A LITTLE FEATHER ON MY HAND

For some time now I have felt a ‘presence’ while I cook. I can’t explain but I know exactly who to connect it to. It makes me smile because if it were the thought of who I think, it would be quite strange. I do not have a good character, which is much worse alas, I am quite drastic when I decide to say enough, I rarely go back, men know that I am difficult, they consider me a piece of non-malleable granite. In fact, I can’t blame them, it’s better to give up someone like me, yet I haven’t always been so hard and adamant, I have a past as a ‘puppy looking for a master’. I wanted to be loved, like in fairy tales … stupid exactly like this sentence. The men I met made me realize that fairy tales are a collective deception, that princes and princesses are unlikely characters and that all of us, male and female, are just lower and sometimes very mean beings. Love is exploited, often used as the perfect shit gift one can get, the perfect rip-off. For love we do a lot of bullshit, we dress with good intentions those who have none at all. And so we find ourselves inside apparently wonderful stories, but that to see them like this, it is only us. What does this have to do with ‘presence’? It has to do with it because in 2015, while I was on the new social Tsu, I came across a very enigmatic man (eh I always fall for it!), Named P., he had a nickname that I loved mondomagico and who wrote wonderful things. I had met a unicorn, finally in the middle of nowhere! I put a lot of the things we said to each other here too, parts of chats and private messages, I also came to read on thce chat because my writing about ‘us’ made him happy. He was meditating, he had a sculpted physique, a beautiful voice with an Emilian accent and a top secret job, which I still don’t know about and which I will never know. We dated ‘virtually’ for many months, then things fell apart because too much mystery stops being fascinating after a while. I’m not the type who remains a thought, I want to become presence if, as they say, things are becoming serious, so the moment I feel a reticence, a deliberate lengthening, I tend to close the relationship. ‘If they don’t want you, don’t offer you’ is rule No. 1 now on my basic scale, so I told him we were fine like this, each in his own world. Too bad, I really liked his sweetness: he was able to hug me from afar, always making me feel his presence. And it makes me strange to hear it again, like this, after years. In the end, I hope he’s fine … better than me.

Then the problem is not that there is no hope, it is that there would be nothing to hope for. Who among you can say you know this sense of irrelevant vastness of the world – I wish I had better words to describe it – this closet world, stacked things, bad pyramid under which the dead sleep unhappily. For years I have said to myself: the trick is to find a moment of acute pain, which lasts at least half an hour and it is done. If you start thinking about it, if you let yourself slip into the phase of emptiness in the stomach, of the perpetual squeezing of the heart, then it becomes impossible: life has its tricks, it is on you like a blanket of tiredness, like the working day for workers , then you go to bed and sleep and wake up and you’re still alive and so again, like an absurd vice. I think it’s been a year since I last hugged someone. The intolerable semantics of tenderness – this too is difficult to explain. A year has passed, the exams are back in high school – you haven’t returned, despite Nietzsche. My waist is light and awaits the wind like a feather on the back of my hand.

EVERYDAY HELL

I go out for a walk, I need it to unload. I take with me only the essentials like my cell phone, put the aliens to kidnap me or I run into a group of zombies. Do you want not to be the first to sound the alarm? I can already see the scene: – “Ready single emergency number, what do you need?” – “Hello, look here in front of me I see zombies. Give the alarm to all citizens, but what do I say to the whole nation! Miiii what a fear! ” – * Click * Nothing, we will die devoured by zombies. Anyway I said cell phone, for work you never know, house keys. As I pass by the supermarket I stop to get some fresh bread for us. After my timed path with calculation of the distance traveled, calories burned, oxygen breathed, drops of sweat emitted and height difference on the path, no I have not met any zombies, fortunately, I decided to go into the supermarket. I walk decidedly along the aisles knowing where to go, without getting distracted and without … oh, stop … I thought I saw a new chocolate cream. locked in a magnetic money clip. Convenient, I also use it instead of the bulkier wallet. I pick them up and look around, there is a woman to whom I ask: “Excuse me, is this money yours?”; she replies no but you can clearly see in her eyes the admiration for my honest gesture.

Already I seem to read her in the thought “I admire you, you are beautiful, take me here now”. But I have to be completely honest. I quickly take a few steps and find another woman to whom I ask the same question, receiving the same answer; even here his eyes don’t lie “Give me your number I’ll stalk you, come on I’ll go out in chat”, I’m sure he wanted to tell me that. But honesty first of all. So I reach the cashiers and at the only open cashier I approach the cashier, handing them the money, I explain that I found it in the aisle before the read one. If anyone was looking for them, here they are. Her admiration was obvious, she was making me understand that she wanted to be the mother of my children, absolutely. But I already have children and, damn it, I have to get them fresh bread! So I go back and take the bread. I arrive at the cashier, the cashier is still the same as before and I already know that I will have to reject her desire for motherhood. – “I’m one euro and forty” – she whispers to me in ecstasy. – “Immediately” – I replied gallantly, putting my hands in my pockets.

Fuck! I can’t find the money, I quickly pass the other pockets. I begin to sweat with embarrassment. – “Excuse me” – is the only sentence I can say. Then, after rummaging in my underwear, I mumble: – “Yet I took the money clip before leaving the house, I’m sure of it.” – “Interesting, do you use those handy magnetic money clips too?”. – “Oh yes” – I reply, understanding that admiration for me leads her to play down the situation. – “They are comfortable” – he continues – “Rather than keep the free banknotes in your pocket that if you lose them you won’t agree, with a magnetic money clip instead you hear the thud, the lightness that all of a sudden you have in your pocket”. – “Exactly” – I answer her, this cashier loves me I feel it – “She understood everything”. – “Yeah, I also think I understand that your money clip is this” – showing me my money clip with bills. – “Oh, thank goodness” – comes out to me along with a huge sigh of relief. – “You gave it to me earlier, don’t you remember?”. A moment, a split second and I realize that the expression in her eyes was not a search for motherhood with me, but a compassion mixed with the desire to laugh in my face.

I turn to see if anyone was witnessing this pitiful scene. The answer is yes, but what am I going to tell you to do? There was my admirer, the one who wanted to be possessed between the aisles and the stalker, the one who wanted to chat with me. They had evidently seen me lose my money, and re-evaluating their former expression was more of terror. I think they thought I wanted to use that excuse to strike up a conversation. In returning home with a heavy step, I meditate on the possibility of opening a preparation agency, with the role of personal trainer, in shit figures. Or if my shit figures can make a resume, for sure if that were the case with this one I would have a guaranteed managerial job.