... because we are and always will be born yesterday.
Perhaps it is easy to criticize the times in which we live, because the past is still shrouded in the mysterious and fascinating film that generates the time simply doing what he can do, or run continuously forward. No one has understood this incredible mechanism when normal, the first thing we realized just grown up, that there is death, and waiting for us at the end of our journey through time, and that this that was not coming back.
Despite this, despite all this, the memory is the only way we can win the time, even if it is weak and a tool that must be constantly nourished by love, the willingness and desire to be, not so much to persist.
through memory and a bit of critical conscious, we try to abstract our opinion.
The fact is that the night is made for wandering souls and in pain, seeking relief after having been compressed during the day, the ordinary life pigeonholed as the offices, carriers, walls and sometimes even the pavements force us.
Sometimes it comes from think of simpler times, when everything was almost completely different, and the difference was almost entirely negative. When all the fun did not mean never get hurt, get hurt and never really have it for real.
remember, while relatively young and not entirely old days when music was still a spontaneous motion of the soul, or at least it was not quite the bike (not all) of spontaneous and a chart of revenue outputs. Love was innocent, the words were innocent, and we were innocent. Perhaps like the illusion of more, or maybe the media were not so developed to spread the Pirandello and Svevo absolute truth about modern man, his sadness interior, its great to be a spark from the fire escape, destined to fade into the darkness after having shone for a while.
be young then was different from young people today, because despite knowing nothing, however, was not anything.
My lack of patience in investigating this phenomenon does not allow me to give a logical explanation to all this. I know that man lives almost everything better today, and that art is not entirely dead, and that there is still that innocence, that is (almost) completely lost. But it's really hard to find, and perhaps impossible, until we realize that we were born yesterday.
And that's why I still like those who were wondering why these Beatles.
