MIND IS IN THE HAIR

Have you ever tried to take care of a woman’s hair? Slip them between your fingers, welcome them in your hands if they are too curly as if it were wadding. Touching a woman’s hair is very important, taking care of it even more. Because if you do it, it is with her consent, it amounts to permission to touch her heart. Dissipating any tangles or brushing them frees his mind, a massage to his soul. We should all take care of a woman’s hair, with dedication and delicacy. Make them a braid or brush them with extreme delicacy, you too will benefit, because relaxing being a source of serenity. A woman’s hair has its own scent, which differs from woman to woman. By arranging her hair you put her soul in order, she will allow you to listen to her secrets, because taking care of her hair is a very intimate act. In Portuguese it is called “cafuné” the act of tenderly running your fingers through the hair of your loved one. Kiss a woman’s hair, because they deserve respect. Take care of a woman’s hair, because they give positive energy.

ALL IS FULL OF LOVE

As you read, think. Think about every single word, every single sentence you have read. You are young. You need to live. You need to understand that being crazy about someone is absurd. People make mistakes, we are human, it is normal. Forgive and forget. Don’t lose a friend because something happened, forgive him. Forget about their mistakes, you want the same if it happens to you. If you like someone, tell them. You don’t know what could happen to him. It’s bad to talk about this, but it’s the truth. People die every day, every minute, every second. You will never know it. Have fun, dance in public, sing with all your lungs, don’t hold back in laughter, don’t hold back a smile. Dress how you want, not how others want. Be free, don’t let anyone tell you what you can and can’t do. Say what’s in your head, tell all your thoughts, free your opinions, you should never go unheard. Live your life as much as you can because you will never know what can happen. You just don’t know.
I don’t know how to replace people, even if they hurt me. Disappointed. I let them go, I go on with my life, I go on. I don’t look for them anymore, I make myself strong because I know it’s right. And when after the ninetieth time I say enough, I don’t go back. I make new friends, I fall in love again, but it hardly happens, but no one will ever be able to replace them, because the emotions I felt with them cannot be imitated. People don’t replace each other. What I had with them I cannot have back with anyone else, nor can I expect it from anyone else. And when I wish things had gone differently, I think of the memories that bound me to them and I know that no one can ever separate me from them.
I don’t want someone by my side to fill a void inside me. I want someone to tell about my day without feeling a burden, talk about my passions without feeling boring, show my weaknesses and dark moments without feeling out of place. Love hurts, they say. But it hurts when you don’t love the same way. Or when one of the two doesn’t love at all. At that point, every action must be measured, thought, weighed. Because the sensitivity of those who (perhaps presumptuously, humanly speaking?) Only want a little love: a daily caress on the heart, a beautiful word whispered in the ear, a smile that involves the whole face.
Words come to life on their own at night.
It is easier to find them,
to feel them in your mind.
It is as if they emerge from the depths of me,
free, insistent.
The best speeches,
the clearest, most linear thoughts,
or conversely, the most intense,
children of a feeling that is difficult to master.
The letters that get lost or confused during the day become autonomous, walk, come out into the open.
I like this quiet,
I love this silence.
It tastes good.
Clean.
Of poetry.

THE CELL

The idea of ​​getting into the mind of a serial killer is not new. But dealing with the different unconscious and conscious parts of such a complex individual is quite another thing. Very strong scenes. A plot with characters at the extreme of sadism.
And his world is a wonderful world. Many truly creepy killer faces, many spectacular settings. In reality, even if we are faced with a world only of “fantasy”, we must still respect a certain psychological care of the plot (in that world we must find the traumas that made that man become a monster and know where to intervene to help him ).
If you are very emotional then I don’t recommend it.

