THE GARDEN OF MYSELF

I’ve always looked at the sky. Every time I am in a place I have always lost myself looking at the blue of the sky, the white of the clouds. I’ve always had a strange connection with the sky I always feel part of him when I lose myself looking at him. I remain there enchanted. I get lost in thoughts To reflect on everything that goes through my head at that moment. I always leave a piece of my thoughts in those clouds A piece of me in that infinite blue. As if for a moment everything was still there in that sky. As if for a moment all thoughts are dispersed in those clouds. As if for a moment I forgot everything.

I slept great tonight. Small in a huge bed, duvet to cover me and two pillows around to protect me. Zero nightmares. I dreamed of my father. He came to wake me up around five. He put his hand on my shoulder and said “I brought you the croissant”. At that point, the information received woke up all those particles of me that dance wildly at the thought of food. Inside of me I jumped up, but in reality the movement was quite slow. I first took off the covers, stretched, yawned as with every awakening, put on the false crocks and went to the kitchen to eat the croissant with cream. But there was nothing and so, a little sad, I only drank some fruit juice like every morning, remembering the time at university when my father came to me and brought me sweets. After breakfast, I opened the bedroom window and saw the white cat, PIPPINEDDA, ​​in the garden eating some herbs. She had a sly, very sweet look. When she noticed me she went away. I cleaned the bedroom by making the bed, sweeping and mopping the floor; then the bathroom by thoroughly cleaning the accessories and all the products on the shelf, my father’s postit still on the mirror and in order not to remove it I cleaned the glass all around. I also tidied up the living room and kitchen by washing the floor and tidying up. While I was in the Cinderella version I listened to the usual songs and hummed perhaps a little too much. After cleaning I prepared the vegetarian meatloaf: minced meat, courgette bread, eggs, parmesan, parsley, salt and pepper, and lactose-free slices for the filling. After that I started writing, and LUIGINA, my black and white kitten, started to watch TV and I to the pc to update the blog. About half past I baked the meatloaf with potatoes. After lunch I did the dishwasher, because I can’t wash the dishes because my wrist hurts right away. There was peace in this house and it seemed to me that my father suddenly opened the door. But it was only this morning’s dream. I was happy to see him again.

PROTECTED

Dreams in the drawer, underwear on the bed, doubts come out of the wardrobe. Yet it always takes me twenty minutes to choose the shoes. I open the shutters, another rainy day. The neighbor yells at her little girl, she doesn’t know how lucky she is to have her. Maybe we never realize the little miracles that happen in our life, for one reason or another, we are too worried about what doesn’t happen. I think another day has passed, even at 8 in the morning. I don’t have time to start, which has already passed. Like sand from your hands, you would like it to gush out of your palms to the bitter end. I am hungry for life, I need air, I want to hug everyone before being a memory.

To slide. The sensation of entering the leather of the seat of this train. I walk away, the body following the thought. I’m not here, I’m elsewhere. These feet are not mine anchored to the shiny, dirty floor. It is not my eyes that see the reflection of these buildings that alter with uncultivated trees and abandoned cars. This whole periphery is not mine, the strength that abandons me, the memory that presses to get out of my head. It is forbidden to cross the tracks. It is forbidden to leave thoughts. I wait for them to leave me. How I abandoned you.

THE SILENT ROOM STORY

What I remember most from that day is that the walls of the building were cold and white.

It was as if someone had recently cleaned them with bleach and now the smell permeated everything. At first I thought it was a dream, since certainly everything that happened was far from the concepts of reality and rationality.

The first thing I remember is waking up and touching my forehead.

It was cold. Bizarre, given the heat that reigned in the room. I can almost see myself now as I take off my jacket and place it on the floor, gazing in surprise at the four walls I was within. What I saw immediately was the silver door handle. It was inviting, yet something made me hesitate when I caressed the idea of ​​walking towards it. So I turned around and discovered a slightly open window behind me: I could have easily passed through it and slipped under it, since a garbage can was ready to sweeten my descent.

There was no sign of life or movement in the room. It was still and silent. It could only be a dream.

I went to the handle and lowered it, finding the metal as hot as the temperature that prevailed in the room. The door opened and I found myself in a long corridor, also white. On the ceiling some lights flickered in pain, casting a heavy atmosphere over the entire tunnel.

