Softly drowing. How can this happen to someone. How can this, small sentence, be true. I was wondering if this is happening, If this is happenig to people around me. Unfurtunetly it was. Very often, to many different people. I found out only when it happened to myself.
Twenty years now, breathing in this beautifly weird earth, I felt for the first time that I was wearing a jar around my head. A jar full of water and fishes. The water was drowing me again and again, leaving me without my senses, nearly dead. The fishes in the minimum time that I was awake, they were messing around with my head, with my thoughts. This was the most accurate description of my every day life. And maybe It wasn't only me, I guess everyone have their own jars.
An author of the street. So poor for this rich life. With so little time to built the life that she wants. So unfair and in the same time so fair. Because everyone have the exact same time to create aristoctratic lifes. But no one walks late night in the streets, no one appreciates the delicate harmony of beauty . No one sees the sky and the sea and how these two magnificent blue collors find each other in a spectacular line, so silent, so touching and forever. And for that reason only, I can understand the art of my unique jar.

-Mogwai, Take Me Somewhere Nice