BLACK TEAR IN THE SKY

Linked to someone,
capable of healing and improving,
get worse,
despair,
cough, sleep.
Sleeping together in the sun.
Sleeping between the white curtains.
It rains when I look out,
it rains when I look inside.
The roof of my house is struggling to withstand the storm, 
one day I will fly away too, along with the pieces of the ceiling.
Like a colorful kite, or perhaps all black, 
like thunder, 
far away, among the snow-capped peaks.
A white drop behind a black sky.

I’M VERY UPSET

Last night, I had a dream. I dreamed of a man. He wasn’t really a man, he was rather a young man. Yes, he was a young man. I don’t remember his face. I only remember his eyes, large, clear, I don’t remember the nuance of the iris. Maybe they were green, or maybe blue … who knows what color those bright irises were painted? Certainly, I repeat, they were clear. I remember his hair. They were beautiful. They were wavy, brown, a dark brown, almost black. They painted the gray background of a winter’s day with those tongues of charred wood. I remember touching them. They were soft, softer than I thought. I had imagined them bristly, almost stringy. And instead, what was my surprise in knowing that they are soft and silky, almost water rubbed between my fingers. I remember caressing them, from root to tip, which barely touched his shoulders. They were long and neatly messy. They were so beautiful. I remember them very well. He wasn’t handsome, my young man. But he was attractive, as no Adonis can be. He had a voice… oh, what a voice! He modulated his words gracefully and muttered softly when I was close to him. I touched his hands. He had nice hands. The fingers were long, tapered, pianist’s fingers, as they say. The skin of those hands … You touch it. Oh, if I touched them… they were soft, like hair. They weren’t hot, but they weren’t cold either. They were warm, that sweet, subtle warmth that warms your soul and barely touches your heart. Sweet sound his words close to my ear, as he murmurs …

STORY OF A BLIND HEART

It was at that moment that I found myself facing a dark figure with a veiled face. Suddenly, by chance, without my expecting her or her looking for me. We found ourselves, and all of a sudden my heart appeared on the palm of his right hand. Big, red and pulsating, big enough to allow me to recognize its various components in their smallest details.
The figure moved his right arm towards his chest, and our hearts met for the first time. Maybe minutes passed, maybe hours or maybe days, and the figure continued to hold my heart in its hand, while it beat in unison with the organ of the mysterious person. If then this figure was human.
Days and days passed, probably weeks, and the causes of our lives continued to be known.
Until, something changed. His right arm moved away from the figure's chest, taking his hand and heart with it. The separation brought a cold detachment between us, something akin to the Berlin Wall. Walls and walls to divide us; our people had lost their tune, they were no longer traveling on the same wavelength, nor were our hearts composing more wild musical chords. The figure began to emanate negativity, and this struck me deeply: my heart, up to that moment of a brilliant red, began to blacken. Black and gray took possession of me instant after instant, and the figure in front of me performed an action entirely new to me: taking the heart, it began to tighten. I fell to my knees, while a severe pain I had never felt struck not only my chest, but my whole body. The pain crept into every vein and artery of my body, every organ and system. Chills certainly not of cold began to flow inside me, and as I closed my eyes praying that all this would end, I felt big tears wet my cheeks. I opened my eyes again, and saw my heart, now entirely black, becoming dust in the hands of the figure.
So slowly my vision blurred, and, falling to the ground, as I saw for the last time the figure to which I had entrusted my own heart, I thought bitterly how blind I had been.

THE CAGE

I always keep myself so consistent with my words, too! As if my words were my thoughts, unique and immobile. It’s like saying things out loud, or writing them (to anyone), locks me in a cage. From that moment on, I can’t get rid of the terrible thought that by doing something that (even if only apparently) contradicts what I said, it makes me attackable, because I hate it, I mean being attacked, even if I knew how to defend myself, I avoid doing it, I don’t have I never stimulate him to do so, and so I let things slip away, I laugh, I always laugh. I’m starting to wonder if I’ve ever had a real laugh, but real seriously I mean! Laughing has become the alternative to everything: getting angry, screaming, talking, crying, and who knows how much else … The cage that I have now doesn’t let you see much light, it’s so thick and dark, ah, if at least it were colored! Instead it is black, very black. I am imprisoned with my words, which I have reserved for a few, but even those few should not have made me speak, because words do not bounce off certain people, but are absorbed by them, I cannot get this idea out of my head and tortures me. I don’t want to talk to anyone anymore, I don’t want to feel the need anymore, which is already a very small need, but I still often give in! If I really want freedom, I have to be alone with myself, I have to escape from anyone and anything, to find an isolated but beautiful place, all mine but nobody’s. And instead this miserable existence of mine will continue in the worst of the chessboards, and I will always be on the corner, ignored, but I will always feel in the center, derided and observed, unable to move, motionless and sad.

