CLOWN HOUSE

Family,

Dreamers,

Crazy people,

Drunk,

Brilliant,

Empaths.

Those like this live on kindness, sharing.

Free souls, at peace with each other and with mother nature.

Graceful spirits in harmonious connection with each other.

Burning with life, hungry for beauty.

Those who have left

the handrail for some time

and they don't remember the way they went

let alone that of the return.

Masters and slaves of the truth

Rarity in short.

STORY OF A WOUND

You once had a country. You once had a body. Once there was a warrior girl. She does this at night, when she can't sleep: she closes her eyes and ritually runs her fingertips over the geography of her face. Years of childhood and family recede and sink, replaced by valleys and mountains of scar tissue and aging. Under the right eye, where the cheekbone begins, the war years. His adolescence incinerated. At the root of the nose, the burnt skin wrinkles, almost in a spiral, and with the imagination, one feels how, in all of us, love and fury are close. We try to pretend that they are the opposite of each other, or two opposite poles, but in reality they meet in the center of the forehead. They form a bridge, a bond. She hears the narration of faith at the bridge of the nose. It would be very easy for her to finger drill her skull into the gray matter.
Near the jaw, against the edge of my mouth, I feel the people I once loved: the mother. The bear. The dog. And then what I have come to love in fatigue and endurance. Comrades and companions in arms. "Love" is a word that always has explosive definitions gathered in the corners of the mouth, a mouth that now resembles a jagged gash, hostile to any expression, open only to cry and prayer.
In the skin I bear the mark of the original wound. I live in the killer's body; I live in the body of someone who could give life. What is the meaning of giving life? That's the kind of question I'm asking myself now. A meaningless question.
Whatever life forms are left on earth, whoever writhes through their miserable existence as worms, this is a drama in which I have no part.
This is not a simple face deposit. This is also a prisoner depot. They have been conducting this bizarre dance for years: they choose the face. They charge. They wait.

THE DAY OF CHANGING

Today is the day of turning point, of change, of scientific progress, of revolutionary discoveries in the medical, technical, social fields…. But today is also the day where useless vaccines are made only for a pure purpose of profit, of gain, today is the day in which we treat the land that welcomes us like a doormat and that presents wonders everywhere but that we, with the our selfishness, indifference, with our dull mentality, we are turning into a huge dustbin. Today is the day we prefer to ignore, rather than act, thinking “But yes, if I’m not promoting a change someone else will do, we are still 7 billion.” Today is the day of fake smiles and not laughter, it is the day when if you see a person in difficulty, who is sick, you prefer to go straight and mind your dicks, “anyway I don’t get anything out of it.” Today is the day when a like is worth more than a “hey, are you okay?” It is the day when being yourself is seen as a taboo, as a wrong choice…. It is the day in which homosexuals and transsexuals still feel uncomfortable even just walking around the square, because “how disgusting, but they did so at home”. It is the day when you are not free to be able to love a person, it is the day when children cannot dress up barbies and girls cannot compete with toy cars. It is the day when abortion is still seen not as a right, but as a heresy towards the Catholic Church. It is the day when a single mother cannot be seen as a brave girl, who has decided to dedicate body and soul to the dedication of her son, making major sacrifices, but is seen as a whore. Today is the day when animals are treated as if they do not have a life, a soul, and are mistreated only for the purely playful purpose. Today is the day when it is harder to find work than a needle in a haystack. Today is the day when those who differ are seen in a bad way, it is the day when those who have their own personality can only be insulted mistreated, laughed at. Today is the day when we should use our hands to embrace, and not to hurt, it is the day when love is transmitted almost and exclusively through social media, and is no longer demonstrated with gestures. Today is the day whenif we see a person from a country that is not ours, it is immediately “let’s move away, it can be dangerous”, today is the day we live to appear and not to be, it is the day when the main goals of one’s life are to be full of money and ride a Lamborghini and only then (perhaps) to find a person who truly loves us and build a family with him. Today is the day when we could do, but we don’t, the day when love is more an abstract conception than a concrete pillar at the foundation of our truly being ourselves happy. Today is the day when we are almost in 2020, but more than people I only see beautiful empty frames turning, without a soul, without their own thoughts and without ideals. Today is the day we should say “finally”, and isn’t there still a long way to go?

