But the sun will rise the day after tomorrowA millennium without us silences our last echoTo tiny fragments even our plastics are reducedIn Eden Reincarnate all life but ours is renewed

I can't remember the poemThat pierced through my heartIt was the saddest I heardOf all truths ever spokenIt left a scar in meA wound that doesn't healBut the words are forgottenSo is a big part of me

I read for pleasureIn search of fictional worldsTo enrich my truths

Real is overratedNo way in my life is that the gistI'd be everything I am notIf I were a fictionist

Words are music to the ears, alone or together, with or without melody.

And because the world is too big and time is too short and you only have one life to live, read!

Blank pages are cruelPure torture in white or beigeBut how else to start

I exaggerateThere is a lie in my truthLook! My soul is blue

I crouch in cornersThe infection is widespreadLove epidemic

Does my soul sufferWhen my body breaks downWhen I feel mortalWhen my body is weakDoes the soul rejoiceThe end is near

No music in the raindropsNo clouds with silver liningTorrents of sorrowsHorror in streams

Never give up, the hope of living.

The virtues of free enterprise can become distorted by greed & delusion.

True love is what makes life worth living.

The problem with improvisation is, of course, that everyone just slips into their comfort zone and does sort of the easy thing to do, the most obvious thing to do with your instrument.

I think I was very young when I became interested in fashion.

Even a tourist can tell in a Roman street that he is in something and not outside of something as he would be in most cities. In Rome to go out is to go home.

In some bigger cities, I don't think people really realize these structures were built for the Olympics.

What you think and do today determines how tomorrow is going to be.

I think that music has been a great help to me and this has been confirmed by every psychiatrist I have seen. I would probably be dead if not for music.

May blessings be upon the head of Cadmus, the Phoenicians, or whoever it was that invented books.