Fragmentos de um Roteiro 3

Outer Space

Things that pop in my head.

A man sings a soul music in the train station.

Astronaut walks the streets. Or rides his bike across the Brooklyn Bridge. (this location must be stolen, by the way). His thoughts:

'I think I dreamed of being an astronaut when I was a kid. I'm not completely sure of that. (all black, then fades in) At least the excuse I used to move here was this dream I needed to chase. I moved to a place where I could fail away from the eyes of the all the people I know. And somehow I felt that the people back in the my hometown would speak of me and remember me looking up to the sky longing for that fading star that would slowly become a myth, or a legend, or just a lie, but a good lie.'

Well, anyway. I'm far, far away from home. Hiding alone among the stars.
This place is as big as the infinite. And quite lonely, I would say.

Dreaming. I'm always dreaming.

I wish I could be more objective. Start, working, get real. More logical, down to earth. I wish I could concentrate on more useful things. I wish I could speak better, and not stuttering. Say intelligent insights and not the pseudo-intellectual crap just to show-off.

I wish I could write everything that I think.

I wish I was different. Better looking. I wish I couild acomplish a little more. Not giving up so easily.

I wish I could write poetry.

I wish I had undying love.