On why I don't fancy the Great Pornographer yet dig his life

One afternoon in London the shadow of an elephant with mosquito legs took me out from my (very likely) day-dreaming. Amazing Dalí - he managed to touch with his eccentricity even my 'stupid little life' (American Beauty).

I have never liked Dalí, and I so did not like him that once I bought this book about him to understand why. His paintings did not reach me although I had this poster of him right in front of my bed for at least seven years. So he was called a genius and I agree with that. I understood from his hairdresser (Lluis Llongueras) that he could look at a canvas and start painting, straight from a dream and without previous drafts. I also knew that he had no clue about the real value of money - Gala put prices on his paintings and he never paid a bill. Dalí made himself a myth with full consciousness on what he was doing. I think he never lived a simple day, he had to exceed himself constantly and had an addiction to surprise others.

So what made me think again about the Great Pornographer was this brief talk I had with Rodrigo today. Up to what extent we manage to live outside reality? Is there ever a match between dreamed worlds and reality? I think Dalí lived his dreams or made everything to make the exception a rule. I think Ana and Rodrigo are sometimes afraid to live dreams but would rather like to. I think that when my non-real, intellectual, cozy world faces the crude outside I get deceived again (about seven times per day) but then something or somebody happens and back again into this sugar rush of the new life just found.

And about Rodrigo - God bless (the Queen). Amazing guy, amazing heart, amazing things happening in his head that I never get tired to know about. New life just found, and in the actual real world... who might have thought...?