Intimacy is a secret place of the soul with a small door, which we hardly ever open to anyone.
There we hide the most intense needs,
the responsibility of our choices stained by true pain
and everything that really made us that way.
If you haven't been allowed to open that door, never take rights you don't have over people, because you know a lot less about people than you think.
Only by walking through that door will you really get to know them.
And you can't force it, it opens by itself
and it is very slow to open up, you can get impatient and decide to go.
But it will be the greatest gift you can receive,
because within it there is the deepest and clearest revelation of what love is.


Nomad the beauty of a storm.
Sandy wind rose,
persuasive whirlpools,
frantic wanderers of the Dharma,
they put themselves in the shade
to avoid sound deceptions.
Here it comes, the heart thunder,
shakes every vein,
like a heart attack in the sky.
The power of awakening,
rising from one's grave, existential,
stand up again,
to live another day,
to be immortal. The heart does not know the veil of reason,
it goes like a train,
against every sandstorm,
embracing every grain,
opening a new dimension and handling sound like a weapon against ferocious old age.
Here comes the thunder, raise your voice,
says "don't give up" and starts flying with lightning,
and both create a universal energy field.


Nomade la bellezza di una tempesta.
Sabbiosa rosa dei venti,
suadenti vortici,
affanosi vagabondi del Dharma,
si mettono all’ombra
per evitare inganni del suono.
Ecco arriva, il tuono cardiaco,
squassa ogni vena,
come un infarto di cielo.
La forza del risveglio,
l’alzarsi dalla propria tomba, esistenziale,
ergersi di nuovo,
per vivere un altro giorno,
da essere immortale. Il cuore non conosce il velo della ragione,
esso va come un treno,
contro ogni tempesta di sabbia,
abbracciando ogni granello,
aprendo una nuova dimensione e maneggiando il suono come un’arma contro la vecchiaia feroce.
Ecco il tuono, alza la voce,
dice ” non rinunciare” e si mette a volare col fulmine,
e tutt’e due creano un campo d’energia universale.


The hand on the bed, the messy body mixed with the sheets, the tousled hair, a ray of sunshine on her back. How can a human being feel so dull in such a lively context? The body between the sheets, and the mind where? The mind in the streets, gripped by a grip of people all the same and all so extinguished, all so ashes of a fire that does not rekindle. A body that mixes with the sheets and a mind that is lost in the ashes of a pain too strong to be faced, too violent to be placed on the pillow. Rising from the ashes means bringing the body to support the mind, held in that suffocating grip. There was a moment when the body was hidden by the sheets, and the sun did not touch the back. Slowly the wind blew off the sheet and exposed her back. The sun has passed the curtains. And everything that was dark before is now light. Now that the body is strong, the mind is free. Life burns back inside, starting from the feet to the heart. And like a child dreams of flying beyond the confines of the sky, dreams of changing the world. I will change the world, until the sun burns my back.


Often, the less understood you are, the more valid what you think is. They will call you crazy, but I think being crazy is simply having the courage to be yourself. And yes, people call you “crazy” when you rebel against something, and we are taught this from an early age, that rebelling is wrong. Actually I believe rebellion is the only way out of being who we really are. Because each one taken individually has its own unique value, but we tend to homologate, they treat us and we treat each other as if we were and should all be the same. We are so enslaved to this system that we don’t even notice it anymore and we believe we are free, we believe that what we have in mind is our true personality, while we are still dominated by society and all its conventions. If you think about it, the most important people in past and contemporary history who have brought about significant changes in the world, who have brought about improvements, have been rebels. We could all be rebels, free ourselves from the chains that bind us. Yet we persist in making choices dictated by rationality, by schemes, and not by instinct. We say we are independent, but we continue to choose on the basis of what we have been taught, not on the basis of what we are, what we feel. So ultimately, until you understand your nature, you won’t be independent, but quite the opposite. This is what I think … In short, quoting Bukowski: “When everyone is equal, everyone is nobody”.


The broken lines of the hand could mean nothing or make sense of everything, grief separations, nervous breakdowns, dismissals, resurrections, sudden showers; in the same way, bad dreams would be an effect and perhaps a cause of frustration anguish states of anxiety widespread unhappiness ideological disruption skin aging who knows. Meanwhile, the day is crowded with fatal signs, a bug crouched in the boxers a bad coffee an expired yoghurt a failed parking an undelivered message mouse feces on the balcony. Money is scarce friends shortage lovers in the cinema do nothing interesting the theater is dead the tickets for the stadium are not found the centralized antenna is malfunctioning the telephone battery is gone like the timing belt the mass air flow sensor the pump oil, summer is over it always ends the days are always written earlier, the doctor who should help heal asks for help is confused surrendered does not know what to say is powerless knows he is, the lines of the hand are broken they always have been they cannot be fixed , dreams have already been dreamed are films already seen the script is sloppy they cannot surprise, time does not flow rather it accumulates sits on surfaces like dust, the end is written and decided it was written long before it all began, stay just waiting.


