Nostalgy is like praying to a dead tissue. Nostalgy comes without asking for a permission. I´m talking about nostalgy for things lying in a distant past, not about the island we visited last summer or a sunset, two years ago. The brain has its own laws. Every tenth(?) year it changes wide-angle and gets a new position. It changes its way to see at things, it works up in a new way. While we keep on running after chimeras it changes directions without giving a warning. It needs different states of mind, it refuses to do the same mistakes. It is another story if we realize all that. If we do, we mostly regard changes as worrying and dangerous signs. We think we´re getting old. The same opinion have people around us. "He/she´s gone", "he/she withdraws", they whisper to each other and they keep on running, get out of breath, fall into the same traps.
Nostalgy takes you out of life´s boxing match. The question is: is real life taking place inside or outside the boxing ring?
Nostalgy can fasten you on something so that you can´t get rid of it. You can end up in its mud and, no matter how much you struggle, it drives you downwards into a humid darkness.
This blog has nothing to do with such a nostalgies. This blog is about a return to the real truth, the one we used to put aside because we did not have the time to work through. It is about creative and charp nostalgies. About revenging and flaming nostalgies who start digging in the subconscious mind instead of exhuming precious memories who have been covered by unimportant and stupid expectations or useless hopes.
I´m talking about revolting and anarchic nostalgies, about big refusals. In the middle of all that, if some liquids will be flowing, reminding of tears, there is nothing to worry about. Tears are relaxive...