STORY OF NUVOLA FRESCA

Long before the white man arrived,
in a Cheyenne village lived a little girl whose
name was Nuvola Fresca.
One day the little girl said to her mother, Last Evening Sigh: "When night falls, a black bird often comes to feed, pecks at pieces of my body and eats me until you arrive, light as the wind and chase it away.
 But I don't understand what all this is.
With great maternal love Last Sigh Of the evening reassured the little girl by saying: "the things you see at night are called dreams and the black bird that comes is only a shadow that comes to save you" Nuvola Fresca replied:
"But I am so afraid, I would like to see only the white shadows that are good".
Then the wise mother, she knew it would be cruel to close the door to the fear of her child, invented a round canvas with which to fish the dreams of the night, then gave the object a magical power: to recognize good dreams, that is, those useful for growth. spirituality of the little one, from the bad ones, that is, false and deceptive.
Last Sigh of the Evening built many dream catchers and hung them on the cradles of the children of the village.
As the children grew, they embellished theirs with expensive objects and gradually the magical power grew, grew, grew together with them ... Each Cheyenne keeps its own dream catcher for life, as a sacred object bearer of strength and wisdom.
Even today the Cheyenne Indians build a dream catcher every time a child is born in the village and place it on his cradle. With a special wood, very ductile, they shape a circle, which represents the universe and inside it a web similar to that of a spider. The cobweb will therefore be entrusted with the task of capturing dreams. If it is a question of positive dreams, the dream catcher will entrust them to the thread of the beads (forces of nature) and make them come true. If, on the other hand, he judges them negative, he will entrust them to the feathers of a bird and have them carried away far away, scattering them in the skies.

SITTEN IN MY LIFE

There are people you have known for a lifetime, who have no effect on you, and people you have recently known, who make you want to hear them all the time: they leave that smile on your face before going to sleep and with the knowledge that when the next day you will wake up, you will think about them. These people, I think are the best. In a short time they make themselves known better than anyone else. They manage to make you feel good with little, like no one ever has. They can make you smile and cry at the same time. They bring out the best in you, without doing much. Just a smile from them and that’s it: it’s like arriving in heaven without flying, all at once. You come up and no one can get you off anymore, no matter how good you feel. ‘Stè special people, they give you two or even three words, including trivial ones, and you spend whole nights thinking about it. Sleepless nights asking you questions. Sleepless nights waiting for some message from them, just to make you move a smile on your mouth, even if that is the last of the day, because then you sleep. These are the real people. These are the people you generally meet in the dark times of life and they cheer you up, like a coffee in the middle of the day, or a hot tea in the evening, when you are tired. There is no explanation. They just pick you up. They sit next to you and listen to you and it doesn’t matter if it’s day, night, sunrise or sunset. They don’t watch the hours. They listen to you and you finally exist.

HALO

I mean I’m not one who gives up… I mean, I’ve never done that. But as I was walking the other day, I thought back to my past. 2 years ago to be precise .. I was thinking of the person who introduced me to true love, the same person who then broke my heart in such a way that nothing would be the same as before. I thought and thought and all our promises, to the fact that I said to myself “at the cost of dying, I will not lose it” I thought of all the sacrifices I have made for her and how long I have waited for her. As I was walking, something stopped a whole stream of thoughts running through my head, and suddenly everything became clearer. It was time to close with the past … not because I had given up, but because the person I was was no longer there. And in my total awareness of an inner loss, I was tremendously happy. That boy was gone as he wished. With her by his side or with death. Luck wasn’t on his side… he fell, but he kept his promise. And I am happy, happy for this glorious loss. I was able to close a part of my life, my past. and now..what will the future bring me?
I grew up on it. The problem actually… is the technology. Facebook..the movies on TV..etc..see all the people who go out, turn the corner and find friends..this weighs on me every now and then. I can clearly feel the lack of this emotional trait. But on the other hand, I wouldn’t be able to be in big company. My normality is now part of me as much as I am part of her, what you call loneliness is just habit for me. I like to wake up in the morning, open the balcony to the sun. In fact, I learned that there is a lot of life and happiness here too. Once the balcony is open, the birds chirping, the wind in the trees and the smell of dew. God, I could never do without this. Everything is so alive in this desolate place.
It’s relative … now loneliness is part of me. I mean, I don’t call it loneliness anymore. it’s normal for me. When my friends came every now and then, they were bored to death, they did not listen to the birds, they did not smell the scent of trees and flowers, and they did not see the peace and harmony that surrounded them. rather! What I call peace for them is boredom and waste of time… so… it’s all relat
lately I feel that I belong nowhere and that I am not fully connected with any person. it seems to me that all of a sudden the people around me are strangers, people with whom I have nothing in common, with whom I have nothing to say and with whom I never feel 100 percent at ease. this makes me sad and I feel the need to find new people, people equal to me, who really understand me, with whom I can always be myself, however, it is so difficult, I am not good at relating, I am not good at making new friends and i am not able to take matters into my own hands because i always try to repress everything and not even try is what is best for me, i’m a bit of a coward and i know i will curse myself in the future but i just can’t do I change
Soon I will be back, perhaps stronger, perhaps weaker, and I will try to explain calmly and calmly what I have done and how I feel; now I just need not to think, because my thoughts scare me. I’d like to get distracted, find something to talk about that doesn’t make me uncomfortable, rediscover that strength to live that now unfortunately I lack. Thanks for the support you are giving me, thanks for the words, the phrases, thanks for everything. You are the only friends I have, and I truly thank you with my heart for staying close to me, for listening to me even when I don’t feel like talking, and for staying silent with me if I need to. I love you, really.

