I still marvel at how much superficiality, wickedness and selfishness some people are capable of..
Wake up, by god! that the world doesn't revolve around you, only you don't exist, you don't have the fucking problems, only you! stop belittling anyone with those fucking phrases like "eh, so what should I say / do?!".
You're just a selfish, spoiled, rude person who claims to justify their shitty behavior with the usual excuse of a difficult experience. but go fuck yourself.
How much wickedness you have in your body, mamma mia.
You have to get them out, let them go.
Family, friends, exes, relatives, partners, colleagues, near and far, anyone. To break free. To come back to life.
To respect each other.
It takes balance to stand still, not to fall apart.
Let's join hands and take us where reality doesn't touch us.
Where being sick is useless, the only requisite necessary for living is lightness, light-heartedness.
Far from the problems that grip the mind, free from the weight of life that crushes us to the ground and prevents us from breathing clean air deeply.
Let's take the happy soul and go back to living. let's go back to dreaming, that I don't know how to do it anymore.
I had a panic attack on Friday. They hadn't come to visit me for a while, overbearing and unexpected.. and it showed.. but above all we heard everything! it was hard to handle, heavy to bear with the aftermath I've been dragging around all day. the tiredness that left me was disarming. And I'm not just referring to physics.
I took it "easy" by staying home for two days from work and now I have to go back.. a little scared, I admit it! what if it happens again? What if I didn't -again- have the strength to control it, and control myself?
I feel a considerable load of stress on me that I cannot relieve. I would like to turn off my brain for a while and escape responsibilities, duties. go back to breathing deeply, have clear ideas about who I am, how much I'm worth, what I want from life but I don't know where to start!
I need a moment of time..
Today it's very hot here and I took the opportunity to transfer some red calla lilies they gave me for Women's Day, even though I didn't want to celebrate this holiday because many women are killed here in Italy and there is nothing to celebrate in my opinion.
I already had one of white calla lilies but they had dried out and are recovering now.
I really like calla lilies but I've only discovered now that they are indoor and not outdoor plants, at least this type.
And I didn't know, in fact I had put the white ones on the outside.
Unfortunately I have not been able to put them in my garden because my lively dogs dig the ground and uproot all the plants.
I really like gardening when there are these beautiful days.
I spent days locked up at home with a fever and a cough. I looked out the window, I looked at Nature, I imagined that those men who cut down trees and those who kill animals didn't exist. I imagined a world without humans and this idea was so strange.
The music was with me, my cats, the sun, the moon, the wind and everything took me far away and I'm human and I'm more.
Today I just studied, read, cooked, washed the dishes, and argued all day with a micro fairy who hid my printer paper or maybe it's me who leaves it around and can't find it. However I'm still weak because the fever lasted too long and now I have allergic asthma and can't breathe. I can't breathe in this world where all the trees are being cut down and where the annoying animals disappear into thin air. I sneeze and cough. I no longer burn and I no longer dare. Sometimes I tell something about myself because maybe it can remain a memory or a sign of me, of what I was, of that Hamlet who lost her days and her life here among these pages with you. That Hamlet who now has little inspiration and paints little and cuddles her cats and eats puddings.
We are born as candles, stones of different natures,
we are born without ever becoming real,
we hide inside full sail, clipped wings,
we are like the spirits of the wind who listen for a sound.
We follow different paths, adverse, inexplicable conditions.
We are opposites like seas with the same color.
We always become different whenever we show warmth.
When we feel something we die in deep blue and then we return to the world.
Same universe as before.
Same nuance.
We can move a flower.
Break a curtain.
Put out a flame and sleep through the night.
We are inside a secret mechanism and we delete everything about us when we don't exist.
I once said I'd never go back,
and that ship that left a trail of memories was the world before.
But there is no after world, there is no after.
Boxes inside other boxes open, dimensions that you find within yourself.
Some see nothing of every passing ship.
