One Apple A Day #02
I love doodling. Sketching meaningless shapes on a piece of paper while I’m doing something else.
Meeting are the most inspiring context for my doodling.
Writing without a story to tell, without a seed on which to build a train of thoughts, it’s like doodling.
Sometime I’m overwhelmed by the idea that there should always be a purpose on whatever we do.
This thing about asking “why”? Why are you doing this? Why are your writing? Why are you working?
I think it would be really liberating to be able to reply “For no reason, I’m just doing it”.
So now I feel a bit like this. I’m writing for 15 minutes without a purpose.
Without an idea to develop or something to present. Just writing.
Even so, even if I was supposed to write just words I ended up with a piece that has a sort of a meaning.
It’s time to stop. Really, from the next sentence I will just allow my hands to write whatever word that comes to my mind.
Horses, sea, blue, grey, window, black cat, the glass is half full, the pen is over there.
I need a new tattoo, I love music, bananas, the silence, I love the silence, a mirror.
Does real silence really exist? Maybe out there in the space, but can we stop our mind from thinking?
I know we can’t control the heart. It’s nice that we don’t have complete control on our body. Even nature doesn’t trust our mind. She knows we would kill ourselves.
Is nature a woman? I’m hungry, I always confuse angry and hungry. I’m Italian.
Saturday, It’s just a day like the others. Or is it special?
It is, but only because the world decided that Sunday is special. It’s not true. Here in Kuwait Friday is special.
Time expired.