PIETRA

Throw it away, that stone.
Take it and launch the way with all the strength you have in your body.
And, while you’re there,
tie all the pain I carry inside me together and hurl it against the water.
The sea will know what to do with it.
Take that pain away from me that stone that blocks the mechanisms of my heart.
Never tire of collecting the stones of my soul.
Never get tired of cleaning my heart every time it gets dirty with something that makes it beat less.

DARKNESS DROPS

My soul has no peace. In the anguish of a depressing afternoon
I see the corpses of this war all coming forward,
helpless, and calling me,
as if they wanted to take me with them.
My soul cries because the wars are here too,
the deadly stabs,
the absolute pain, the defeat.
My heart cries.
There is too much pain and one day my heart will quench its beats.
The human being strikes again and again and again.
It affects itself.
Devour life.
Eat the heart.
It kills everything.

MY ART IN MARCH 2022

These are my paintings of eime months ago. I was very upset, very lonely, and this is what comes out from me. ( I use recycled cardboards as support).

POISON MIND

Pain twists my hair during a chess game with common sense.
The handles remain lowered, the doors open and the holes closed.
The galaxies of logic reject any rational explanation.
A ship can sail even without an engine, a ship can have sails.
Gray open by blue, fears covered by yellow.
I can picture myself curled up on your sofa while you travel you can arrive on my sofa.
It is an exchange of minds and ancestral poison.
Archetypes to avoid, emulation of adults,
prime spirits:
feel my pain,
release my pain,
feel my heart,
free my heart.
Turn to me Lord,
shout my name.
Dominate, feel my pain, 
King.
Feel my skin tonight.
Don't get me up.
Let me wake up my dream soul to defeat death.





( ITALIAN RHYMING VERSION)

Il dolore attorciglia i capelli durante la partita di scacchi col buonsenso.
Le maniglie rimangono abbassate, le porte aperte e i buchi scoperti.
Le galassie della logica rifiutano ogni spiegazione razionale.
Una nave può salpare, anche senza un motore, una nave può avere le vele.
Grigiori aperti dal blu, timori coperti dal giallo.
posso immaginarmi raggomitolata sul tuo divano mentre tu viaggi posso arrivare sul mio divano.
È uno scambio di menti e veleno ancestrale.
Archetipi da evitare, emulazione di adulti,
spiriti primi:
senti il ​​mio dolore,
libera il mio dolore,
senti il ​​mio cuore,
libera il mio cuore.
Porgiti a me Signore,
grida il mio nome.
Domine, senti il ​​mio dolore, Re.
Senti la mia pelle stanotte.
Non mi rialzare.
Lasciami svegliare la mia anima onirica per sconfiggere la morte.

ANIMAL EFFECT

After the moment of terror caused by the experience of the clarity with which I see myself, I can then ask for help, to learn to truly love myself completely, to recognize every matrix that still binds me, every wound that still resonates in me and that, even now, it causes me pain. I feel I have transformed my life, and it is, but the path of awareness, and the need for self-awareness, never ends. There are many emotions that lie in a place so far away that it is difficult to reach with the mind. The path is like a spiral, you always seem to go back to the same points, but in reality it is always at a different and higher level. Keeping in mind the change and the path made in the past is the anchor that gives us the confidence and security of being able to continue doing at least the same now and in the future. Some lessons are more challenging than others. There is a process of exponential acceleration in the work on oneself, as we proceed we become more essential, and the remaining disharmonies resonate much more intensely. This does not mean that the work done previously has not been successful, it is just that there are traces left that we can dissolve more and more definitively.

MY TEARS DRY

MY PAIN CRIES

Once upon a time there was a spring garden, green, full of flowers, and the children played.
Then the bombs came and the flowers blew up, and the children blew up too.
Now I know that the devil exists, he has a face, two ugly eyes, an empty heart.
His name is Putin.
This world was not perfect and this man was not perfect either. But no one knew that a new hell came from a man.
Or did they already know?
Yes I said it, I always said it years ago, as it was in my dreams, the war, and the children killed, but nobody listens.
Once upon a time there was Putin and he does not deserve to be in this world so I pray that he disappears because if God created a man like this then he was completely wrong.

