Prof: I'll ask you a question: why do you think humans are often led to suicide?
X: because it has too many problems.
Prof: and why do you think he has these problems?
Me: because of the company.
Prof: how sorry?
Me: the company. In my opinion this is the cause of all the losses that have occurred in recent years.
Prof: and here you are wrong. Take a person with depression for example, he kills himself because it is the depression that leads him to do this.
Me: yes ok, here we are, but before thinking about depression, wouldn't it be appropriate to think about the causes of all this?
X: in what sense?
Me: have you ever wondered why a person often resorts to suicide? Take this person suffering from depression for example: at first he had a good job, a house, a wife, children, everything in short. One day he is summoned by the director of the company where he works to inform him that due to various problems, unfortunately, layoffs are underway and among these there is also his name. Initially, the man remains a little upset but in the end he thinks that in one way or another he will find another job to feed his children. So he strives to find it. A day goes by and nothing.
Two days and nothing.
Three, nothing.
Four, nothing.
A month goes by and still nothing.
Children need things for school. The clothes for the holidays, because you know, we are boys.
The refrigerator is empty.
The bills are payable.
And that's where the real problems begin. The wife has her own needs. Children are teased at school because of their clothes, their worn out pens.
At that point, man feels a prisoner of hunger, of the desire for money, of the fear of a still uncertain tomorrow.
The wife leaves him.
The money isn't there yet.
There is no light at home, no water, no electricity.
The children do not speak to him. Friends despise him or at least treat him as if he were junk.
The man is alone.
He drinks.
It gets drunk.
He's out of money.
Society doesn't help him.
Friends don't care.
The children hate him because it is only because of him that they are targeted by their peers.
He falls into depression, a severe depression.
Is tired.
Alone.
Weak.
He kills himself.
This is what society is. We are society and if today the word "society" is synonymous with "suicide" the fault is ours alone.
Prof: exactly
Once upon a time there was a little girl. She had a bob of golden hair and deep dark eyes. He always smiled, he appreciated life. She was an intelligent child, she invented stories, she loved to read, she wanted to be a writer, she thought a lot. Often she was alone: she was too shy to communicate with others, she was satisfied with herself, she kept everything inside. But he was happy like that. Because inside she had so many beautiful things, a magical world made of dreams, glitter, love. She loved herself, she cared about her ideals. I remember that he played with pencils, he had all the colors, he made them talk. He had a lot of dolls, but he preferred pencils. She was a sensitive, sweet, nice child. He did not want to give anything to anyone, his things were only his property. But the heart, that heart would have given it to anyone. She was a good girl, always sunny and cheerful. I often wonder what that little girl would have thought of who I am now. Certainly she would not recognize me: she would have called me crazy, she would not have understood my scars, she would have grumbled at me from the smoke, she would have been sick with my suicidal thoughts. He would cry looking at me. He would see my smile, the same as before, but sadder. She would tell me to give a damn about others and eat as much as I want, like she did. She who had been vomiting for whole nights with sweets. That little eater with the big belly. Of course, she would also have been proud of my progress, she would have complimented me because she didn't know how to do somersaults, splits, bridges; because she didn't have the courage to experiment. I've learned a lot over the years, but I miss that little girl's sweet innocence. His way of dealing with problems. Holidays, birthdays, Christmas, when she stayed up all night to hear the footsteps of a fat old man dressed in red. When the golden lights on the trees enchanted her, when her little town seemed bigger than New York. That little girl who cried a lot and for everything, a bit like now. That little girl pretending to be a model or a dancer while trying on mom's big dresses. The one who loved the world and herself. That little girl I would love to see again because I miss her. Because I wish I was still as happy as she is.The child was asleep when the door opened and someone entered. Was it the fairy tale wolf? She was asleep but suddenly she felt something. A nuisance down there. A strange and bad feeling. The little girl did not want to open her eyes. He forced himself to leave them closed. And he died under the weight of the big bad wolf.