ALL THINGS ABOUT LOVE WE KNOW

Some time ago I was in my room and among other things I was reflecting on love, or rather on how we expect romantic love to be, on how they told us it should be and on how it really is. Ever since we are little they tell us more or less implicitly that love coincides with falling in love; the irrepressible physical attraction, the pupils that dilate, I want us to do bullshit after bullshit on bullshit to show our feeling to the person we are falling in love with. All these things in the collective imagination are love, then everything is seasoned with the idea that in the universe there is a person who completes us and with whom things are easy. Still, the more you grow up, the more shit is not true. The fact is that after a certain number of relationships, more or less adult, more or less lasting, you realize that it does not work according to that implicit idea you had of love, which in fact coincides with passion, with infatuation, and above all that that first year, those first years when everything is easy, do not last; and when that feeling of lightness and fluffiness disappear, we all find ourselves disoriented like ‘but is it really all over?’. Whether it happens after a couple of months or after a couple of years, the result is always the same. Suddenly all the excitement that enveloped the relationship with the other disappears and in its place there is an emptiness that then and then also seems worrying and that we believe is also for this reason that when we think about our past relationships, many times we fail to explain them. How many people have wondered ‘how did I manage to be with that person? What did I find in that person? ‘ The fact is that we are still pushed to throw ourselves into relationships to chase that dream there, the one where all things stop being monotonous out of the blue. We fall in love and the routine no longer seems heavy, the world seems to have secrets that we did not know before; but is love really that thing there?
Not that it is absolutely wrong to look for butterflies in the stomach, but I think it is better to confuse butterflies with what in reality is love, which we fear is much more like a deep friendship rather than a situation of perennial chemistry to celebrate. altered. Several years ago, when I was 16, I was talking to a 40-year-old writer who had just broken up with his partner after a dozen years of engagement, and I asked him if falling in love had lasted so long; I mean, 12 years is an eternity of time to be in love. And he looked at me for a moment and replied ‘absolutely not. I began to love this person the moment I stopped being in love with him. For the first time in my life after that moment, I seemed to be able to really see her, to spend time with her without being distracted by the irrationality of falling in love ‘. At the time I didn’t understand it very well, in fact it seemed like a phrase from my grandmother, and I said ‘fuck but how is it possible, what is another reason that can push two people to be together besides the romantic urgency?’ The fact is that in my opinion, after a bit of experience, this writer I had talked to was right. Infatuation can be felt towards 1000 different people, people who at some point will turn out to be wrong, not because they are absolutely wrong but maybe because they are wrong for us. Maybe the life they live is not really the one that goes well with ours. Maybe over time it turns out that worldviews are too different and so on. The infatuation in all of this has a time that can be more or less short but that surely ends at some point. So when I was in my room and I was thinking about this thing, I came to the conclusion that infatuation is cool, but that it also has very little to do with love. Love is perhaps just that feeling that one also feels towards friends or family, that kind of low and loving hum that pervades the time you spend with someone, the beauty of being in silence while being together, accompanying each other while doing the shopping, accompanying each other to do boring things without expecting fun, but with the sole purpose of taking care, sometimes, even with the ability to get bored together.
I was thinking about how important and useful it would be to have a slightly deeper vision of love and therefore to see life in a less distressing way. Infatuation is beautiful, but with the expectations and promises it brings with it it becomes distressing, premises like the idea that the desire lasts forever, that the other person is always perfect, that being together will never be disappointing, making long-term plans and so on. If you confuse infatuation with love, then you experience the infatuation itself badly which by its nature should be kept light and shiny; ‘What if the other leaves us, if all of a sudden he changes his mind, if at a certain point he doesn’t love us anymore?’. The fact is that infatuation does not necessarily imply love, unconditional affection, complete acceptance: love, familiarity and affection do. And if that kind of intimacy has developed between two people, it will certainly not be discovered in the first months, in the first years, and that writer is probably right; it turns out that you love and only when you stop being in love.




