I’M NOT VIRTUAL

Evenings spent in front of a pizza with the sand between your feet and the roar of the sea. You played an ocher guitar, I with my head between your legs, I watched you sing. We waited for the sunrise to go home, so that time would not pass, so that the summer would not end. You asked me to dance for you, I loved dancing, but with your eyes looking at me even more. You told me that some summers are never forgotten. That certain nights by the sea are for a few. Go home at 6 on tiptoe so as not to make noise, with my hair that smelled of the sea with my skin that smelled of you. Falling asleep and realizing it wasn’t just a dream. Some summers don’t forget you were right. But sorry if I can’t remember your name anymore. The virtual communities that have replaced the natural ones, create only the illusion of intimacy and a fiction of community. They are no substitutes for sitting together at a table, looking at each other, having a real conversation. Nor are these virtual communities capable of giving substance to personal identity, the primary reason for seeking them. If anything, they make it more difficult than it already is to agree with oneself. People walk here and there with earphones talking loudly alone, like schizophrenics, paranoid, oblivious to what is around them. Introspection is an activity that is disappearing. More and more people, when they find themselves facing moments of loneliness in their car, on the street or at the supermarket checkout, instead of collecting their thoughts, check if there are messages on the mobile phone to have some shred of evidence that shows them that someone is somewhere. part, maybe he wants them or needs them.
I would like to escape from here: I would like to go to another world or even, simply, in another place – maybe somewhere far away a place even beyond the sea. I would like to escape from here why all this world I don’t understand it at all: it seems unfair, distant it seems terrible, perfidious. Exhibitionist. I would like to go to another world, but I believe that even in another single era it might be enough for me because I’m not the first and I’m not the last to feel out of place to hate this era and the generation that lives it – my own generation. I wanted to live elsewhere: in other times in other spaces in other fashions, where a like on Instagram was not enough to woo you and they didn’t dedicate a song to you on Facebook but they invited you for a coffee or maybe two – even three – and they asked you to talk about yourself – because someone willing to listen to you it’s the best thing there is. I wanted the technology not to exist – indeed, that it existed yes, but in the right way within the limits. I wanted love to be shown in other ways not with photos on social media at all times or posts here and there full of cheesy phrases or senseless digs. I wanted a world just different from this world where they always kept in mind the right principles where rancor was always neglected, but above all technology, because technology has ruined many things and destroyed relationships, but most of all it made us more distant: because if we are happy, we write it on Facebook and if we are sad, we publish a sad sentence. I wanted a world that did not take us further and further, but that every moment draws us closer, where the technology was used only in extreme cases and not every day to say “I love you” to say “fuck you, it’s over”.
But you imagine a different world where we move our hands only to touch other hands to caress faces and not to touch infinite screens? Can you imagine it how many things would have been different how many of us would have been happy? Because eye to eye is something else entirely from profiles on profiles chat on chat “is typing” on “online”. A different world, that’s all I wanted everything I asked for. I wanted a world where love and feelings had nothing to do with exhibitionism: more complicated of course, less easy, but still more and more true. I wanted a world where there is no surrender for an unanswered view, where you had the courage to go under the house and throw stones at the glass of the window of his room to ask her to open up and speak to shout at her the truest “I love you” in the world. I wanted a world that I have always called “world of letters” where I could smell her perfume trapped between the lines of a letter arrived after a long time with the adrenaline of reading it with the anxiety “who knows if it comes”. I wanted to live in the world of letters to keep all the letters you would send me under the pillow to have good dreams, sleep with your perfume and wake up happy even when I reach out my arm from the largest part of the bed that I always leave you free – in case you come back – and I can’t find you.
How can we say that you and I are not now somehow linked by a chat, albeit virtual, nonetheless real? How do we say that just because I can’t reach out and touch yours we are not real acquaintances anyway? How can we deny having known each other, perhaps in the depths, only because we could not meet our eyes. Yet physical contact is so important, despite the fact that there are so many people around who never touch. What is this contact of minds, brains and hearts? How it works, How could it ever matter who I am physically, what my voice is like or what my smell is like, if we never meet? I was brought up and raised in a certain way. They taught me what respect is, the value of words and feelings. They gave me the ability to listen and explained that it is my right to speak. They taught me what a heart and a sincere feeling is. That not everything is real and that not everything can be played with. I have carried these values, these principles and these teachings with me always! Growing up, however, I learned that it is not always possible to respect all this. I realized that I didn’t have to lose what I was taught, but that along with it I had to learn to respond and defend myself. To ignore the stupidity. To leave hypocrisy and lies to his way. I have learned that silence is often more sacred and cutting than many words and that sometimes there are words that cannot and must not be kept silent. I don’t care about the saying “Always do good and even where you receive evil turn the other cheek”! Not me, I protect the other cheek with all of myself if you step on my feet, if you hurt me and I lack respect. I have no interest in saying who I am and how much I am worth, the only interest I have is to live with these priorities… I prefer to show it instead of saying it. Words are short-lived, the facts remain, you always remember them and leave something of you, for better or for worse. I understood that the words of “people” often hurt, they hurt me too. Then I also realized that from the words of truth to the words of those who are only interested in destroying you, there is an essential difference, and that some words not only must not touch you, but must not even be heard. I understood that I have to take with me who matters and who is worth, but to leave to his path those who should not be part of my life. And from the moment they are no longer a part, everything they say and do does not have and will never have the slightest value or even the slightest attention on my part.

