Four Poster Bed Drapes

A ome accuse me tone of these pages and even graphomania that encourages me to write daily. not write much, not know what to write , for when the novel , should leave it the blog and devote yourself to something more serious, do not waste energy on such trifles, are some of the statements Some relatives are afraid to mention without questioning its impact and its importance in me. And Javier Marías wrote an entire novel to discuss the case, that presence percuciente semantics of important words that people utter about one without the slightest reserve, and without knowing the scope thereof. No nothing happens at these circumstances and I reaffirm that when I start writing in this tropical, light silt juanramoniana Cervantes and I feel full, satisfied and able to pronounce the syllables that belong to silence alone if only because ... pure writing, which says the occult and gropes the abyss, is the loneliness of the traveler. ***

H oy, for example, I wanted to retain the first drive and the emerging desire write to see how long I can exist without it. In these cases, use an adverb, either time or place, not what best fits the essence of writing, for all this is just work in action, present future. Perhaps it is this fascination for writing, the spontaneity and risk. The writing exercise is essential reading for joining me one thing to another, so that they read find a grip on writing and writing to be recreated substance of what is read, to go setting up the beam and the underside of the day.

all day I've been reading different books. This morning I finished reading a book of poems in which I'm writing down impressions, mismatches, which would change if it were mine. I do it with love, driven by prudence, but it's been exciting to enter the catharsis, as a violin-wet-and become a poet in another.

Thereafter, Trapiello, Marias, Tolstoy, Rilke, Pessoa and Virgil. Finally, I grabbed the volume of Dante and found that the wonder is intact. In that transfer of reading, quite often I was quoted by the annotation and to that end, I used the notebook with me. I took notes, copied lines, even began to bloom the first signs of a poem. Everything was reversed with the first howls of light entering from the greyness the sky.

D ***

fter all, I still think that Parmenides was a poet trying to define poetry. ***

E n this attempt at dismissal of writing that I committed today, I did not tell M. She is using these days off to read some books in Italian. When I watch reclining on a sofa, so lost, I wish that his pupils are driven to me like they do in the pages and their stillness as I belong to me belongs to the fiction that sustains it. I wanted to tell you not going to quit writing daily until they got it, because this time of writing are a part of the routine of the house and she, better than anyone, knows that when I start writing I can not do anything else. In this way, as she is the one that saves the time for these letters be brewing, the giver, could not inform the failed attempt already knew beforehand. Now, you're by my side, I'm narrating, in parallel, what I'm writing at the time and she does not stop laughing at these annotations threats stunned juveniles. So, with laughter and unfulfilled threats, gray and harsh world, so violent and unruly, will be channeled and without predictions, without prefixes, as should understand ourselves.