“I never could make anything work out right and now I’m betraying my friends. I can’t make anything out of it – never could. …”
The building in which I live at the moment touches the clouds. The view is breath-taking. Sometimes I stand on my balcony and I just wait for it to be back. The sea takes away everything I leave on the balcony. The sea knows how to do it. It takes away both your eyes and stops your breath, not thinking about consequences.
Life on the island could be magical. I have been chosen by the one that offers the Caribbean secrets, I live on an island that invented magic and its dolls. On the other side there is the cradle of importing the soul with the body. There are frequent power cuts, but they are quickly gone. The elevator is faster than that. I have never descended with this speed before.
John Coltrane always waits in the elevator. He relentlessly repeats how working with Monk was a free fall through the dark hole of the elevator. I repeat along with him what I have learned by heart. We play with the rhythm and stresses and intonations. Thelonious joins us sometimes, and if he speaks, he soloes about a heart that was left on a Nicaraguan terrace. The speed of the elevator rarely allows me to be stuck in the hole longer than several dark minutes.