Madness comes in different colors.

Yes, it does.

Part of something beautiful

Il y avait un drôle de lumière dans ses yeux, comme un sourire que ne voulait pas trop se montrer.

Hypnagogia

Everything seems more calmed and movements become subtle.
My mind likes to wander around and I feel that I am me, again.

Hypnagogia is the state in which we are not awake or asleep
We wander within halls of our mind that we aren´t even aware of.

This is not a dream, this is a reality
No, no its not a dream, it's reality
Please don´t wake me up
I´m sorry that I left you
I didn´t want to die

I like to remember the days in which we would fall asleep beneath trees
You would hold my hand and never let me go
My hand would get all sweaty
But i wasn't brave enough to tell you,
I was afraid of making you sad, or mad.
So I would keep all to myself
I´m sorry I never wanted to be a liar
If it was up to me, I would be there with you, forever.

I know you like watching me drink tea.
I would always be up for it, even though you hated it.
I want to thank you for letting me have my cat, Agata.
Even if you were allergic to cats.
I´m really sorry that I can't be there for your birthday
I would have baked a carrot cake for you, I know it's your favorite
I would put my red lipstick on, yeah, the one that you liked so much
And I would let you kiss me, even if that would mess up my make-up.

You know, the sky's still blue
And even though the clouds are sometimes there, to protect you from the sun,
They´ll always go away in summer days.

I just wanted to let you know, that I want you to Stay Golden for me, please.

Stay Gold, ponyboy.

Casi medio centenar de grabaciones de música tradicional indígena, compuesta e interpretada por huicholes y tarahumaras durante 1890 y 1898, fueron donadas por el Gobierno de Noruega al Instituto Nacional de Antropología e Historia (INAH-Conaculta), en el marco de la visita que realiza el primer ministro de ese país, Jens Stoltenberg.

Cat:

Wherever you are,
Peace be with you.

He wrote me:

even in the stalls where they sell electronic spare parts—that some hipsters use for jewelry—there is in the score that is Tokyo a particular staff, whose rarity in Europe condemns me to a real acoustic exile. I mean the music of video games. They are fitted into tables. You can drink, you can lunch, and go on playing. They open onto the street. By listening to them you can play from memory.

Frankly,

have you ever heard something stupider than to say to people, as they teach in film schools, not to look at the camera?

He told me that outside of Tokyo they have a temple dedicated to cats.

We do not remember, we rewrite memories as much as history is rewritten.