LOVELY SHEEP

The black sheep of a family are actually liberators of their family tree. Family members who do not fit into family rules or traditions, those who are constantly trying to revolutionize beliefs. Those who choose paths contrary to the well-trodden paths of family lines, those who are criticized, judged and even rejected. These are called to free the family from repetitive patterns that frustrate entire generations. These so-called “black sheep,” the ones that don’t fit, the ones that howl with rebellion, actually repair, detoxify and create new flowering branches in their family tree. Countless unfulfilled desires, shattered dreams, or frustrated talents of our ancestors are manifested through this revolt. By inertia, the family tree will do everything to maintain the castrating and toxic course of its trunk, which will make the rebel’s task difficult and confrontational. Stop doubting and take care of your rarity “as the most precious flower on your tree”. You are the dream of all your ancestors.
The sheep are in the enclosure convinced that the good shepherd built it to defend them from wolves. The sheep do not know, however, that the fences do not stop the wolves, but only serve to prevent them from escaping from the shepherd, who will take them to the slaughterhouse and if a wolf eats one, the shepherd will tell the others that it was the victim’s fault. she should have been more careful. The problem is, they can’t understand if you tell them, because they’re sheep. Sheep are a little miracle of nature. Pay attention to it. They only eat grass and feed billions of people with their milk and resulting cheese. Not to mention the wool with which we warm up. It is therefore unfair to equate them with those ignorant masses of humans who are of no help to the community.
There are three types of people in this world: sheep, wolves, and shepherd dogs. There are people who believe that evil does not exist in the world, and if it ever appeared at their door they would not know how to defend themselves, those are the sheep. Then there are the predators, who use violence to overpower the weak, those are the wolves. And then there are those to whom god has given the ability to attack and the irrepressible need to defend the flock, these individuals are a rare species, born to face wolves, they are shepherd dogs. I am no longer the sociable type, I have an unpleasant character, I am aware and aware of it, but I have no remorse or qualms. I hate this flock of sheep, the evil of this nation and this new generation who does not want to make the revolution, he doesn’t give a damn about the information
I wonder if I still have a body. I watch the sheep cross the road, one after the other, without caring about the arrival of my car. I am in a rural area, but not too isolated to justify this unusual encounter. On the sides of my path, I see rectangular wheat fields flowing, now disfigured by the past harvest. Regular handkerchiefs of dark earth, full of cut-off and shiny ears for the frost of an autumn by now neglected. They block my passage, these funny little beasts with a curly coat. They look like many white clouds, with a slightly darker rubber nose, which wander undisturbed and certain of their advance in a group. And I stop to observe them, I let them walk calmly, envying them that sense of unity and security, which we humans seem to be unable to find among us.

THE COMFORT OF MEMORIES

Because you were more than a grandmother. You were so much more. Not only did I feel safe with you. Not only with you was me. And the dances in the morning with our favorite record: the “hits of 2005”, the breakfasts with milk and cereals. Not just laughter. Not just scolding them when I wanted to sharpen the markers. Or when I refused to help you. Not just beautiful things. Not just the imitations of grandfather, which made everyone laugh. Not just the jokes around the house, not just the stories. Your stories. I remember them all. When you talked about them in the evening, when I was tired of playing and had finished dinner. Your stories. I remember them all. They were so far-fetched, yet I miss them too much. And the fantasies. Our fantasies that others will never understand. And when I was little I found in you the support, the comfort. Then when I got older and you a little older I became your support. Your comfort. Every day I curse myself for all the time we could have spent together and we didn’t. A lot of things awaited us. Because you were more than a grandmother. You were so much more. Not only did I feel safe with you. Not only with you was me. And the dances in the morning with our favorite record: the “hits of 2005”, the breakfasts with milk and cereals. Not just laughter. Not just scolding them when I wanted to sharpen the markers. Or when I refused to help you. Not just beautiful things. Not just the imitations of grandfather, which made everyone laugh. Not just the jokes around the house, not just the stories. Your stories. I remember them all. When you talked about them in the evening, when I was tired of playing and had finished dinner. Your stories. I remember them all. They were so far-fetched, yet I miss them too much. And the fantasies. Our fantasies that others will never understand. And when I was little I found in you the support, the comfort. Then when I got older and you a little older I became your support. Your comfort. Every day I curse myself for all the time we could have spent together and we didn’t. A lot of things awaited us. I wanted you to be there again for my birthday. You would have showered me with compliments the entire month and beyond. And when every time I have to pose in a photograph with the remaining grandparents, it hurts to see everyone go away like this. I know you’re there. But not being able to touch, hold, hear your voice anymore. It hurts. It hurts so much. And miss you. You would have showered me with compliments the entire month and beyond. And when every time I have to pose in a photograph with the remaining grandparents, seeing grandfather alone next to me, it hurts. I know you’re there. But not being able to touch, hold, hear your voice anymore. It hurts. It hurts so much. And miss you.

