I found that by turning my world upside down and inside out that the wrong thing to do was the right thing, the right, the wrong. And the way forward was the way back, and the way up, down...
To pierce that cold and total darkness that pierces with its dagger, and see up close that abyss where I was dwelling all along, I went into the streets to commiserate with the blind, the beggar, the heartbroken, those damned and oppressed of dreams.
Dreams, what are they? Dreams, where do they go?
I sought help at churches with cornices and cupolas and divine motifs; but their doors were locked. And reflected in stained glass windows with all those endless tears I shed, my sweat like drops of blood, were crazy, desperate men with beards, all of whom were me...
From the book LETTERS FROM THE STREET by Papa Balloons
