Nina Simone, I know that it is too late and there is no way that you can hear me, but that does not matter anymore. Tonight, doctor Simone, I understand, more than any other time, the darkness of the doom of the skin we each have, the passing of the childhood that marks a man as nothing else later does.
I understand that we are but figures in the big matches and that our small rebellions are everything that we have left. The big ones break our hearts as a rule.
Your rage is clear, Nina, and I am again intoxicated by your complete surrender to the song, your naiveté and dedication, your inability to be the mother to the child that still worships you and understands what you had to go through to come to the end, survive deceits, falls and rises, and remain on the throne, where the wind is still wild, and lonely, as in no other place. Our youth remained there, this wind brings back an long gone first love, brings the end to the beginning.