Love autism - and with the days of Prokofiev（十）

I have repeatedly tried to change the memory of that summer, until the want to get mad and headaches until Prokofiev to have forgotten the names of his life is. Or, from the beginning, what is his is not important, I only know that he called Prokofiev, pull a good grounding in the cello hand ... ... After the end of that summer, I know, I disappeared. I disappeared and later had a long time, Prokofiev's name tended to obscure. I am special to him, but some traces of a ray of many lines, those people walked the bridge, passed the ditch, stepped on the river, are the first cross in front of me. My emotional experience how simple and pure white, like a white, above it has not yet covered with handwriting. Next, I thought of youth, remaining half. I refused to follow those signs continue, because I have been walking a path that only he can, would not coincide with the collective, intimate factors about the case. I think about I will disappear, and in one morning or evening.


Sat on the porch, cool breeze, I had hallucinations to: face to face with a man sitting. I have too much, life has lots to talk about, I see tells me warmly; but I also see that I have lots to talk about life, then I can silence a lifetime. This is me, warm or security lonely, double, split. Every time to see such a myself curled in a corner, a sudden outflow of tears. Or agitation, or flawless. No one knows where I caught in the bustle of how feeling lonely; no one knows when I am alone and mind will be trapped in how warm and boiling.

Music in the large lecture - Prokofiev; red soup - Prokofiev, I - Prokofiev, Prokofiev former Soviet Union, Volga surging voice of Prokofiev, Cello Prokofiev sound ... ... in the life of the memory, the shadow will cling to the security of lonely hearts. Gently in the tears of countless call that name, that is to the people familiar with does not matter, of the knife and I like the names of stars, when I smoke this earth farther and farther, I know, you name, I will not forget.

• think of Paul Celan poem: "I can still look at a person you can feel the words, touching farewell ridge. Your face slightly shy, when suddenly a bright light in general, in my heart , just standing there, one of the most painful to say, never. "At the moment, here and now, Listen to the sound far from near the cello, that the burning of endless nostalgia me how they fast all over me, and I finally know: the day my ashes just around the corner. That moment, I cracked voice and those implicit in the text that all the high significance, a spiritual thought to be living in one's heart; thought to exist only in the heart of the spirit of a person, which kinds of feelings, a broken-style sad, but also into the type of happiness.

... ...
: "But why should guilty?"
: "Why is that not wrong?"
: "But I love you."
: "But I am guilty of."
... ...

Completed.

Warm. June 8, 2010. Face and records.