As always, I have to thank myself for every time I got off the ground but, this time, I didn’t fall this is a flight without a parachute. It is voluntary, crazy, it is a perverse game: you know you can hurt yourself but in the end you throw yourself anyway, in the end you jump, you jump into the void that void that has characterized your being until now and now you have consciously decided to jump into it. . And, just when you think the tunnel is infinite that’s where you see the light. Unfortunately you do not know if that is just a mirage due to the fatigue of the fall, or you do not know if behind it what will kill you will be found or if instead you will be grabbed by that person who will be there to show you that every time you jump she will be willing to pick you up. But when you jump the risk you know it, you consciously jump in the hope that that person you think took you the first time will also grab you the second time. But she is not there and you fall, lifeless to the ground, without strength, no longer willing to take risks. But then you do it .. Again … and again … and again … because after all we all love and in the end we are all a bit masochistic, because love is this getting hurt and then good and then bad and then good again, in a continuous loop between pain and happiness.


In the human species there is a phenomenon that has no equal in nature. Two male individuals of the same species, with the same large bipedal mammalian body, with the same type of brain, can become one St. Francis of Assisi and the other Adolf Hitler. How can we explain such a radical difference in behavior? In two ways, which are not mutually exclusive.
The first hypothesis is that in Homo sapiens the instincts have lost much of their cogency: they no longer command us like puppets. With the same biology, the choices an individual makes are dictated much more by personal history, by experiences and traumas, by family and social influences, or simply by the uniqueness of the individual. Our evolutionary heritage has weakened: it makes us capable of one behavior and its opposite, but then which of the two we choose depends on a cultural judgment of what we think is good or bad.
The second hypothesis is that our own evolutionary history is ambivalent and therefore it is useless to ask ourselves whether we are good or bad “by nature”. Perhaps we are both, a variable mix of good and evil. Recent scientific data confirms that our mind has evolved by dealing with social relationships in small groups, each in conflict with other groups. The result is that we are cooperative and good with those we recognize as belonging to our “we”, while we tend towards aggression towards those who seem to us “other than us”. But the experiments also show that education can make a difference, teaching us to consider ever larger communities of solidarity, to the point of including the entire human species in the “we”, as the disregarded Universal Declaration of Rights of 1948 says.
Recognizing how bad you are makes you more capable of living with serenity. The “bad guys” are those who come without real suffering and a demand for treatment. People who seem (or are) insensitive to the suffering they cause in others. They are asked to treat them to find a medical justification for behaviors that do not need justification. Behaviors aimed at the instinctual satisfaction of the individual without paying attention to the people to whom they cause suffering. This is clinically unamendable evil because it does not belong to a true definition of disease. This is a terrifying evil.


You yearn for freedom and independence in a world that is already a prison in itself, these wings trapped under the shoulder blades, under the burning skin, we are those of the sunrises and sunsets, those who stay awake at night, who are lost during the day, we are children of freedom, those who “wow if it’s dangerous, or frightening, I only feel alive if my heart is in my mouth” Those a bit like that, who caress you a second and a second later want their own spaces, those considered crazy, the ones that “you are crazy who don’t know what it means to jump and get hurt, get up and try again”. Unfortunately, even those who, if they feel too attached to something or someone, leave. Those who are a bit disappointed when someone gives us delusional ones, those who leave without specific plans, who live a little for the day, who create adventures because it is so beautiful, who are enchanted in front of storms and rain, who a little and also inside us, but it doesn’t matter, we are happy only if free, safe only if a little crazy. Stripped from the wind. We are all in the fear of the future. We don’t eat. We don’t sleep. We are not hungry for roads. We don’t travel anymore inside the Moon.


Where did these bad men come from?
From which mother are these violent men born?
Why do they stay alive and strong?
Why did they give birth to them?
Where did these cruel devils come from?
Men who kill, who obey power, 
men? Are they men?
I call them monsters. 
These monsters who destroy people's homes and lives.
Do these men know love?
I believe they have never felt love.
What mother can bear having her children shoot other people?
What father is proud of such cruel children?
Where are their parents?
Why did they let them grow so violent?
Men who love war and weapons.
Men who were children and kill children.
Are these men?
I call them monsters !!!


Once upon a time there was a spring garden, green, full of flowers, and the children played.
Then the bombs came and the flowers blew up, and the children blew up too.
Now I know that the devil exists, he has a face, two ugly eyes, an empty heart.
His name is Putin.
This world was not perfect and this man was not perfect either. But no one knew that a new hell came from a man.
Or did they already know?
Yes I said it, I always said it years ago, as it was in my dreams, the war, and the children killed, but nobody listens.
Once upon a time there was Putin and he does not deserve to be in this world so I pray that he disappears because if God created a man like this then he was completely wrong.

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