Should I have noted?

Every day, in bed, just before sleep, I pass through a strange ritual. When I lie down and close my eyes, it opens instantly one, two, thousands of gates in my mind that starts to wander, accelerated at a frenetic pace, glimpsing ideas and more ideas.

The flow rate at which makes me think that, sometimes, in silence of the night, in solitude of my thoughts, I hear voices.

But they do not whisper words; inspire ideas. I have the impression that I am surrounded by spirits, invoking my mind, make me delirious. I, per usual, ignore them with the clear certainty of later regret.

Often, ideas are morbid, funereal, depressing but, at the same time, so lovely. Reinforces to me the idea that they are works of spirits, because the beauty of the ode to death could only be fruits of those who no longer lives anymore.

As usual, I let the ideas flowing, I rejoice with sporadic feelings of creativity, originality and sometimes, believe me, geniality. After a few minutes I calm down myself, my thoughts began to focus mundane objects, and finally, I stanch this other being that lives in me. Bounded to his cage, me, it allows me sleep and then, as always, I forget everything “I” thought.

I do not remember what I was thinking yesterday. I just know that it was sad and lovely. I should have noted. But I didn´t. I slept and shut forever ideas who could turn into a beautiful poem. Or, perhaps, an ode to a death.

Another translated madness from portuguese language,my mother tongue. Originally published here.