INVISIBLE

I keep feeling invisible. Everyday. I can’t do anything but smile like a fool, trying to convince myself that it can get better. But I already know that none of this will happen. And I’m afraid that this feeling that I have been feeling for months may last until the end of this year, perhaps leading me to exhaustion. I do not feel understood or listened to, for months I have been talking to the wall also demanding an answer, any reaction … A reaction that will never come, knowing those with whom I “speak” as a rule, too busy feeling important to even worry about why I respond badly to everyone in the morning. There is a reason, but they also ignore that. Could it be better? By now I have also lost hope in this. Fantastic.
Stuck here staring at a stupid temple with the intent of giving voice to thoughts. The room is cold, it is raining outside and the rumors go round … thought after thought, the inability to give him a sense of logic is now far away, it must have been the hard day. Is it true that when we are tired we tend to think about who we shouldn’t? Oh, him, my friend of adventures, capable of making you feel over the moon but just as low as to be afraid. What is it that troubles me? What is it that is stopping me? Will I regret it someday or will another sixth sense be successful? What if the famous train everyone talks about has already passed? How do I know if it’s not someone else who just wants to play with my heart? I don’t know, I just know that anxiety assails me at night, the constant fear of becoming too attached to me. Where is this love? I can’t see it, touch it, feel it, feel it, I can hear some words, but I can’t do anything about it with simple words. Crying for someone who would never cry for you what nonsense is this? Go from loving so much until you feel every stab. Too many thoughts for one mind, how does it hold them all?
You realize that you are really alone when you are crying and you start stroking your hair to calm down. I would like to disappear and no longer be found by anyone. I am immobile, I see life passing by in front of me I know I’m not paralyzed yet nothing about me wants to move. Something jumped. A fundamental pact between me and life. And I stay looking at it. I feel time slipping on my skin but that’s all I feel. An emotional squeeze from the heart gradually eases the whole body. And the blood turns black with ink. Obviously my hands move. I’m writing.

THE DANCE OF LIFE

Life is like dance. Life is a dance, but you cannot choose to stop from it. Dance like life will inevitably give you pain and fatigue, it will involve sacrifices, sacrifices and difficulties. It will disappoint you at times, when you won’t be able to take a step properly, or when you don’t get that place within the choreography you expected, just as life will disappoint you, at times, when things don’t go as you hoped, when even though he has put his whole heart into something, it will not come true.
So in dance as in life you need a little luck, you need physical qualities such as instep, elasticity, dynamics, coordination, and some dancers are more fortunate than others to have them, but the desire to do comes where talent cannot go. Those who commit themselves, those who have willpower, passion, dedication and perseverance, go much further than those who have great natural gifts but lack these qualities.
And so in life there will always be someone luckier, better, but to achieve real results is only those who do not give up and always work with the heart.
In dance as in life, you must also learn to let yourself go, if you focus too much on your steps, if you only think not to make mistakes, you lose the music, you waste time. You have to abandon yourself to the sound and let yourself be guided by it, and so in life, sometimes, it is necessary to stop thinking, stop your head and let your heart free, let yourself go and let yourself live.
Each dance hall is full of mirrors, certainly not to exalt the vanity of the dancers, but because in dance as in life it is necessary to learn to know each other, to look at each other, to accept each other in everything that characterizes us, trying every day to become better. others, but of ourselves. Because when you get on that stage and your song starts you forget all the pains, all the sacrifices, all the disappointments, all the hours spent trying to improve the detail, and you just think about being happy. And so in life every wound, every suffering and every renunciation, the moment you finally manage to see realized what you have fought so much for, vanishes into thin air.
Try dancing, on stage, in front of an audience, in a crowd, or on the street, at the supermarket when your favorite song passes by, or even alone in your room with headphones, but try to dance, learn to dance, it will seem to have learned a little more to live. –

 

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!

DON’T BE GO FOR SHOPPING

THEY WANT YOU TO BUY AND BUY AND BUY.

FUCK THE SYSTEM!!!

DON’T BUY ANYMORE!!!

THEY WANT YOU TO SPEND ALL YOUR MONEY.

THEY WANT YOU THINK ONLY ABOUT SHOPPING.

YOU HAVE TO STOP THIS KIND OF LIVING.

YOU CAN USE WHAT YOU HAVE.

YOU CAN HAVE LESS THINGS.

REFLECT ON THIS.

THE SYSTEM WANT YOU TO GO FOR SHOPPING SO THEY TAKE ALL OF YOUR MONEY.

 

 

%d bloggers like this: