I was shivering under the blankets without any lights from the window
Unconscious of the shivers, I dreamed my way through the long cold night
Of a nonexistent world filled with murders and conspiracies and rocky islands
(those are the only blurry details I remembered)
It ended with me standing on a lagoon, looking at a hazy horizon with the sound of wailing waves in the background
and I woke up feeling blue
That was several days ago. I don’t even know why I’m writing about this.
I need something to occupy me. Not because my mind’s thinking too much, but precisely because it needs something to think about. It’s blank and underused. I can almost picture rust starting to eat up its corners, threatening to make me senile and dumb.
Recently I’ve simply stopped thinking about complicated stuff. Weird. People think too much when they have nothing to do, but it’s the reverse for me. I need to do something so my brain can start grinding its old wheels and machinery again.
During our trip to New York, in one of its many underground subway stations, we saw an old guy strumming his electric keyboard playing a tune. His eyes unfocused, his face pasty white and his movement spiritless, the music that came out was pathetic in my ears. Another day in another subway station, another kind of music was played by several musicians in their twenties. We speculated about their story: young aspiring musicians, with enough money to buy their own instruments, wanting public recognition and probably more money to make their own CD. We put several bucks in.
I wonder why I didn’t put those bucks into the old man’s bucket.
New York. America. A land of opportunities, where opportunities breed inequalities and hope.