A DIFFERENT MIND

There are changes over time that make you think, make you look up and the desire to move forward with all your strength. Many times it is not easy, indeed, it is complex to look forward despite the pain that one carries in the heart, but life is a passing of time, and it is precious, so you have to love yourself completely, unconditionally, because it is right that it is so. To anyone who has a pain that leads him to stand up with his head held high, I congratulate you because it is not easy to face everything alone, especially when it is a pain that goes beyond all limits. We are all fragile souls, but there are those who manage to do all this with an inner strength that is to be envied. Never let your guard down, even the sunsets end every evening but they are a spectacle of nature. It is necessary to shine with one’s own light and this is the only way to find oneself.
She was weird, or maybe she was just different from other people. She was one of those people who didn’t speak, who tried to be close to everyone, but not to herself. Who helped everyone but did not allow himself to ask for help and no one ever understood why. Inside her there was everything, anger, hatred, love, sadness, relief, thoughts, words, melodies, the sea, the ocean, the spring sky, poetry, happiness, he had everything, but no one could see him. It was an unexploded volcano, inside it had everything, inside it had the universe but nobody knew it …
This period, this moment, is so difficult, I find myself in a situation that by now I know well, all too well, this sickening apathy, this gray that makes your head break, this desire to cry for no reason, this littleness, this feeling like this. insignificant. Yet now it’s different, or it should, now I know how to get up, a shower, friends, a bit of entertainment, and nothing goes by but at least I pay less attention to it. Instead, here I am wanting to hopelessly throw myself on the bed and do nothing else, drown myself in a sleep that numbs my thoughts, canceling everything until it passes. Ignoring who I wouldn’t want to ignore. Struggling with myself between what I know to be rational and what I would like. Wondering once again if I can do it, knowing the answer is yes but thinking it is no. Want to mess up. The worst part? Having to hold me back. Being forced not to isolate myself, having to keep myself up because I’m not physically alone, I can’t make it clear that I’m down. Worse still? Knowing they are just complaining. The knowledge that I should kiss my elbows, that there are people who are dying every day, by the thousands, alone, that there are people who are doing endless shifts feeling helpless. Then the future, this huge messed up nothing, that can’t take a shape anywhere, in any way, the many possibilities in which not even one seems to be the right piece of the puzzle, which I keep turning and turning, trying to fit it everywhere. , to no avail, to the point that I will probably pick one at random and break it in an attempt to match it with something that has nothing to do with its half, with the suitable continuum. The question always remains the same, why can’t I be different? Why do I always have to get complicated?

REACTION

Night comes and bears your face. The most beautiful night, the clearest moon and the quietest woods. The night that is liberates and dark like you, but at the same time defenseless and bright. The night comes that brings confusion in me and into other tranquility: you always bring confusion. The night arrives that goes from zero to a thousand, from a thousand to zero, then quiet, then sound, rustle and flowing water. The night that, like you, is restless, unstoppable, tireless, but still wonderful!
It’s like I’m still a little child actually. The noises, the tastes, the smells, the sight and the touch are amplified, but so much that at times I seem strange (they probably are). When I eat something that’s done really well, and by good I mean when it almost makes your tongue melt at how good it is, I cry. I cry because I am moved, I cry because the taste is so good that I really feel happy in that moment. When I touch the leaves or branches of some plant I almost think I feel their essence inside me, I almost think I am one with nature. When I observe people’s eyes I try to capture their feelings almost obsessively, I work so hard that I often succeed. When I listen to music or just someone talking, it seems to me that something vibrates in me, as if my body changes as the pitch changes. The most beautiful thing of all is the way I look at things: with curiosity and passion, as if everything were beautiful, as if everything were new, even looking at the same things. I will be crazy, of course, but I am proud of this madness!
We listen to music because it is as if, in some way, it made us feel strong, with our backs covered, with our emotions protected. We listen to music because thanks to it, often times, we don’t need to talk, and other times just because we need to do it, but we can’t do it in any other way. We listen to music to tell ourselves a lot of mental lies and, sometimes, to be able to admit the truth to ourselves. We use music because among a thousand things that exist, music always understands us! It comforts us when we want to be comforted; it kills us when we already feel like corpses; it makes us happy when we need to be; it makes us sad when we cannot feel otherwise; it makes us nostalgic when it reminds us of particular events through words or sound. The thing that does music better, however, is to make us silent: it speaks when we are unable to speak, it silences us when we want to talk too much!

FASTER THAN FURIOUS

People go on, but I stay behind. Between the constant panic attacks, my thousand obsessions and paranoia, between my beliefs and my illusions, between my words and my thoughts, between traffic and horns, between graduates and workers, between being or not being, I stay behind, between the accelerated beats and those too slow. I am always, at least, one step behind, even if I pretend that I do not weigh it on me, even if I strive four times as much, something must always happen, even a tiny thing that slows me down, and it is difficult to pretend to feel good while I struggle continuously and obsessively to do something on time. I would like to reach things quickly, I feel so much pressure that I end up slowing down by myself, complicating things, but I don’t think it’s all my fault. I think part of the problem is in society that forces me to do anything in a set time, almost as if we were machines. The problem is that not all of us are perfect, indeed, some are even so slow that they find it difficult to breathe. Some are like me.
They talked to me too often about friendship, now I don’t even think it exists anymore. Before I was hoping for it, today I have resigned myself and it is a bad reality. You put in your soul, body, mental and physical health, blood and bones to get a lot of fucking nothing, not even respect, not even that anymore. And yes, having a friend is a beautiful thing, but I have no reach, I don’t know if it is because I have always put too much heart into it, but no one has ever done anything to have my friendship, then there is me who in three seconds I send fuck all for this. What deluded. Who are then called “friends” and are always ready to throw the first stone, to spit on respect and, above all, to believe they know me, when they stopped at the external facade. What a hypocrite he is who considers himself my friend, you only want to be friends with me when it suits you!

NOCTURNIA

the sea falls from the eyes
the bones embrace my heart
they hold him like a fist.
I did the first harm during the day.
the night embraces me with her black hair.
light of the dark.
you are a big moon.
I am a lonely shadow in the night.
Even the moon is eclipsed as I pass.
The stars are covered with clouds.
Rain mixes with tears.
Dark thoughts thicken.
Like trees in the middle of the forest.
A deafening silence reigns around me.
the sea wall comes up against my heart.
the waves welcome my shivering from the cold.
I curl up under the sheets.
but she still peeks at me. cursed moon.
In recent years my life has changed a lot, between people found and people lost the account is always zero. After he left me I started a new life, and thanks to this I found new paths. There have been people who have deeply saved me, one more than all, I was in a terrible moment, alone, with no one to talk to. I felt like I was clinging to the edge of a precipice. He saved me. And I naively believed that nothing would divide us. I never told him, but we rarely talk now, he has his life and he looks happy. So I decided to leave it alone and leave the pieces where they were. Then I fell in love, or maybe I fell in love with the way he loves me, totally irrational, beautiful and dispassionate. Preferring to swallow my shit rather than say goodbye, he left it all for me. I don’t think I deserve it, I don’t think I deserve so much love, not anymore. My last relationship left such a deep scar on me that years later it still hurts when I think about it. My mistake was not being able to forgive myself, while he forgave him in the end, and what he couldn’t make me forgive was the idealization that I had built on him. He wasn’t perfect, and he could hurt me, and he could be wrong. And yes he was wrong with me. I work on me, day after day, minute by minute. My life is not bad, difficult at times very dark. I wish I could talk to my past to move forward, but sometimes it is not possible to do so and then it remains broken forever.

