Pulsões

It's as if the diary opened its mouth and began to sing - in a stream, with nerve, with a voice inside my head. Everything pulsates: thoughts, fingers, the past that refuses to lie still, and the present that asks simply to be. There's a little philosophy, a little self-analysis and - yes - a lot of thoughts. Sometimes too many. But who said that's a bad thing? After all, if you're going to go crazy, at least do it to the accompaniment of guitar strumming and revelations that, for some reason, are embarrassing but pleasant to say out loud.