Operation: Opera

 


I was thinking in opera about. The voice extensive flying into theater provoking and trucking on heart bitten.

Sometimes I watch from libretto and parts noted from some sites of the web. I have hearing an alter love never we could imagined.

A ghost alive that is touching and is worn on our souls. She coming and the voice somehow materializes in an entity like human as well as moves the false reality being into us the eventual truth that receives us for a particular experience, it is human but is too beyond us.

The art touches us like a fate that in the after still resounds.

Opera is the superior contextualization that willingly shows us some hope of a world that seems not to fade.


I am someone who came from a place that never was. River water, calm lakes, waterfalls, edges where bushes and trees grow, the open field, the sky reflected in my hands in the trembling mirror of the river, the waits I am, this man lying in the river in the middle of autumn of my existence, loves his children, he likes to be alone, and he has a great company. I leave out the conceptual groups that put their finger on the face and follow fashion. I try not to be like that. In this boat, I am also the water where I sail. I take the sky with me, the fields, the flowers, and the fragrant herbs all my mornings. I am a being of the dawn. The scandal of nature in the voice of a bird, the incessant hum of the bells that insects make. I look like it, but I am not afraid of anything. I do not think I ever was. Indeed, my father, especially my mother, sweetly led me to read and write. I am always primary; I am still learning to read and write, row, and let the boat go safely. pmnt

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