You quickly feel the goodbye to everything. What I have loved most in my life, cinema, music, books, women, friends already occupy exclusive use of memory. I don’t know if I have failed those sensations or they have failed me. The fact is that there is no fix. But the memories continue to be a manual of vitalism and survival. For example: I no longer go to concerts with people I have loved, reading, something mysterious and moving, has become a tiring exercise, going to the movies bores me, moving around the big city of ultrabodies governed by the Internet makes me afraid and oppression. What is as daily as it is necessary, that is, the daily measures of mental survival, I either ignore or they ignore me. But here we continue, even if it is absurd.
And having observed, heard and felt live many times the musicians that I have admired the most, I now only find out about their performances through the paper press, which in some media does not even publish the chronicle the next day. They can be called Bob Dylan or Bruce Springsteen, two gods. I see the second in a Movistar Plus + documentary in which the abrasive poet from New Jersey talks about the memoirs that he published in a book that I have not read. He talks about his bipolar father, about the anguish of his relationship with him, about how he appears after infinite years on the night Springsteen’s first child is born. And he cries, and asks for forgiveness. The minstrel also comments on his relationship with absolute fame and adoration.
And Springsteen moves me when he declares what he felt when watching Elvis Presley on television: “rock was joy, rhythm, sex, life.” I love the joy thing. I have felt it with his timeless music, even in the saddest songs. And if the cryptic Dylan in interviews always maintains the mystery of him, Keith Richards laughs away everything he says before the listener does. And my god, that volcanic guy from Belfast called Van Morrison is as dry in his answers as he is exciting in his songs, the interviewed Springsteen does not pretend or does not know how to be magnetic. What does he care? His music is soul, hypnosis, life, feeling. I imagine that those sensations that he transmits will last endlessly for people with a heart. Now and in 100 years of artificial intelligence.
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