The guy was looking at the sheet over the frame of his glasses.
-What would you like to write about?
-I don't know exactly, but I think that's the least important thing right now.
-And what does it matter?
-To unburden oneself. Explode. Burst and explode and leave a stain on the walls and ceiling of this room. Like when you have to fuck for the first time, no matter who you do it with, it's all about doing it, you understand? There comes a time in every man's life when, like a balloon, after having accumulated so much air, it has to burst, it comes off the other balloons and flies for a while through the air, jumps a couple of clumsy little jumps, falls into the grass and explodes. At the moment, feelings matter and what needs to come out, like the roots of hard rock in the early'70s and punk in'77, they didn't care much about what they said, they just cared about saying it, well that's what I am now: hard rock in the early'70s, punk in'77. I don't care as much about " hows" as I care about " whys ".
-And when is that going to change?
-When the "hows" can take their feet off the "whys" of their head
YOU ARE READING
I.C.U
General Fiction"Debbie Harry and Kurt Cobain; Luca Prodan; a city that burns; a freckled girl who leaves; a war on a mysterious island and a cursed writer are the flashes that run through the mind of a teenager who suffered a motorcycle accident."