I love coming home after the holidays. Because at home, I will be able to sleep peacefully without neighbors who shout late on their balcony. In my house I can swim without sharing the pool with other people. But above all I will be able to see my treasures, my loves, my wonderful puppies: Valkirya and Spritz. I love coming home from vacation because my home is the most comfortable place for me, the place where I have all my things in their place, and I always find them.And here we are back home. We look around and see books, exams, school, work, which have been waiting for us all summer long. We went to the beach, we laughed, we ran, we practiced sports that we will never do again, we made new friends, found old ones, found new loves, we had so much fun, so much to forget, we sometimes drank too much, sometimes too little, we slept, we saw the sun rise and we saw the stars fall, we saw village festivals, heard religious choirs and stadium choirs, we listened to music too loud. We made promises we didn’t keep, we went out of windows and balconies because the doors were too loud, we sang and danced. We brought out the best in us !!! But, after having lived all this, with what desire do you sit back in a chair, grab a pen again or put on your tie again? The smile is always on the lips and if the memory is so funny it also happens that you escape a laugh, the distraction is at least in my case it is always lurking. Yet I can not hate the book in front of me and which in theory is separating me from the last days of summer. Oh no, because even if for now this seems a difficult task to face I understand, or rather I force myself to believe that all these efforts will lead to something one day. And then you know, without the bitter, my friend, the sweet is not so sweet.Every trip is an experience and no experience is ever useless, everything serves to teach you something if you have the patience and the ability to receive the message. Goodbye, sea, until I know how to better appreciate what you have to offer, see you the day when I will be able to enjoy your beauty without looking for it elsewhere and your rhythms without suffering its slowness. The holidays officially end today for me. Ok, I’m lucky that I’ve had several days at home, of course, but tomorrow we go back and say that I don’t have half of starting over even comes close to describing the little desire I have to resume. But you have to. In spite of some colleague objectively, humanly and professionally useless, of the various problems and of everything that concerns working, I am well aware of my luck. Except that experiencing my ideal life, that is the perfect tourist, for two weeks has a negative side: that I get used to it. Netflix, cats, reading, time to do whatever I can think of … in short, the perfect life that I would give myself if I could not have to work. But I’m not rich enough, so we’re always there, back to square one. Tomorrow we start again. Once I got angry and struggled like a fish already caught on a hook that tries anyway and pathetically to free itself. It’s different now. Now I am resigned. The life I want, I can’t have it. Like almost everyone in the world, so shut up.Two weeks went by like hours, but it took me a lot, it took a lot. I took my mind off everything as it hadn’t happened for some time, I focused on us, on our little holiday, on the holidays and on the family. And I understood many things, I think we have grown on all fronts, first of all the importance of having you by my side and the desire for a life together with you. Because it is true that after all this time a sentence like this seems almost banal, but you are a little bit my compass, you are my point of reference for everything. And no, maybe we won’t be perfect, (I have the big nose, you have the hips, because that’s what really matters!), But I love a little more even in the same since you are here. You made me discover a new world, you made me a child again and at the same time we are growing up together. And beyond everything, my life is perfect, complete since you are here.
Today I cried again. Alone. In the shower.
I got good at not getting noticed in those moments. Or at least I try.
I don't always succeed.
The truth is that, by now, I have too much load to be able to "hide". Too many words that were not spoken, too many emotions that we tried to hold back. They are all there: stuck in the throat for several months. I'm on vacation and I should smile at everyone. But as usual he ruins everything.
Emotions press hard, like a ping-pong ball into the stomach.
The Miss who can make it at any cost, this time has succumbed to a crash.
Always at the right time when others need a hand and always at the wrong time when it's your turn. Because Miss doesn't know how to ask for help. They taught her (no, not her parents, but Existence itself) to stand on her legs and arms, because the mental stakes one clings to always disappoint.
And he does not know how to ask for help, nor take it, not even when that help comes spontaneously.
Perhaps because not all of them are inclined to Listening and even less lead to Listening to You.
Few are those who take words out of your mouth and pain out of your heart.
There are even fewer who understand you or those who care to understand.
No victimhood: everyone has their own difficulties in life and pain often tends to close rather than open.
Fears, then, govern the unmanageability of certain situations and you don't know what to do, how to help.
Silence. Thus we take refuge in Silence, when Speaking and being Listened to is the only real solution.
This is why, in the end, most people go to psychologists: because "no man is an island" and everyone wants to talk.
Listening is no longer practiced, not even towards oneself.
We hurt ourselves so much with words that don't come out, with emotions that don't vibrate, with gestures that don't happen.
Then you anesthetize yourself and think that finally that is the solution in which you no longer feel anything, to discover with horror that the pain remains and the joy fades too quickly.
It does not come out.
Today I cried in the shower. Alone.
I cried to cradle a little girl whose father died just over two months ago; I cried because that creature knows that her father was not a good father, but that he was hers and no one can take this memory out of her head.
I cried listening to the Woman with the chaos of feelings in the Soul, the indestructible Goddess who never wants to collapse ... pity that she is in a physical body that, sooner or later, had to yield to so many difficulties.
I cried for the youngest daughter, the one who wants to feel fragile because feeling fragile is a sign of humility towards oneself and towards one's own Existence.
I held the child, the lady, the youngest daughter .. I cried with them.
I burned my chest with sobs and ran out of tears. For today.
They will come back. Until I learn to speak.