DARK PUNK

Life has always taught us ever since we met, that even the most unlikely person would leave us alone, that even the one who has always wanted to face all the battles with you can decide to fight his alone. Who knows, maybe one day we will part too, with the knowledge that we will meet again. All this repetition of abandonment on our journey has made us so detached from people, that they often wonder if we are the evil in this world. If you say that you do so much for someone, in truth you are not doing anything, sincerity is silent, therefore a sincere affection is never a “I have done everything for you and you nothing for me.” It’s sad to know that people think they have to be reciprocated and if you don’t, they make you look guilty and take on the role of the bad guy. So my friend, we are the villains of this generation, so superficial that we blame ourselves for the absence we give them when they start demanding what is not theirs. Perhaps this is the price to pay to prevent this evil from being spread. Nothing is due, everything must be deserved, if someone demands, it makes us repress all kinds of feelings. You and I got in tune to escape this monotony, but maybe in the end, it’s not people’s fault. Maybe it’s just us who are wrong, but brother, when we leave too, remember me, someone who cares about you and who you really love, we who have stained our own wings with black as a sign of our friendship.
Maybe music doesn’t change us up to that point and neither does great art. Rather, it reminds us of who we have always known we are and who we are destined to remain, despite our claims and denials. It reminds us of the milestones that we have buried and hidden and then lost, it reminds us of the people and things that mattered despite our lies, despite the years. Music is nothing more than the sound of our regrets translated into a cadence that stimulates the illusion of pleasure and hope. It is the thing that reminds us most clearly that we are here for a very short period of time and that we have neglected or deceived our lives, or worse still, we have not lived them.
The night is made for memories. It is made of memories. It is made for dreams, for dreams. Of people who are missing, whom you would like to embrace, but you cannot. The night is made to fill with thoughts everything you want, but don’t have. It is made for hidden tears. Of songs. The night is made for romantics. The night is made of shapes that threshold you.
The baby arrived home in tears. Grandpa ran up to him and took him in his arms. The baby continues to sob. Grandpa stroked him, trying to calm him down. “What have you done?” said the grandfather, worried. The child sniffed, then said: «We were playing hide and seek, and I was hiding really well. I was there waiting, but time was passing … At a certain point I went out and … I got upset that they had finished playing and had all gone home and no one had come looking for me ». The singlets shook his small chest. “Do you understand? Nobody came looking for me.”