FASTER THAN FURIOUS

People go on, but I stay behind. Between the constant panic attacks, my thousand obsessions and paranoia, between my beliefs and my illusions, between my words and my thoughts, between traffic and horns, between graduates and workers, between being or not being, I stay behind, between the accelerated beats and those too slow. I am always, at least, one step behind, even if I pretend that I do not weigh it on me, even if I strive four times as much, something must always happen, even a tiny thing that slows me down, and it is difficult to pretend to feel good while I struggle continuously and obsessively to do something on time. I would like to reach things quickly, I feel so much pressure that I end up slowing down by myself, complicating things, but I don’t think it’s all my fault. I think part of the problem is in society that forces me to do anything in a set time, almost as if we were machines. The problem is that not all of us are perfect, indeed, some are even so slow that they find it difficult to breathe. Some are like me.
They talked to me too often about friendship, now I don’t even think it exists anymore. Before I was hoping for it, today I have resigned myself and it is a bad reality. You put in your soul, body, mental and physical health, blood and bones to get a lot of fucking nothing, not even respect, not even that anymore. And yes, having a friend is a beautiful thing, but I have no reach, I don’t know if it is because I have always put too much heart into it, but no one has ever done anything to have my friendship, then there is me who in three seconds I send fuck all for this. What deluded. Who are then called “friends” and are always ready to throw the first stone, to spit on respect and, above all, to believe they know me, when they stopped at the external facade. What a hypocrite he is who considers himself my friend, you only want to be friends with me when it suits you!

WE’RE LOST AND FOUND

We are the stolen photos and the hugs that become synonymous with the word home. We are on Saturday nights staggered for drinks with friends that make us less embarrassed and the other six evenings of the weeks spent in front of a movie or a good book while sipping hot chocolate or tea. We are the four seasons in one, the loose sweatshirts that smell of freedom. We are the newspaper clippings attached to a notebook and the hippy van with which to travel the world. We are the fleeting moments in which happiness, smiles and tears reside. We are the I love you and I love you whispered in your ear, I miss you said with my eyes, I would like you thought and never uttered. We are the thousand books that fill every corner of our house, the poems that make us dream and the slips of paper with the thousand phrases written by our handwriting. We are dreamers desperate for happiness. We are the life that deserves to be lived.
At my age, I still haven’t learned how to manage anxiety. In reality there are many things that I have not learned and that no one has explained to me. They teach us the equations, on the 5th of May by heart, the names of the seven kings of Rome, and no one clarifies us how to face fears, how to accept disappointments, where to find the courage to bear pain.
And so it happens that those people who entered your life for the last time become the first in time of need, the first to listen to you and to worry if you really eat it you were friends for life. It happens that they amaze you and make you feel special with the smallest precautions. On the contrary, those you know live at any moment seem like they don’t know you at all. Do not sow if they notice what is most evident, or they simply will not see.
And Coraline cries,
Coraline has anxiety,
Coraline wants the sea
But he is afraid of water
And maybe the sea is inside her.
And every word is an ax,
A cut on the back,
Like a raft that sails
In a raging river
And maybe the river is inside her.