GRANDMOTHERLAND

I love to smile and I love my life .. no existential drama, no depression, no suicide mania, no self-defeating thoughts! No, I’m cheerful and carefree, I like to listen and tell, I like to look around and discover the world, discover people. I love the eyes because they tell about us more than we will ever say. I love listening to music that speaks to me about something, that reminds me of emotions, that reminds me of long aperitifs, endless car journeys, monologues with myself and films that made me cry. I love good people because they look at the world with tenderness and warm my heart. I believe that everything happens for a reason, a reason that we may not be able to understand and therefore we just have to fall in love every day of our life as it is.
My grandmother once gave me some advice: In difficult times, go forward in small steps. Do what you need to do, but little by little. Don’t think about the future, not even about what might happen tomorrow. Wash the dishes. Remove the dust. Write a letter. Make a soup. You see? You are moving forward step by step. Take a step and stop. Relax. Give yourself the compliments. Take another step. Then another. You won’t notice it, but your steps will get bigger and bigger. And the time will come when you can think about the future without crying.

THE LIVING CHARACTER

When building your character, assume that you are writing The Lord of the Rings or otherwise, a fantasy novel. As the writers of fantasy document themselves, researching European folklore and the intricacies and technicalities of war in the Middle Ages, you too will have to do some research to cement your street cred.

You will need to read up on: beers, especially those from small niche breweries; cocktails and alcoholic beverages in general; cigarette brands; condoms and contraceptives in the broad sense; drugs: light or hard will depend on the level of tolerance of the circle of people you are trying to impress; music: apart from a few bands or performers that everyone likes, always look for something that nobody knows, like a band that only you and the bassist's mother know. For the genre, even here, it varies a lot according to your circle; city: in Italy or abroad, documented on "secret" places, frequented by the youngest. I'm sure there are sites where they list them all for you; sex: you watch porn, right? Here, the tone in which you describe your "amorous" adventures (if we want to be generous) will have to be more or less the same, but a little less, otherwise you will arouse suspicion; worldly events: well, that is a fact linked to the wealth of your family, here I can not help you (bad thing, steal or sell if you really want to have money at any cost); clothes: either you dress with brands or as a fake scruffy. Band t-shirts are fine, otherwise it means nothing more nowadays: tattoos, piercings, dyes, haircuts, scarifications, body modifications no longer have any political / ideological value, so whatever you like. Whatever eccentricity you choose, anyone who has no eyes will interpret it as a trait of your personality for you. You could also go dressed in just a sack of burlap. Everyone has a leather jacket, even my grandmother when she went to Lourdes, so why not?

I think that's all.

And remember, young man, if you are good at pretending, the world will be at your feet. You'll be the modern day James Dean (like who? Ask yours, grandma's)

Of course, being conventionally attractive helps, let's not take the piss out of ourselves, but they tell me - perhaps to get my conscience right - that it is not said. But on the internet there are people who get excited by seeing pugs or who would even fuck the radiators, so there is hope for everyone.

Don't forget that everyone started pretending, until they slowly became convinced that they are the character they play.

HELP FOR BROKEN FAMILIES

The dysfunctional family is a family in which conflicts, deviant behavior and abuse predominate. Each of these families lives in fear and the weakest members are constantly subjected to physical and psychological violence.

In these family models, authority is replaced by a distorted idea of ​​authority that is exercised through manifestations of anger, the need for control and aggression.
We remember how families and couples, as well as every single individual on earth, by nature and evolutionary processes face what we call a "period of crisis". Carl Whitaker, pioneer of systemic family therapy, identifies various crises within the couple. One of these occurs when the two partners realize that the other will never become what they wanted to become and that they will never be able to completely change it. To this crisis are added others, such as those marked by specific events, such as the birth / growth / education of children, bereavement, serious illness. And it is enough to observe the period in which we live to realize the drama in which all these aspects can convey
To date, the first test we had to overcome was to completely change our habits: the transition from hectic daily activities to immobility, stopped and blocked in confined spaces, for days and days, was not easy. And the awareness that today this will not end as soon as we all hope can make it even less bearable. So we have to deal, within those domestic walls, with the management of what have become only long and interminable days to fill. Everything that relieves us from coming into contact with us, our emotions, reflections on our own self, is now outside (friends, sports, holidays and travel, .. et al.). And the isolation in which we find ourselves, full of continuous disastrous news on the progress of the pandemic, can only be a further sharpener of emotions such as fears, anxieties and depressions.
It can be useful to start the day taking care of us, of our person, of our spaces especially if shared with 2 or 3 people of the family unit, and even more if we consider the units in which there are also grandparents or uncles and if the spaces they are reduced;
You can discover a new way of preparing yourself towards yourself and the new time available, dedicating yourself to activities for which we did not have time before (cooking, gardening, bricolage, et.al.). All this can be an opportunity compared to a new way of placing oneself within the family space and discovering a new relational dimension;
With children it can be useful, bearing in mind the differences for age groups, to maintain a daily routine as much as possible, to be recreated totally new as we have tried to do with ourselves: the day can be spent alternating playful moments with recreational moments , to play spaces and free exploration, to moments of sharing with the family.

