Monza, Italia. July 2012.
The nights seem always like a better time to think about those things the light just shines too bright to see. Sometimes I spend too much time looking at the rays of sunlight going in the room through holes in the blinds or the curtains waving with the breeze. The night brings silence, in my mind mostly. Outside the insects sing about the old gods. They sing sadly, all at once but not together, they sing loudly but not to each other. Insects sing to find their way home, somewhere, somehow, before the sun comes back and takes their short lives away.
With night comes longing, not for the morning but for the sleep I can never seem to get. For ever other cigarrette I smoke and throw away there is a thousand journeys I replay in my mind, with open eyes, projected upon the walls of my self inflicted blur of a world. The insects keep singing but I still can not understand.