And there was silence, and nothing but silence.

Slipping between those immaculate walls I perceived everything as confused and unreal.

I was constantly passing in front of other doors, but none of them I was able to open. Some of the handles dropped, yes, but only up to a point. None of the mechanisms ever clicked completely. Behind some of them I sometimes perceived sounds whose nature was not entirely clear to me, but every time my voice rang out to try to establish contact, nothing returned to answer me. I felt the palms of my hands sweaty from the grip of nervousness, and every sound I made ended up breaking irremediably before the end of a sentence. I was starting to feel like in one of those nightmares where you find yourself alone somewhere and although there is no apparent reason to be afraid or threatened you can't help but walk with your heart pounding and your skin goose.

Door, after garden, after door.

Each immaculate rectangle followed one another without an apparent end.

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

I was alone and wandered lost in those corridors.

With waves of panic becoming harder and harder to ignore, I began to wonder if I would really be able to return to that room with the window open. I tried to turn around a couple of times and I'm more than sure I paid close attention to which direction I was taking (or at least I think) but it seemed there was no way to find it. Yet, there was always a part of me that insisted that there was no reason for me to worry in that way, that it was more than evident that everything I was experiencing was not real. From one moment to the next I would have become fully aware of it and then I would have woken up soaking wet to find myself in my room, in my dormitory. I would have heard my roommate intent on sipping one of those disturbing films of his ... or I would have found him already snoring loudly in the bed next to mine, and then there would have been no way for me to go back to sleep.

I repeated all these things to myself over and over again - and in a small way they managed to give me courage - but when I found myself at the top of a flight of stairs and breathing suddenly became more difficult that mere comfort was no longer able to impose itself on that restlessness visceral.
The lower floor was immersed in darkness.

Perhaps I had arrived at the basement, perhaps in that part of the building there was no electricity. Was it really the case that I tried to find a rational solution? It was just a dream, after all.

I walked slowly down the steps, but once I got to the landing, once I was ready to take the last flight, I was forced to stop again.

A sound of footsteps came just below me as I walked up the steps to the lower floor.

Rationality fell silent and instinct took over. Dream or reality, I turned and retraced the road until I came up again in the silent corridor, desperately trying to put as much distance as possible between me and that one sound.

The footsteps continued their advance behind me, and always in my direction.

No matter how fast I moved, the noise held my head and the stride matched mine. When I was forced to stop to catch my breath, the mysterious pace slowed in turn and returned to pace, but never stopped ringing.

In the end, overcome by terror and anguish, I stopped my flight to try to grab one of the metal handles again: I shook the door and tried to trigger the mechanism with firm blows, but it didn't help.

"Hey there..."
A voice rose suddenly from behind the door.
"Hey! Will you hear me? Can you hold the porthole?" I pleaded without ever ceasing to try and, indeed, you are encouraged by that sudden contact. I got no other answer.
The footsteps behind me had come close.
Too close.
I started running again.
Whenever I was sure I had put enough distance between me and those footsteps again I tried whatever handle I could grab. At each attempt I was greeted by that apparently innocent and familiar nod.

"Hey there..."

Something was wrong.
Oh, that was what I said was wrong with that fucking place!
If I'm ready with that futile attempt of mine and given it some of my only goal, I'll only return the verse in which mine was awakened. Now even without my approaching I could hear the whispers originating from behind the doors.

"Hey there..."
"Hey there..."

And I pass.
The footsteps never left me.

On the other hand, they had come closer and closer, as if they were aware of the goal I had set for myself. And yet, somehow, that sound still frightened me less than those whispers behind those immaculate doors. Behind each of them had to be an individual, an individual that my footsteps certainly alerted to my presence.
So why did each of them just greet me in the same way, as if to consolidate my presence in that surreal place?
Why would none of them open the door for me?
How could they not catch the terror in my voice, the plea, the desperation that transpired?
I continued my run ignoring their every greeting.
Each of them had a different voice.
There was a moment when I distinctly heard the creaking of a door that opened shortly after I passed in front of it, but I never turned around or slowed my pace. Maybe I already knew within me that it would do no good, or maybe a part of me instinctively felt something that continued to fuel the flame of my survival instinct.

In front of me the contours of a wide open door were finally outlined, just as my pace was beginning to slow down and the possibilities of escape were beginning to fade from the field of possibilities. It had to be the door I first came out of!