INNOCENCE

All adults continue to carry their inner child inside. The body changes, needs change, experiences change thoughts and habits. But the wounds suffered remain and always remain open inside our little child. They come knocking again almost desperate, through the memory. They do not heal and scratch on the times when our baby inside did not feel appreciated enough, did not have the strength to be seduced by his individuality and subsequently never felt so safe as to abandon his initial innocence on the street. Within every family there are secrets, past anecdotes often steeped in shame. Within every family there is someone who feels guilty even for what he did not commit and at the same time dumps on others what he is solely responsible for. Although everyone feels so unique and different from everyone, every family interaction has a common denominator that repeats itself, like the script of the same film, translated into all languages ​​throughout the history of the world. In every family there is a well-defined decalogue: This should not be said; this is not to be done; this is not good … Yet to grow it is necessary to accept one’s own subversive universe. To grow, it is necessary to give up innocence. Giving up innocence means accepting what we reject about ourselves, even when it goes against the grain of what we have been taught. Giving up innocence does not make us guilty. It teaches us to understand that it is what we hide that destroys us while what we accept makes us peaceful and changes us for the better. Conflicts are spider webs, either you break them or they weaken you more and more until you are imprisoned, to the point of stifling forever even the last breath of courage you have inside. The paradox of any improvement is that in order to improve you must first accept your limits and love yourself as you are. To be able to do this it is necessary to recognize yourself and then break, break everything that you have built in your life to defend yourself, the shield around your heart.

THE BAD ROOM

 

I believe that an unhappy ending is closer to real life. We grew up with too many fairy tales with a happy ending and then in life we ​​don’t know how to make it happen. But we don’t know how to make it happen simply because there is no positive ending in real life. Not even a witch’s powerful magic can change the course of events today. Not even a thousand witches or a thousand prayers. You have to see things as they are and not always illusions which then create frustration.
The black sheep of a family are actually liberators of their family tree. Family members who do not fit into family rules or traditions, those who are constantly trying to revolutionize beliefs. Those who choose paths contrary to the well-trodden paths of family lines, those who are criticized, judged and even rejected. These are called to free the family from repetitive patterns that frustrate entire generations. These so-called “black sheep,” the ones that don’t fit, the ones that howl with rebellion, actually repair, detoxify and create new thriving branches in their family tree. Countless unfulfilled desires, shattered dreams, or frustrated talents of our ancestors are manifested through this revolt. By inertia, the family tree will do everything to maintain the castrating and toxic course of its trunk, which will make the rebel’s task difficult and conflicting. I am a black sheep. And I managed not to follow any flocks and not even any shepherds. I am a free animal but I am inside a golden cage, inside a house of playing cards, inside a life envied by everyone.
A lot of “forever” that by now the value of these two magical words has been lost and it is assumed that the end is coming. “Forever” means that for good and shit I will be next to you. If your head goes off, if you lose control, if you get angry and blow everything up, if you are confused *, if you are afraid, if we kill ourselves, if one day you are nervous * and you answer me badly, with “forever” I confirm that I will be there next to you, to put up with you and make you understand what is wrong and if anything also to send you to fuck, because there is but always coming back if you allow me. To endure does not mean to suffer, in fact forever lasts only if there are two of you to make it last and it is certainly not a passive who undergoes everything for the good of the two, on the contrary. The sentence is: if you allow me, ours is a “forever” Perhaps this is why no one is able to give it the right value anymore, it is a great responsibility – very beautiful – that many mistake for a burden.
What then I always try to express anger in some way, to find phrases on this social network to describe people, to go crazy following certain situations, to fight to the last breath but today I realize that it is useless to waste time with people who don’t want to listen, who stab you in the back and prefer to betray you and mix in shit. Up to now I have mixed too, now it’s time to let it go. The only lesson that I have understood from all of this is that there is a time to fight and one to let go. May I always recognize them.

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