PEEK A BOOP

We love each other very much, it’s the only thing that comes to my mind because it doesn’t matter, it’s kept and played with them, it’s made in every way to ride! It doesn’t explain anything, I like you, you make me fucking good! I have never been so good with someone, I want to know you better, I want to see who you really are, I want to be able to hug you when I want without anyone talking about us, I want to be able to talk to you about everything, scratch you, kiss you a thousand Important to me, I want to be able to say hello as it should be with a nice kiss and not a simple hello when it happens, you are a fantastic person you have a world inside and I want to discover every corner of you, you and I are not friends, two who if we are guarded as guardians we will not be able just be friends, we will do everything possible, we will talk to them and we will not be with them .. I love my husband so much, and I love him so much, he alone with me. something that I don’t think I can manage, I’m afraid of suffering, of still being hurt and now of being sick another time I don’t want to, but I know one thing, you do me good yes you do me really good, please we let’s build something, beat these walls of fear and pride and become what we are not now.
Anxiety is your mood that changes in a matter of minutes. Anxiety means uncontrollable tremors and spasms. Anxiety is tears, it is real and painful tears. Anxiety is nausea. Anxiety is paralyzing. Anxiety is dark. Anxiety is having to find one excuse after another for your behavior. Anxiety is fear. Anxiety is worry. Anxiety drains your body and your emotions. Anxiety is raw. Anxiety is real. Anxiety means arguing with your partner even though you are not angry. Anxiety is a jolt at every slightest annoyance. Anxiety is made up of flashbacks. Anxiety is an “What if …”. Anxiety is full of “What’s wrong?” and I do not know”.
I had to understand that right away. When someone has a heart like mine, they end up dying before death itself. When someone has a heart like mine, the heart loses it, loses it in unspoken words, loses beats in sighs, loses itself as the tears flow and no one stops them. When someone has a heart like mine and gives it to someone, they never find themselves again.
I looked at it as you look at something you already know we will miss. Too good to last, to be true, too good to become a habit. I looked at it as you look at the sea at the end of summer, when the days become even clearer and the sun shines in the sky. I just looked at you, and you smiled at me. Do not forget certain smiles, certain looks and certain words.
Maybe one of us had to make a decision and maybe it was right that whoever was stronger among us made it. My psychologist once told me: “You can’t love the cause of your own destruction and your own suffering, it’s crazy!” I lost with you, but I won with myself.

PANIC ATTACK

A panic attack causes certain specific symptoms such as tachycardia and the feeling of having a heart attack, wheezing and cold sweats. When you try it for the first time and arrive in the emergency room, not knowing what is happening to you, doctors mislead the conversation by talking about stress as if the word panic were taboo. However, panic often comes with images, sometimes at the same time of the day and sometimes as a surprise. The attack of anguish is very different. It is as if a hole is opened in the diaphragm and this is about to absorb all the vital strenght. All you can do is lie down and wait for it to pass. There is no tachycardia and no images or sweats. Just the feeling that something inside you is about to be absorbed or poisoned. I describe this distinction because they are such profound personal experiences that after so many years I can distinguish them well. I have seen, reading many texts, that hardly anyone ever talks about images referring to states of anxiety. I do not know if research has been done in this regard but I have not found any feedback. Yet in me the attacks have always been preceded by images, blurred, but which were repeated every time.

I HAD ANOTHER BLOG

My blog was born as an artistic space but nobody cares about art. I also had a blog with all my works but it didn’t matter to anyone. I also said that I would burn my paintings but no feminist or association said a word. I have no friend or I would have given them all as a gift, as I did some time ago. I never wanted to make money with my art. For me it was just a way to vent my pain. And also my paintings and all the things I did. Now I’m tired of creating useless things. Nobody cares about my life. I could be dead and no one would notice. People got bored with me. My German Shepherd puppy gives me more satisfaction than a lot of fake people. There was a user who wrote to me that “HUMAN GENDER IS GOING TOWARDS A POSITIVE EVOLUTION” So then he called me a pessimist. So apparently it is only I who now see the human disaster where it has come. Maybe everyone else is blind. So I take a step back and leave all this scum to their positive evolution and I step aside and think about my own business. It is not a defeat but every now and then you have to take a break. What I was doing was important to you, to me and to some haggard whore. For the rest, everyone was there to comment with monosyllables and smilies at the end. No dialogue. See, this is my trouble. I am sociable, still too sociable, and I expect to have a dialogue with people. But some believe me to be superb, pretentious, dominant. And all this because I had different life experiences from theirs. Then some when they know that I am not looking for money they almost consider it an affront. As if having money you can live well. On the other hand, they do not understand that inner well-being cannot be bought with money. I can have it all but I still don’t heal. My heart no longer exists. I live only for my son and my husband. Only for them. For me to exist or not to exist is the same. I don’t differentiate between life and death, they are just two different types of energy but the source is the same. I have lived with such strong emotions and even ecstasy you know, mystical ecstasy, seriously. And then? I have never used drugs, I have never taken anything, not even opiate drugs or psychiatric drugs. For my anxiety I use a simple tranquilizer, which I only lose if I have severe anxiety attacks. I have a very normal life: husband, son, dogs, cats, garden, swimming pool, vegetable garden, cellar, … I don’t drink and I don’t smoke. Never caught anything strange or poisonous. I have had friends who are alkist and sadistic artists as well as ordinary artists. My inspiration came only from my pain. My fantasy originated only from my pain. The pain of abuse lasts for a lifetime. I used my pain to do good to others. I am at peace with myself. I wanted to help other people but I couldn’t. If people want to listen to Chiara Ferragni’s advice, let them listen to her. People have the right to choose. I don’t want to save anyone anymore. What happens will happen. I had to stop in every sense. The pain resurfaced. There are bad dreams, bad things about my unconscious memories that come back to the surface. But I’ll be fine, I’ll continue to paint trying to keep the shadow of my executioner away. But I don’t want to talk to people anymore. They don’t deserve my words.

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