He always destroys everything. Him and his anger. And now he sleeps and I am the woman who dreams when he sleeps.
Near Trieste, on a rocky spur overlooking the sea, stands the Miramare Castle, once the southern gate of the Austrian Empire. A place of wonders where Princess Sissi stayed during her long travels in Europe. A treasure trove of history and legend that tells the tragic story of its founder, Maximilian of Habsburg.
Here Princess Sissi saw the sea for the first time and was captivated by its beauty and impetuosity; characteristics in which the empress probably found herself.
Do you know why music is so important to some people? Music is not ready to Judge you for come dressed, for come you speak, for come you act, for me you are a hobby. the music is always there, close to you, prompt to cheer you up, prompt to let you vent, to make you cry when you really need it. it is the music that makes a person’s life better, not the singer, I know, that contributes enormously to all of this, but it is the only fact that it is the music that makes the person who listens feel alive.
Concerts have something magical about them. For days this idea has been floating in my mind, and the more time passes, the more it becomes a real conviction: there is really magic in listening to live music, something inevitably imperceptible through filters, barriers to radio, computer, cell phones or mp3s. I was there, with me a friend and thousands of other boys. Back to pieces, aching legs and muscles now destroyed by the interminable and, almost infinite, hours in a row, of spasmodic waiting. Exasperation and a sense of frustration to the stars, boredom, resignation, an imperfect mix of unhappy emotions, hovered in the sultry atmosphere; evening fell, impatience was added to the mismatched mix; then the music, that music, the voice of the long-awaited singer, pronounces the first words of the opening song. It is a moment. Here is the magic. The X ingredient that added to the mix takes it from imperfect to explosive, gasoline thrown on a dying bonfire. A thousand and more voices intone the notes of the song, a thousand and more exhausted boys, terrified by the wait, who jump, rant, reach out to grab as many emotions as possible, to fill the gaps with the memories of what will not be remembered as an evening equal to the others. It goes on for a couple of hours, between screams, tears, jumps. Then even the spell ends, the last note of the last song marks the end of the spell. Magic, like everything, ends, but it doesn’t break. The aching legs, the back to pieces, the stress of waiting are gone, the excitement, the goosebumps, the chills, a moment of happiness as long as the songs played remain.
My body and soul are accomplices of music. Always. Thanks to the vinyl collection of my parents, young people who lived and played a leading role in the global revolution of the 70s in Italy, in the years when composer’s music told the story and the feeling of that time. I remember how it was yesterday, when I was a child I put my ear to the big chest of my beloved vintage Marantz while I listened, I laughed with the loud volume while my heart vibrated perceptibly. The sun came in without a filter, in the center of the living room, I closed my eyes and flew Elsewhere. That Elsewhere where I often go back to drawing in my mind what emotions tell me, rediscovering the pleasure of my passion to which I dedicate my happiest and most authentic time in the name of a great chance. Listening to music. In this space I will try to collect mostly Independent Author Music because only as independent do you exist and resist, because it is the urgency to communicate and share elsewhere that reveals the unexpected wonder of a soul that in melancholy returns free and in light. . Writing words and sounds with a gentle and respectful hand is my mission to reveal the added value of an art steeped in authentic life.
It is not easy to be a Musician. It is not easy to invest all your time and resources in something that many – and often those closest to us – consider a pastime. It is not easy to maintain one’s direction towards the dirt road when shortcuts open before us to live a life of stability and a fixed salary. Yes, maybe it’s easier, but it wouldn’t be the life we want to live. It is not easy to give up on outings, birthdays, parties, trips and holidays because we have to study for a concert or an important rehearsal. Precisely for this reason it is not easy to find a partner who can understand all this. The musician is that person who puts a little color on gray days and is the one thanks to whom you shed a tear while watching a moving scene from a movie. Finally … The musician knows that he has to fight daily against a basic ignorance and he knows that he is not as indispensable as a mechanic or an electrician, so he must be doubly good at knowing how to promote and see himself. In short, if you meet a musician, think you have a rare and particular person in front of you. Beethoven said that architects are respected because they are able to design bridges to join opposite banks of a river. The musician, on the other hand, must be respected even more because he is able to unite souls and hearts.
Panarea, a view from the highA corner of the townA beach in PanareaBradley Cooper and Lady Gaga in PanareaBeautiful seaSome marine caves in PanareaVery beautiful cavesPanarea townA street in the townAnother street in the townRaya Summer Fest
Clear water of the sea in Mondellosome picturesque boatsBeach in MondelloTipical octopus salad (stret food)Seafront in MondelloMondello by nightMondello’s tower and seagullsMondello FestMondello’s CircolettoYoung people at the beach
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 