BLACK FLOWER

my bed has a hole in it
my sock has holes in it
my heart is pierced
my sweater has holes in it
my glass has a hole in it
my shoe has holes in it
my mind is whole,
my empty cup,
my plate of green vegetables.
Tonight a nightmare of drinks and chic clothes. Black, red, gold and blue, sparkling, fabulous.
I didn't open my eyes because there was something else in my past.
I didn't want to wear clothes for anyone.
I want to stay in leggings and a T-shirt.
I want to stay out of the world of elegant zombies.

WE’RE INFINITY

We wrote, sang and danced
and the inevitability of the black future was tangible.
We looked too far away. We didn’t touch a drop,
no substance
but our minds were so full of things that we were unstoppable and unstoppable.
At night we wandered into philosophical discussions
and our intent was not to explain things but to express our experiences.
We went to the most unknown alleys of Palermo,
wandering in search of wonderfully unknown corners.
We sighed l
How can we expect a future that was invisible to us?
We were our infinity.
Have you ever been dead?
Have you ever been alive?
You have to take a tour of both worlds to choose one.
And let it be the right one.
Objectively it is not that that of the LIFE is much but since we are not given to know the other we are forced to stay in this.
In fact, free will does not exist.
It would exist if they showed us both worlds,
like the red pill and the blue pill, and then they told us
“ok now you can choose”.
But if you don’t know the other side of life how do you choose?
It is truly absurd to hear about choice and free will.
No choice has ever been put before us but we have been forced to give the first wail to navigate this world called Earth
And I don’t think many of us are happy with this unchosen coming into the world.

I DIDN’T KNOW REALITY

I have lived for half of my life in my art world. Then I got out and discovered reality. Unfortunately for me, not knowing the rules, I didn’t know how to behave, so I was always spontaneous, sincere, without ulterior motives. Instead I had to learn that reality is artificial and that people are almost always constructed and false. I had to suffer criticism because I am too “sociable, open, convivial, affectionate ..” Think about how a person who always has everything with his heart and hears certain things can be. So they explained to me that I have to follow certain behaviors to be accepted by people, people who are all cold, detached, always with a mask and not at all spontaneous. I refused, rather I am alone with my dog ​​and my books. We wrote, sang and danced and the inevitability of the black future was tangible. We looked too far away. We didn’t touch a drop, no substance but our minds were so full of things that we were unstoppable and unstoppable. At night we wandered into philosophical discussions and our intent was not to explain things but to express our experiences. We went to the most unknown alleys of Palermo, wandering in search of wonderfully unknown corners. We sighed as if we were in love with the air itself. How can one continue to live after having touched eternity? How can we expect a future that was invisible to us? We were our infinity.

NEFELE

Nefele was sitting in her garden. Nephele watched the green walnuts fallen on the grass. She was bored and sad. By now he had had no contact with his parents for seven months. He did not know how to resist memory and nostalgia. He felt an enormous weight on his heart. Having to pretend nothing was terrible for her. When Thomas called to remind her of the party that evening, Nefele snorted. She was tired of all those parties. They all looked the same. She wanted something different. He got up from his chair and entered the house through the French door that opened onto the garden. Then he went up to his room to bathe and choose a pretty sexy dress for the evening. But he had no desire to show off. Then she chose a black dress and a rock crystal necklace. He looked in the mirror and gave himself a touch of purple lipstick. Thomas was ready and went into the room shivering. 《You are my divine sister tonight. ” Nefele turned and looked at him well. 《Save compliments on your pick tonight.》 At each party Thomas eyed a girl and seduced her. It wasn’t a difficult task since he was a beautiful boy.

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