Stop killing the blue bird


My sister is better, she has started talking, although with difficulties, but she has called my niece and my father. She does not have a fever anymore but she is still under oxygen mask. The coronavirus test result is not yet ready which is so confusing. This means that the numbers they publicly say each day does not actually corresponds to truth. They are numbers 2 to 3 days late.

Anyway, nobody really knows what they are doing. We're not meant to know what we are doing. So if you're angry, be angry. If you're sad, be sad. If you're depressed, be depressed. If you're optimistic, be optimistic. If you're passionate, hold onto that. Passion fuels life.

The passion is the thing. Pursue that to the death. Never stop giving up. Others will oppose you, and some will support you. Who gives a fuck. You are passionate about it. Just go! And hey, you're living!

This coronavirus, this global lockdown, "stay at home" and "physical distancing" have killed all the passion. There is no more life. Apartment windows all light up, no one on the street, the same songs on the radio with constant warnings... if you look closely we have lost brightness in our eyes, everything is lysoled...

People. Politics. Opinions. Love. Hate. Religion. Sex. Money. Success. Failure. Happiness.

No, I am not full of shit when I say this. Look around and see, whatever you can think of is bullshit, there is no passion!

So the real question is how to awake passion for something at this time. We know that our heart beats but we don't know what it beats for. So long as we are not putting others in harms way, we need to follow what that thing inside our chest is telling us.

Stop killing the blue bird - you don't know what the fuck you're doing.


there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out

but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.

there's a bluebird in my heart that 
wants to get out 
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale 
cigarette smoke 
and the whores and the bartenders 
and the grocery clerks 
never know that 
he's 
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the 
works? 
you want to blow my book sales in 
Europe?

there's a bluebird in my heart that 
wants to get out 
but I'm too clever, I only let him out 
at night sometimes 
when everybody's asleep. 
I say, I know that you're there, 
so don't be 
sad. 
then I put him back, 
but he's singing a little 
in there, I haven't quite let him 
die 
and we sleep together like 
that 
with our 
secret pact 
and it's nice enough to 
make a man weep, 
but I don't weep, 
do you?



- Charles Bukowski