what looks like art to a new life? Is it a boy (a) the poetic metaphor par excellence?
For some time I was resigned to not being a parent and cope with some dignity a strange lonely vocation. In the preservation of this personal journey, which most misjudged friends and acquaintances and even some sarcastically gave up a set of customs and social habits that I always seemed forced and contrary to my interests.
Typically, a family, a house, a future. I had decided just to have a future and put aside the social roles that every citizen should continue to be respected and respectable. And my future, if you want to judge him selfish, someone went through to become full-time dedicated to activities "higher": writing, reading and teaching. More acidic critique my thinking was my mother. She said that my books-whether low circulation and readership, filled her with pride because they were like her grandchildren, but that pride could be doubled if one day I could really bear children.
same time I had drawn up a plan: give back the love (or rather: do not fall in love) and achieve what some artists call the "absolute poetic 'status Some enlightened grace have been met and that could well be the creation of a powerful metaphor or writing a message we all yearn to share, but they can not express in an original way. They say that the ideals
end when they become reality, or can not become reality. On the one hand, I was convinced that having proved a complete failure in love relationships the most logical thing to live independently. And second, have a daughter or daughter meant abandoning my goal of reaching the revelation that art has promised his followers. In both cases, my hopes were not able to become reality.
The truth is that my "plan" failed The day I met Natalie and daughter both have engendered with love: Luciana. The two tumbled to style my confidence, my inveterate bachelor, my refusal to discover that children represent a world that lives and not be rationalized. His mother knew long ago, and I just so beyond me. Accept-even if it wanted to deep-cost me a strange split: the morning he told me that was just born Luciana my thought was burning of assumptions (the theory is just as tricky), while my body was attacked by vomiting and diarrhea. When I went to emergency to attend to me, told me everything was the work of my nerves, a mirage of my innermost fears somatic Fatherhood is if you do not know.
So when I felt more love from me, this appears as a train at full speed and passes over me. And when I was more confident than ever that fatherhood was not my strengths, Luciana appears as a blip on the horizon and twisted destiny, my fate I imagined removed from all social and marital obligation. This is like taking off the chip from a past life, like starting from scratch, like being reborn.
Luciana Now that I see with his mother in the hospital bed where he was born, now I listen to mourn hungry, half-open eyes and make their little strength a place in this world sullen and upside down, assaulted me again with the energy you used to pursue the "absolute poetry", only this time I feel I have failed before, long before it began. In fact, by now there is nothing to chase or search. Luciana is in this moment, the only true poetry, which was impossible so long I write.
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