Got a light?

To be prose with music, and not always with linear meaning, nor ever entirely consented.

To be verse with a certain sense of the uncertain, and always a syntactic harmony.

To be, which is to dwell among things and people with the patience of plants and the wisdom of minerals,that wisdom watered by laughter, blooming—one hopes—when least expected. Tears often bloom too,but isn’t a small, lively tear often the little mirror of good company?

To be prose with music and not let oneself be seduced by the hook of a thousand refrains. To make text—text is weaving—but not to brutalize oneself in a thousand crochet loops. To get hooked, yes, for weaving is text,but not to confuse oneself with the impersonal ways of automatons.

To be, to dwell, to weave and unweave the warp,to remake and make the new… and never to give up.

To be of music in the synchronicity of a single emotion,and of many of them in resonance—like waves on the wings of any heartbeat,followed by another, and another, and another…

Concomitantly.

I know I play with fire when I am cold.

(I know I play with fire when they can and when I want,that fire plays with me when I can and when they want.That before analyzing anything, everything comes out tangled and good,as I am when I want, I can… and—got a light?)

By Eduardo Montull FC.