I entered without hesitation and, slamming the door behind me, I locked the lock.

The voices in the corridor could somehow still reach me, teasing me with their one greeting repeated over and over again.
"Hey there..."
"Hey there..."
"Hey there"
This time I didn't think about it too long: I reopened the window and walked through it, sliding myself under. Once my feet were on the asphalt, I ran out of the alley and poured into the nearest street.
The street was deserted and the sky was dark.
I started walking.

For a while, I didn't meet anyone, except for a couple who whispered thickly. Another couple of blocks and my cell phone rang. It was my roommate's number.
"Hey man, since you're still out could you get me a couple of things?"

I didn't answer. I hung up and continued my wandering.


There had to be something around there, something so abnormal and surreal that it gave me proof that it was just a dream! Something so absurd and irrational that it would have definitely convinced me, allowing me to wake up ...
The phone began to shake and rang again:
“Hey, don't hang up on my face, it's not nice. Come on, I'm studying and I need a couple of energy drinks to keep me awake! I don't have time to go and buy them ... and I always do you this kind of favors when you ask me! "
"Danny?"
"What's wrong with you? Will you get me a couple of drinks or not? "
The voice sounded like his ... was it really possible?
"All right, all right. The blue ones, right? "
Actually Danny hates the blue ones. And I was so sure that the one at the other end of the line would have nothing to complain about. Who would have consented, not realizing anything ...
Instead there was a pause and Danny sounded irritated:
“No, you know I don't drink the blue ones. Just get me a Punched and a Juiced. You can find them at that corner shop, a couple of blocks from here. "
"Ok"
Only when I hung up did I realize, looking around, that I still had no idea where exactly I was. To tell the truth, I still wasn't sure if I was really in a ... real place.
I decided to do another test and dialed my girlfriend's number, who answered almost immediately. I had a short conversation with her where she told me something about one of her friends who recently broke up with a guy. I hung up more confused than before.
If I was really ... does that mean that building ...?

Now I can't explain what prompted me to do it. I only remember a very unpleasant sensation that tightened my stomach as I somehow tried to retrace my steps, trying to understand from which direction I had come and, above all, to find the building from which I had fled.
And, believe it or not, I walked for hours along those practically deserted streets, but I never found him. Perhaps the panic and terror had prevented me from mentally recording some key details that would allow me to distinguish it. I even went so far as to consider the possibility that I had been somehow drugged, and that what I had experienced were nothing more than the side effects of some substance.

Finally, exhausted and defeated, I let rationality prevail again: I called a taxi and let myself be dropped off in front of the shop where I bought the energy drinks for Danny, adding one for me too. Who knows, perhaps with the excuse of taking a break and having a drink together I would have had an opportunity to nonchalantly explain to my roommate what kind of experience I had had and why I had sounded so dazed on the phone when he contacted me ...
When I finally returned to the door of our dormitory I had come to the conclusion that we might as well let go of everything. I didn't have an explanation, of course, but it seemed that there was no way to answer my questions, at least for now. What mattered was that I was able to get h"Hey there..."

For the next three weeks, at the strangest times, I always got the same call.
Sometimes it happened when I was waiting for a call from a friend, or when I just picked up my cell phone. Each time I heard nothing but that one word, again and again.
I don't think I'll ever be able to forget that day, or the terror and anguish that that innocent greeting still conveys to me today.
I had an open window in front of me. I could have left right away.
Instead, I thought it was just a dream, so I started wandering around the entire building. Convinced that nothing was real, that nothing could really harm me.
I will never forgive myself for not simply escaping, made stupidly bold by the mistaken certainty of actually being under the covers, safe from everything ...ome, and that I wasn't going to be alone.

A call told me that Danny must have gotten impatient from waiting. I answered ready to apologize.

