Instead of continuing to do, do, do, it might be appropriate to reduce a little what you do every day and take the time to be.

Have you ever thought about how difficult it is to give yourself time to stay, reflect, meditate, look at life in a sunset, observe a cat, a flight of birds.

Can you answer the question "who are you?" without limiting yourself to the name, and to the work you do?
The "doing" often coincides with the "doing by force" which at the body level can be translated with a state of tension or with a general feeling of frustration.

This feeling, in words, is often defined with phrases like

"I have little space" or "it's all too full" "I miss the air" or "I feel back against the wall".
In all these cases one must return to one's own time, to pauses, to one's internal spaces, to those areas made up of borders, areas of contact and withdrawal from the environment and on the other that mark not only our internal times, but above all our needs.

What do I really need?


A few things were enough for me, it's true I always had my head full of thoughts and unless I wanted it personally it was impossible to take them off, but immersed in that immense stillness not even I could do anything about it, the night was dark and you could not even see the stars, then maybe i could say it was cloudy. There were two rusty lampposts that in front of me opaquely illuminated the road, they were the only source of light not to mention the few cars that sometimes passed. 
It was all so calm, no noise outside of me. In my ears I listened to music with earphones and it calmed my soul. But more important was my cat looking around as if everything she looked at was a wonderful new discovery. Every now and then he would come up to me and give me two licks, while others tried to sleep. But always close to me.
In short, the fact is that in that small balcony, in the most absolute quiet, it was me and my cat, who was called Morgana; and I can say with certainty that no one else had ever been able to speak to me with such magnificence. I finally felt at peace with myself.


And then there are days when you can’t keep your thoughts at bay, the most hidden, the deepest and the worst. They go out like this, suddenly, when you least expect it, maybe while you are singing a song in the car at the top of your lungs with your friends, while you walk, study, drive, while you kiss your boyfriend, they can go out like this, without warning, wake up or reminder to hold and take your head and heart hostage indefinitely. And you are there, helpless, you let yourself be enveloped by these paranoia and you bind yourself to them as if they were certainties. They don’t make you sleep, they don’t make you eat or they make you overeat, they make you feel blame for who you are and what you are not. And you stay there, you listen to them like a mantra that repeats itself in a loop in your head. After all, you cannot escape from yourself.


I believed that only in adolescence there was this perpetual fracture between what we would like to be and what we are, then later you discover that it is life that forces us to live this conflict. Live every day hiding behind gestures and behaviors that you think you should adopt, while behind that facade you hear the screech of your essence scratching inside your flesh in a vain attempt to get out…. And the only thing I do is drown her together with the hope that one day this may end … Pieces of heart on the ground, pieces of door, scattered colors … I want to paint but it means that nothing is good. I just wish I was less burdensome, stressful, ruin it all, weak, rotten. I just wish I was less myself. A different person? Maybe not, it would have been enough for me to be less myself, a different character maybe, I don’t know. I just know that I don’t want anyone.


My soul has no peace. In the anguish of a depressing afternoon
I see the corpses of this war all coming forward,
helpless, and calling me,
as if they wanted to take me with them.
My soul cries because the wars are here too,
the deadly stabs,
the absolute pain, the defeat.
My heart cries.
There is too much pain and one day my heart will quench its beats.
The human being strikes again and again and again.
It affects itself.
Devour life.
Eat the heart.
It kills everything.


Dreams are not like blue eyes, but with those you are either born with them or you have brown eyes like me. Some dreams, I say, come later. I don’t like everything I do, but there are many things I didn’t like to do and now I do. There are things I thought they would never do for me and now I would give everything I have to keep living them. Sometimes I suffered from this lack. I used to go around telling people “sorry eh, but I don’t have dreams, what should I do?” and everyone looked at me badly, because in short, you will know if you want to be a writer, a street artist or an engineer. But no, I didn’t know and still have no idea. But now I know one thing, another thing: I was born without dreams and then I met two or three on the street. And I didn’t recognize them immediately, eh no. Because that’s the hard part. When I saw them I thought “how nice, but I’m not suitable” or “no, thanks. I don’t care ”and two or three times I even risked losing them. “Toh, what a careless, I left my dream in that place, who knows if the bartender found it”. And of course he had found it, of course, because dreams are in great demand and the rule, the only rule that applies is that you have to be careful. They are everywhere and yet they are never enough. Maybe we don’t have them inside, but we have them next to us, on us or maybe they are waiting for us in the garden, in a shop in the center, in our jacket pocket, in the middle of a boring party, on a cloud, in a fairytale.


Do you know what’s the bad thing about not knowing how to stop thoughts? It’s just that you keep reflecting and reflecting and thinking about things that you usually wouldn’t even notice. You continue until that sense of emptiness starts, as if nothing really matters in your life. And it hurts to think that you are the miserable drop of a huge sea. There are those people who do not know how but listen to all these paranoia, all these senseless thoughts and which often also create a veil of sadness. God, thank you for existing. You make us feel so understood, because it is not easy to keep everything inside, it is not easy to understand what you are thinking, it is not easy to get out of it. And then there are those people who look at you, frown and tell you: “What do you care, live your life and don’t think about it”. I’m not here to lecture anyone, I just want to make certain people understand that thoughts hurt. It is a real self-destruction to think too much, unfortunately you cannot calm us down with phrases like: “Come on, two minutes and forget about it”. No. So please, when you see a person trapped in their fucking thoughts, release them. Talk to her, discuss, help her. I beg you.

The inability to change things. I am weak, I admit it. I make a thousand projects that I don’t complete, every day I get up and I want to be a better person but I can’t. I admit I’m wrong and I promise not to do it again, but I fall back every time. How to get out of this cage of thoughts that torment me every day? I have come to a point in my life where I leave … I leave it to you. I let it be said. I no longer argue to try to make myself understood or to make mine understood feelings and my emotions, mine fears or my feelings. I leave it to everyone the belief, of being right. Above all, I have learned to let go. Not using a word does not mean not seeing and not feel. Silence is often a sign of reflection, evaluation and decision.
It is strange to think about the past and realize that happy memories are very few. But this leads us to cling to them, like life jackets in the sea that keep you afloat. Moving forward thinking about happy memories, perhaps, could be a great lifestyle.


For a few months now I have been feeling a little better, despite the spring.

I have been in my personal "dark timeline" which in my case is apparently all roses, flowers and perfumes, like in science fiction movies, where you land in the new world or on the new planet and everything seems perfect before you realize that in reality you are in the belly of a disgusting alien monster.

All perfect, but all rotten from the marrow, you realize it when you look to the side, while you are turning around, and you notice that the facade collapses, goes out, like a holographic image that disappearing reveals a dark, gloomy and rotting cave.

I'm back here.

It all sucks the same, but at least you can see it right away.
At least my inner monster always has the same gaze.
Winter is coming even though it is midsummer and sweat is the new rain.


And we will take stupid photos, write a diary, capture the happy moments, write down the sad ones. We will make videos while we sing and dance, when we are in a good mood, when we make fun of ourselves. We will write about what surrounds us, what we feel, who we love. We will make our emotions eternal. Things that now seem trivial will become precious over time.


This soul of mine in this period has been linked to many stories, some invented, others, they are simple stories but the most fond of, they tell of a friendship, stories of men and women, of moles and sirens who are men and women, with their erotic and heroic dreams. Stories that belong only to me, to my many worn faces and erased memories.

A new wind this year, which comes with spring, a wind that has cooled many smiles, because we don't say some things simply because we don't like how they sound, not out of cowardice or out of love, because we always want to to be understood and seen in the soul.

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: