Untitled Despair

It’s the first of many such nights for me: the saxophone grinding away in the lightbulb and nothing to fill my belly with. Alone in my world: no friends to greet me and no one to talk to: the beetle that strikes the wall again and again. Sprinklers hissing in the night.

Dark black cold lonely night, as dark and cold and black and lonely as space. Is that the same motorcycle which grinds by every night? Going by like clouds torn in half?

I can’t call her name. All of my mind is exhausted. But replenished by passing through a scale of colors. Flute notes going out into the dark.


♪ Antonio Carlos Jobim – Wave (1963) ♪

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