I WAS ON THE GROUND

The last trance was the last trance the one in which she had danced in the rain and in the wind. The storm was out. The storm was inside and the monster had water eyes and thunder arms. She had danced in the intercourse with the ferocious beast, the killer baby, a ferocious feline, a very fast condor had taken her and carried her up. All this and the rest, dispersed, in the raindrops. I had seen and said “follow me” and she had followed the force of the storm. No force was too strong for the challenge, no force was too strong for her liquid pleasure. Following the animal, into the forest, scrolling along the paths where you could not walk. The sound of the night was coming. She told him “save me” and he didn’t answer and hid. The beast came out instead and she took it in her hands and every vein was red and throbbing. She stood looking at him so full of pulsating veins and moving at the touch of his mouth. He told her “get out of me” and he didn’t but he flew up and fell on her and stayed on her back until the wings unfolded well. The wings were made of copper and carried energy. A blackout of harmonic kilowatts entered his ribcage. She stood still, let the transformation begin, what would become of her shell was not given to him to know. He wove heavier alloys on the outside of the wings, but platinum was his single-celled heart. He said “wait”. She felt the metal enter her ribs, enter her bones, come to life and breathe like a second soul. She remained dead. She remained dead. She remained dead. Lying in iron, in metal, in the world of her demon. He remained. It folded its wings and pierced the trees, the rocks, the waterfalls, the lights, the shadows. Everything stood in the way of his new wingspan. Everything was a hindrance to his body. He felt the heavy steel in his arteries. He couldn’t breathe. He told him “kiss me, give me air, I’ll suffocate”. He joined his thin hands and disappeared into the thunder. Anger took her. He threw himself away. It destroyed everything in its path. He pierced the storm itself and crashed into a mountain hidden by the fury of the hurricane. The wings were so heavy. The lungs were struggling. Steel was in every muscle. She got up. Moving his head he managed to swallow some air. He had re-entered her chest. He was breathing now. His demon had regained strength. He had it back. It covered her vital organs. He made her die to make her live better. His mind was ready. The crystals were reforming and in a few hours he would break all seals of piety and humanity. He shouted “leave me!” but he was more inward than ever. It had all its strength, it had its wings. He threw her across the seas like a bullet and she crossed the waves. It was ready. She had returned. The energy passed through her but the strength did not scare her. He closed his eyes. He saw her white eyes in her darkness. Who was? Who are you? Churches. Metal does not melt. The crystals flip over. Polarity swap places. And she became something else. She lay on the asphalt, dust in her mouth, as he screamed obscenities. She was just a victim and was crying. He couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t escape. He stayed on the asphalt and died inside himself.

I DIDN’T KNOW REALITY

I have lived for half of my life in my art world. Then I got out and discovered reality. Unfortunately for me, not knowing the rules, I didn’t know how to behave, so I was always spontaneous, sincere, without ulterior motives. Instead I had to learn that reality is artificial and that people are almost always constructed and false. I had to suffer criticism because I am too “sociable, open, convivial, affectionate ..” Think about how a person who always has everything with his heart and hears certain things can be. So they explained to me that I have to follow certain behaviors to be accepted by people, people who are all cold, detached, always with a mask and not at all spontaneous. I refused, rather I am alone with my dog ​​and my books. We wrote, sang and danced and the inevitability of the black future was tangible. We looked too far away. We didn’t touch a drop, no substance but our minds were so full of things that we were unstoppable and unstoppable. At night we wandered into philosophical discussions and our intent was not to explain things but to express our experiences. We went to the most unknown alleys of Palermo, wandering in search of wonderfully unknown corners. We sighed as if we were in love with the air itself. How can one continue to live after having touched eternity? How can we expect a future that was invisible to us? We were our infinity.

BE FREE FROM THINGS

FREE YOURSELF FROM ALL YOUR THINGS.
FREE YOUR MIND FROM ALL THIS SHIT.
FREE YOURSELF FROM YOUR PAST.
FREE YOU MIND FROM ADDICTION ON THINGS.

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