All black feathers create a raven but the raven is not those black feathers.
There are many reasons for disappearing and the sun leaves its shadow on the plants every day.
We stop here for a moment,
we talk, we listen but nobody really understands.
It is a thin, moist fire, a fire of blue stars.
Peace to all who see smiles and see flowers.
i spend my days waiting. waiting for the water to boil and my tea to be ready. for spring to come back. for more daylight. the oil in the pan to heat up. a “hey i miss you” or “can you help me out for a second?” or “you want to hang out?” text. for my phone to finish charging. for good news. flowers on the table. the next hug. “hey, you got the job!”. waiting for the sun. to set. to rise. to see both. for summer to be around the corner. a good song. a falling star. a text back. i spend my time waiting to be remembered. i spend my time repeating that tomorrow will be better. tomorrow will be better. i spend my days waiting and waiting and waiting. i spend my days waiting unbearably.
I tell you a mystery: It has been appointed to those who are born twice to die once, but by no means shall they die a second time. Yet those who do not come to Me in repentance shall be born once and die twice. Yet there are some among this generation who shall never taste death, having already passed from judgment into life. Thus to My chosen elect, there is a death of the body unto resurrection. Yet for those still living at My return, there is a death of another kind – the crucifying of your old man with his sinful ways, the putting on of the new man who is renewed in the knowledge of the Truth, restored in the image of Him who created him. Thus when one is born into this world, the child and the mother suffer the pangs of childbirth, until the birth is complete. In the same way, those born of the Spirit shall suffer travail. For they are not yet separated from their flesh or this world, in which they continually stumble.
That eye contact be like gazing into the depths of your soul like I am on the precipice of the void and I am about to fall in.. earth shattering heartbeats, don’t break the gaze. You have the most beautiful eyes, I find that I could look into them for days.. it’s as if our souls are touching intimately, through the looking glass as if we were looking into the future and the past. It’s the craziest feeling looking directly into another soul, I see you, you see me, bared and scared, at any second I could run away..
Pride is a detestable vice. It makes you blind: you no longer see your own faults. It makes you presumptuous, unjust, bad. Ridiculous vice. Superb because we have money: but wealth is a good outside of us. A dwarf always remains a dwarf even if he is on top of a mountain. Superb because they are young, beautiful, full of strength: but youth is lost day by day: ruit hora… soon we find ourselves old, without boldness, without strength.
We observe certain athletes, who are proud of their health: a very fragile asset. Just a small vein that breaks, a fall, an insect bite, an infection ... we have one foot in the grave, we are more fragile than glass. For a glass to break it needs a stone, a bump ... we break for much less. Intelligence: so fragile ... a thyroid dysfunction, a sudden emotion, a premature senility and we are poor beings to be admitted to nursing homes.
How many times are we put or rather "classified" in categories?
We are white, black, yellow or brown, right or left, tall or short, beautiful or ugly, Catholics, Muslims, Hindus and atheists, Asians, Europeans, Americans, rich or poor, brave or fearful, or worse northerners. / southerners, young, old, adults and adults. In short, the quantity of "classes" is infinite.
The thing we should understand is that we are actually all HUMAN BEINGS. We should know how to appreciate and respect each other for who we are, and try to learn the best that any other type of culture or social background, other than our own, can give us.
After all, even in nature there are more than 15,000 species of ants but we persist in unifying them into a single category. We learn to love each other.
Bring back the cold days, where I can distract myself from the thoughts that are knocking loudly on my door.
I hate summer, heat, long and endless days.
I hate her because during those three months you have no excuses, you have no distractions, or at least you will not have extended them.
And that's when the thoughts come to assault your mind.
Summer gives you a way to think, which many would not want to do, not even me.
I don't want to think about what's to come, I don't want to think about death, which is approaching step by step. Because it is when it happens that fear attacks us, blocking our movements, our breath.
The awareness that hour by hour, second by second is one step closer to death.
