DON’T FALL IN LOVE WITH P. N.

Don’t fall in love with Paolo Nutini and the like. Though I have never met this particular man, I can already tell it is highly un-recommendable. To fall for confessions, served with luke warm words, about past adventures hurting his heart, where you will like to reside. You are different you will not leave him astray, damaged on the side of the way. By a carnivore plant designed to attract, trap and catch, I’m being devour alive. When it hurts, celebrate, I say. Uncork the bubbles, put on that dress Lana wears so well, and dance. Drink and dance. Plant-based has good fastfood options as well. I got a playlist, liked songs from the net, randomly switching as I shake it off. The Cremant in the fridge was waiting for me. Aren’t Wednesdays the best of days to let down your hair and listen to how others suffered as well, fell in love, broke up, got together again. I’m not old but I’m too old for this. You don’t know anything about me and your sole feverish attraction is purely based on the idea itself, isolated and disengaged of personification, and it’s our creative nature to blame. In my head I’m very smart, I talk algebra, chemistry, there’s a philosopher, Gilbert, living inside, and, easy or not, one has to let go to get by. Conversations in my mind are my real joy, the treats to my days, I understand the world, us, the universe and life itself. The quality of my sight is defined by the amount of light out there. Through my chest I answer to myself, in morse coded verses, an invisible hand is squeezing the blood pumping organ that takes care of my health. Short and long clutches assembled in threes, as it was done by the marines. I play no instrument of the musical kind but the keyboard in my hand connected to my calling device writes the stories I will tell and share with the hope that, when read, others got to sing and dance as well. When it hurts, sing and dance, be bulletproof, I say.

Don’t fall in love with Paolo Nutini. Short-story from 12 o’clock-tales and after hours thoughts. The book.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s