small talk

always wanted to write a book. well, indeed i've tried it several times, but i was forced to stop, h.
many times i felt pursuit by words... i could never find the right ones and, after i finished some part of the book, words just flew into my mind, and they were always perfect for the case... by far better than those i've placed in the book.
but you can't change just a word... words dance ones with others, and you need to play a tune for them all, not just for a solo dancer
I always remember a man i've met in an old house, full of smoke. he was seated watching some can-can, with an empty glass and a smell of bourbon all around him, like a halo. he was repeating the same thing over and over: he was saying paranoid repeatedly. i stared at him for a while, listening to that strange sound coming out of his halo. he looked at me without stop the murmuring...
stare or go, i thought, so i kept listening to him
after sometime the word was loosing any sense or meaning. it was just a sound. like some spiraled wind, coming in my mind.
i think he was trying to get rid of some disease by throwing the meaning out of the word. perhaps he was tired of being called something and just needed to render the word meaningless... perhaps he would live better if he didn't understand the meaning of some words

Perhaps.... he was just some paranoid, b... and i would never trust someone with a bourbon halo