A revolution isn’t a gala dinner. It cannot be created like a book, a drawing or a tapestry. It cannot unfold with such elegance, tranquility and delicacy. Or such sweetness, affability. Courtesy, restraint and generosity. A revolution is an uprising, a violent act by which one class overthrows another.
i see myself in, say, fifteen years, in a flat in a big city, looking outside and seeing lights, hearing the city hum. i see myself around the world. traveling, writing and doing all the things i am doing now but in a larger measure and greater importance. behind them a girl was looking outside, and while she seemed to be completely uninterested in what was going on, at a certain point i could notice an imperceptible smile. i was going back home and i was sitting on the bus looking outside.
it’s thursday. i’m sipping coffee, i’m trying to make myself do something. read history, start writing, finish reading the novels. walk. write. see people talk to them.
but at the end of the day i still like my silence the most.
April 9, 2009