STORY OF A DECISION

I don’t want to try to live any life again. I got bastardized and the home is worse for me than the cauldron of cannibals. every day too many people ate my best meat and every day I fed their thoughts with succulent ardor and multicolored hopes. This lane no longer belongs to me, I am out of the white lines, I went beyond the yellow lines, I deleted the blue lines and I took possession of a space that has nothing to do with men. I jumped out of the lines of men and women ready for the handkerchief race. I saw my prize and refused it, even though it shone like pure gold. I am never the one who dwells in this non-existent rent. I sell myself to my thoughts. I sell myself to my breath. I sell myself to the stranger who lives in my houses. he has an immense need for inhuman pleasures. he is the worst of the inhuman demons. unfolds me on white sheets and folds my corners without hesitation, an origami of crowded evenings. I go to find the silence of the marble angels. I go where life no longer lives. I don’t bring flowers to anyone, I walk among my buried souls, I mix wet lands, replant dried flowers … I look at the photos of my deceased sisters, my soul mates … the others who were not as lucky as me to live despite my apparent death. They call me a vampire, they tell me a scribe, they think I’m alien. I can’t stand people paved with knowledge. reducing billions of sadness into sonic explosions leaping the pit of pain by stabbing black stars that fall like ash confetti. the apocalypse of sadness makes the angel more terrible and the trumpet sounds like thunder. the din of the mind increases, the detachment from human people increases, I am extinguished. I feel in the last non-stellar sky, on the top floor of inhuman pain, I feel myself going up and down for no reason, my love runs on black ice stairs, on roads that penetrate impossible, fearful darkness. fingers of flesh and wind slip into my torment. fingers of cardiac losses accumulate and open my chest. I open the doors of my feeling and immediately afterwards I regret it. I got a devil in every hair, a devil in my brain, a tiny tiny black elf that rubs itself on white surfaces to write his curses. two horns come out of the dream, two very long sharp golden tinsel. they turn to my power, they enter me without seeing any other direction. they come out of open walls, from walls of forgotten art, they come out of nights pierced by incomprehensible dreams. pearls come out of the darkness of nostalgia, they twist into pointed horns and I stare at endless nights. swamps smoke, the sun goes down, the pain disappears. the abysses fall! incredible crash of pieces of glass, of crystal wings, of metal hearts. my angels dance with dagger blades that become stems of roses without corollas. my angels protect my brain from the depths of steel, from the seas of gold, from cruel power. my angels crash into the walls of my pain, strangled by the love of living. they flee and return to their purple skies. voices intertwine, voices are released, from within and everything comes out, in a moment, in a single second, the world is torn apart and the killer enters the scene. no one knows his past, no one knows his pain, no one knows the subtle pleasure, the need, the desire … the instinct to kill. hidden inside is what triggered the bomb, what triggered the blow, what caused the nefarious fury, the sublime revenge … scenes and other scenes revisited in the imagination, scenes and scenes acted without script … what do you want to know? what do you want to know about a killer or a killer? Is the thinking distorted or is it in the world that everything goes wrong? when the hand is thrown choosing to give death it is the power of the man that holds the heart of the murderer in a grip of sublime pleasure and that makes him feel like any god, renegade or not. what thirst for knowledge burns in your veins? what do you want to know about the pleasure of killing? what brings you on the path of the unspeakable sin of the human mind? silence awakens me and silence doesn’t make me sleep. a crowd throngs inside my heart and I’m ready to strike again. is it me you were waiting for? here is the explanation for all of you, a confession opened from a cell without a lock, a superhuman torture because those who know the journey but never the destination! I didn’t know what I was doing, I didn’t remember I was another person … I was using another name maybe I was there and maybe I wasn’t there, a memory gap, for no apparent reason, something that you feel inside, something that doesn’t add up .., and yet it was I who had done everything, I had decided it a long time ago … or was it even before? I don’t remember, a memory lapse. but why understand? why ask again? there is no explanation for the pleasure of dying inside others. it’s another person, it’s not me. I was not there. I’m not… no voice, no voice anymore … from my silence. a word broke my voice, a word that doesn’t break my silence. never again no voice will come out of my throat. no voice, no voice. he killed the voice, he didn’t kill the silence … and I will kill him in silence … I’ll take away the one thing he doesn’t have … life. no voice, no voice I will give to my silence … nobody wants to know, nobody has to know the torment of being a killer. no more voice will tell you which is my favorite weapon, no word of mine will tell my wound, no voice for those who do not want to hear or hear … no confession beyond all daring! never again do men deserve to know, to know pain … no voice of me, no voice of me … it changes like a fish. no voice for those who do not want to hear or hear … no confession beyond all daring! never again do men deserve to know, to know pain … no voice of me, no voice of me … it changes like a fish. changes like an executioner inside his victim!