domingo, 30 de março de 2014
The dream of the day is: I was at my prom and it was on the city I born, after go to the stage, me and a lot of people come to other place, and it was at night, and I was trying to get back to the prom, but the street was dark and there was a dog on the calle that I need to cross, so I've gonne throw another calle, in that, a little dog tried to bite me and I call for help to a guy on the street. At some point of this, it was rainning and I didn't have an umbrella, so I saw a house with a lot of them to buy and just pick one without to pay. So I start to feel unconfortable, and the owner of the house come to me ask how much I have payed for this umbrella, and I said "10,20 dollars", so she said to me "ooh, thats ok, I just was wishing for how much I should sell mines".
The inspiration of the day is: A text made by Mia Couto, named The Tuner of Silences.
"Family, school, other people, they all elect some spark of promise in us, some area in which we may shine. Some are born to sing, others to dance, others are born merely to be someone else. I was born to keep quiet. My only vocation is silence. It was my father who explained this to me: I have an inclination to remain speechless, a talent for perfecting silences. I’ve written that deliberately, silences in the plural. Yes, because there isn’t one sole silence. Every silence contains music in a state of gestation.
When people saw me, quiet and withdrawn in my invisible sanctum, I wasn’t being dumb. I was hard at it, busy in body and soul: I was weaving together the delicate threads out of which quiescence is made. I was a tuner of silences.
—Come here, son, come and help me be quiet.
At the end of the day, the old man would sit back in his chair on the veranda. It was like that every night: I would sit at his feet, gazing at the stars high up in the darkness. My father would close his eyes, his head swaying this way and that, as if his tranquillity were driven by some inner rhythm. Then, he would take a deep breath and say:
—That was the prettiest silence I’ve ever heard. Thank you, Mwanito."
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