But perhaps, very likely, the greatest fear is that of dying alone. Maybe in a small bare room, where you can hear the breath of death as it grows stronger as yours struggles to survive. Where the dark catches you, holding you still in its icy grip.
And that's where a particular feeling is triggered; regret.
What have I done wrong? Haven't I done enough in my life? Why have I never committed myself? Why didn't I prevent this from happening in this way? Was my life worth it? Is there anything that can be saved?
The frantic questions that swirl, moved by dark feelings, moved by the terror of not having really lived.
It is heavy to think of such a thing I admit, death is something that no one would ever want to talk about, but we face it day after day through the people around us, a life goes out and we have to deal with it ourselves, who we are left with a void to fill.
Many think that death is just a passage from one life to another. But will it really be like this?
Well, in the meantime we are here trying to give meaning to the life that has been given to us, a motive, a purpose for which to continue living.
We humans are always looking for a way to escape from reality, and the reasons seem endless.
Of course, for fear of death. Sure, because they want to die but they don't think their time has come yet. Sure, because they don't want to make their loved ones suffer with death even if we want to die.
And obviously they don't focus only on death, there are thousands of reasons: stress, tiredness, fears, situations, by their very nature...
And it is curious how many different ways there are.
I've been reading a lot, really a lot lately. And every time I read, it's as if I create a new universe around me where I am the spectator, and the adventures are dictated by the book.
I like to depersonalize and observe, observe what is happening from a distance, analyse, make my assumptions, and keep looking at every little detail.
My personality is still a bit split, and right now I'm totally uninterested in being part of people's attention.
And I've noticed that, often in recent years I've tried to distort reality into something less painful, let's say I've lived in another universe. It's curious how my mind kept looking for ways to protect my sensitivity, trying to give me everything gradually; initially suppressing almost everything, then slowly letting me experience the pain.
Honestly, I'm curious what ailments I might have, but it's better that I don't know since, it could be that my mind could try to conform to the ailment.
Another nice way I've been creating universes is through people. It's something that, for now, I've decided I'm not going to ask people to do anymore. Creating worlds with other people, describing them, interacting with them, that was definitely one of the best ways I created happy universes.
Another way I used to create universes is through creation, programming. I have always treated my programs with care, attention, in every little single detail. And I identify with them, I make them grow by paying attention to detail. We can say that, every programming project that I do, I treat it with care and give it its own soul.
There are also abstract or other concrete ways with which I create universes, but I'm tired of writing now: the part of me that favors writing is correlated with pain, on the other hand I was born this way, and when I'm fine I tend to write less .
Well, you know how good / bad I am really looking at my blog, and how much I publish.
If I post frequently, I'm sick.
If I post 1 time every day / 2, or more, it could be that, either I'm so bad, or I don't have time, or I'm fine.
If you don't see me for 1 week, there's confirmation that I've been fine all week.
I feel a crater inside me, a big void all over my chest.
Every time I get hurt, because I let it happen, or get disappointed, again because of me, it seems to get bigger and bigger.
I have a feeling that there is no way I can fill it.
I have to stop letting people let my defenses down, I have to stop trying to get them into me.
The result doesn't change, they disappear, I stay, they are happy, I am sad, they win, I lose. I lose pieces of myself, and if I don't stop the pieces will end and so I won't be able to put on my armor anymore. Only the cold armor would remain with nothing to protect inside.
So I have to stop trying to get attached to people.
I don't want to be strong
I want the world to be nice to me.
Why does everybody tell me I'm strong like it's some kind of consolation?
How if it was worth it, the pain?
I don't want to die for this.
the world only knows how to break me
to say make me stronger.
because we all want to achieve strength
like it's not going numb?
become the pain instead of enduring it.
I'm growing in pain, but you call it strength.
you say I'm strong, that I can do it.
but i just want the world to be nice to me
even if it makes me weak.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 