VISIONARY SUNSETS

But what if instead of photographing the sunsets, we tried to write them? He is one of those who, crumpling the day, it seems to carry with it the promise of an evening at least as beautiful and if it disappoints you, you get angry like a panther. One of those sunsets that promises to take with you flocks of stars and rain like that perfect evening ten years ago in a remote mountain village me, him and no one else with a love just popped up to skate on an ice that is hotter than that there you go water skiing. But I tell you that for me tonight that one does not lie. I sign him a surety on the fly. Because on the promise of this up front a good one will write about sixty magnificent verses but someone like me he just wants you to sit next to him hug you one by one and tell you: I’m not writing anything to you tonight but if you want something beautiful we show you him and me, because if you promised it such an evening it means that a little we deserve it, and maybe Just for today she deserves us too.
And I don’t know if it’s going to be the two of us. I don’t know if we will watch all the most beautiful sunsets at the sea together. I don’t know if we’ll envy the world or won’t envy anyone. But I know that those black eyes of yours, those fucking black eyes are the most powerful calamity of all.
I am breathing the colors of this wonderful sunset: warm tones, poetry, suggestion, thoughts. In this place the sun can only hide in this way and the reddish shades seem to come alive waiting for the sky to shine with stars. There are 7 billion people in the world right now. someone is running away scared. someone is coming home. someone tells lies to get through the day. someone else is facing the truth. 7 billion people in the world. 7 billion souls. and sometimes all you need is just one.
Watching the sunsets calms me down a lot.
It makes me feel at peace with myself, and calms my thoughts.
We see sunsets every day, yet they are always all different and uniquely magnificent.
I want to live like a sunset: to change constantly, always remaining the same and surprising everyone.
She saw scurrying around as a child with mum when clinging to her hand we walked around and I filled her head with a thousand questions. He saw me as a little girl sitting thinking with headphones and music overhanging every thought. He saw me on summer nights and admiring every sunset as if it never ended. He saw me change every day step by step, kilo by kilo. It gave me beauty when I needed it. For me just for me.
You have changed so much, and maybe that’s right.
but you changed for the wrong reasons, for the wrong people.
the disappointments they always had this effect on you, they change you inside, and maybe you have become the right person thanks to a person terribly wrong.
How many have we been through How many have we been through in this simple park, always sitting on the usual bench. Whether it was afternoon or evening, this was the meeting point, and we didn’t care about the cold or the too hot, we were enough. Turning left I find the swing and I remember the feeling of my face illuminated by the sun as you pushed me from behind. If I look ahead instead, the trees illuminated by Christmas lights. Do you remember when we first found everything decorated? It didn’t seem real to us: such an unknown and abandoned place made magical anyway by some good soul. We started chasing each other like two children, then on the 25th morning we decided to exchange our gifts right here: both a perfume, what a fantasy! Yet I still have it, as well as the heart-shaped card that was there together (badly cut). I still have it and I smile at the idea of ​​having it in my hands. And then the night we saw the shooting star? I’ve never seen one before. And when did we take pictures? When I filmed you on my cell phone because I needed to remember you forever smiling. And about that time when I couldn’t stand and you always grabbed me on the fly Do you remember? Now I’ll tell you a secret: the first few times I seriously stumbled because I was too drunk since I couldn’t handle two drops of alcohol, but all the others were made on purpose because it was too good to find myself in your arms. I could write a book about what we went through in a few months, about the emotions you gave me. Today I curse myself for leaving you without a real and good reason because after two years I have not found anyone like you. Today I’m on the usual bench, as usual I arrive first. You are always late, so I smoke my cigarette and wait to hear the sound of your footsteps making the fallen leaves creak. I turn to the right but this time you are not there. You’re gone. this simple park, always sitting on the usual bench. Whether it was afternoon or evening, this was the meeting point, and we didn’t care about the cold or the too hot, we were enough. Turning left I find the swing and I remember the feeling of my face illuminated by the sun as you pushed me from behind. If I look ahead instead, the trees illuminated by Christmas lights. Do you remember when we first found everything decorated? It didn’t seem real to us: such an unknown and abandoned place made magical anyway by some good soul. We started chasing each other like two children, then on the 25th morning we decided to exchange our gifts right here: both a perfume, what a fantasy! Yet I still have it, as well as the heart-shaped card that was there together (badly cut). I still have it and I smile at the idea of ​​having it in my hands. And then the night we saw the shooting star? I’ve never seen one before. And when did we take pictures? When I filmed you on my cell phone because I needed to remember you forever smiling. And about that time when I couldn’t stand and you always grabbed me on the fly Do you remember? Now I’ll tell you a secret: the first few times I seriously stumbled because I was too drunk since I couldn’t handle two drops of alcohol, but all the others were made on purpose because it was too good to find myself in your arms. I could write a book about what we went through in a few months, about the emotions you gave me. Today I curse myself for leaving you without a real and good reason because after two years I have not found anyone like you. Today I’m on the usual bench, as usual I arrive first. You are always late, so I smoke my cigarette and wait to hear the sound of your footsteps making the fallen leaves creak. I turn to the right but this time you are not there. You’re gone.

WE’VE LOST THE NIGHT

We are the ones that the night swallows,
those that the sound pushes away the unlit lights come on
we fly over the extinguished flames
We are the ones who lost their wings while they were not flying
We are light as feathers and we listen to the wind.
We are the ones who don’t dream at night, sleep doesn’t touch them,
life doesn’t even touch them. We are free from any vulgar emotion.
We walked with Arthur while he wrote, and we were crazy, and he screamed.
But we are no longer the poets of the past, with drugs in ink.
We saw the world as it became and we hated it until we didn’t write anymore

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