keep betting on a genre as bastard as poetry; My only answer is for love, I love the sound of the keys when my hands chase words and the trance of the creation competes in an instant experience, feelings, imagination and yearnings; I write why I do not consider a world without poetry, without music, without art, I write because although I have found another way to subsist economically, my only love is this, it is to continue day by day, night by night, chasing the crazy swing of my ideas that materialize in verses and prose.
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Virginia Woolf wrote:
“Every secret of a writer’s soul, every experience of his life, every attribute of his mind, is amply written in his work.”
this is me
https://lebluesmots.blogspot.com/
El arte... es mi razón, mi brújula, el solitario y estoico Faro que ilumina mi camino, la canción que suena en la Radio desde los suaves acordes de Drexler y las lágrimas que corren por mi mejilla al tratar una vez más de agradecerle; a esta Quimera fantástica, a mi vivir, a mi amar, a mi decir, a mi libertad pura y pacifica ondeante en el viento, un simple tributo a aquello gracias a lo que vivo y de lo que nunca pensé vivir.
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