Thoughts that arise while listening to sad music. There are moments when your mind just blows. Little pieces of blown-up cerebral cortex sticks on this room's walls. Walls that at some time, they were as white as hospitals' ones: a colour that symbolizes pureness and hygiene, but they are now decorated with liters of bright red paint, which it still is the most awarded refreshing drink among vampires. "A little brush over here, a bit of lump over there" said a famous painter called "Randomness". Some say his real name was "Physics". But the truth is that he drew a quite realistic and reddish painting. Any eye and dark hairs floating on puddles of pure crimson reflections. What at one time it was life. Or passion. Or grief... Who knows. Who best knows it remains inert on his knees, frozen as if it was a portrait, trying not to give in to gravity and end up sleeping on the ground, knowing that he won't rest over a proper pillow nor wanting to accept that he won't be able to keep dreaming. Dreaming about dreaming that he was dreaming. And in the middle of the darkness he woke up. And the first thing he did was putting his hands towards his face, but it was too late. There are moments when your mind just blows. "Editor's note: hope someone can help me to give some sense to this text, it was something that I wrote a long time ago in Spanish, but now I know how hard is to translate literature books to another language".