Aizun y las gestas minimalistas

There I was, singing out loud, walking down the street with no jacket and not feeling the cold I was walking through. There I was, dreaming up awake, laughing on my own of minimal gestures no one would never be aware of.

But inspiration. That was something hard to find. Not that I was looking for it, you know. But the lack of inspiration was itching me from a remote back of my mind ... until the very moment i heard these words:

- Your breathing is weird.
- That's because I have a girl squeezing my chest.

That was the very moment. The very moment when
inspiration was not a problem anymore, and the subject of all self-discussion was about to be me in my visionary mode-on. Because thoughts and images and dialogues (not only that kind of words and images and dialogues, but you know) were pretty much alike the pages of some certain notebook written and made up and imagined once upon a time.

And that made me chuckle, hustle and bustle.