THE SHADOW OF THE KEY

I have a strange relationship with doors. I never lock them. Rather I approach them. It’s a flaw, I think. Lack of courage, perhaps. But I happen to not close the doors. I let events do it. After all, who am I to determine who has to get out of my life forever? Generally, those who take another path do it alone. Very quietly. A step at a time. One choice after another. So, I leave it open. Because you never know. Maybe one day whoever had gone out, shows up in front of that door, and finding it open, sits down for a coffee. And if enough time has passed, enough pride, and enough pain, I’ll ask – How much sugar?
My dear friend clear your mind of all “can’t”. This sentence was said by a stranger, but I think it was the sentence that had the most impact on me. It is not a very compressed aphorism, it highlights a truth without too many words. All the “I can’t / I can’t / I can’t” are just walls that we build and that don’t allow us to succeed. Success is not necessarily being rich it sucks to be successful is something easier and more beautiful, success is in the little things. We must be happy with ourselves when we set ourselves a goal and we manage to achieve it, the key is precisely this, to complete not having reached perfection.
If only I could walk
between the chiaroscuro of your irises,
light up my days with the lights of your every memory,
if only I had the key of that French garden
which makes the contours of your face guiding breath for each completed painting;
if only i could stay there,
stop, waiting for your name,
your veins like purple wisteria,
your skin like peony petals,
and listen to the rhythm of your beats
touch the shores of the lake
and make them tremble in the reflection of the other half of the sky.

WHAT IS PAIN FOR?

Pain. How many people does the pain weigh on the shoulders, stomach and head? How many people are there who would like to eliminate it from their life? But they tell us that it is useful, that suffering helps to understand life, to know others and ourselves. Would we be the same if we hadn’t subjected so much? Would we be so sensitive? Would we be so in need of love? What pain did it give us? The light. The light to see where the darkness was and where we were stuck. The light to see where we went wrong and how to move forward. Pain is our light. We can now see in the dark.

 

A LITTLE FEATHER ON MY HAND

For some time now I have felt a ‘presence’ while I cook. I can’t explain but I know exactly who to connect it to. It makes me smile because if it were the thought of who I think, it would be quite strange. I do not have a good character, which is much worse alas, I am quite drastic when I decide to say enough, I rarely go back, men know that I am difficult, they consider me a piece of non-malleable granite. In fact, I can’t blame them, it’s better to give up someone like me, yet I haven’t always been so hard and adamant, I have a past as a ‘puppy looking for a master’. I wanted to be loved, like in fairy tales … stupid exactly like this sentence. The men I met made me realize that fairy tales are a collective deception, that princes and princesses are unlikely characters and that all of us, male and female, are just lower and sometimes very mean beings. Love is exploited, often used as the perfect shit gift one can get, the perfect rip-off. For love we do a lot of bullshit, we dress with good intentions those who have none at all. And so we find ourselves inside apparently wonderful stories, but that to see them like this, it is only us. What does this have to do with ‘presence’? It has to do with it because in 2015, while I was on the new social Tsu, I came across a very enigmatic man (eh I always fall for it!), Named P., he had a nickname that I loved mondomagico and who wrote wonderful things. I had met a unicorn, finally in the middle of nowhere! I put a lot of the things we said to each other here too, parts of chats and private messages, I also came to read on thce chat because my writing about ‘us’ made him happy. He was meditating, he had a sculpted physique, a beautiful voice with an Emilian accent and a top secret job, which I still don’t know about and which I will never know. We dated ‘virtually’ for many months, then things fell apart because too much mystery stops being fascinating after a while. I’m not the type who remains a thought, I want to become presence if, as they say, things are becoming serious, so the moment I feel a reticence, a deliberate lengthening, I tend to close the relationship. ‘If they don’t want you, don’t offer you’ is rule No. 1 now on my basic scale, so I told him we were fine like this, each in his own world. Too bad, I really liked his sweetness: he was able to hug me from afar, always making me feel his presence. And it makes me strange to hear it again, like this, after years. In the end, I hope he’s fine … better than me.
Then the problem is not that there is no hope, it is that there would be nothing to hope for. Who among you can say you know this sense of irrelevant vastness of the world – I wish I had better words to describe it – this closet world, stacked things, bad pyramid under which the dead sleep unhappily. For years I have said to myself: the trick is to find a moment of acute pain, which lasts at least half an hour and it is done. If you start thinking about it, if you let yourself slip into the phase of emptiness in the stomach, of the perpetual squeezing of the heart, then it becomes impossible: life has its tricks, it is on you like a blanket of tiredness, like the working day for workers , then you go to bed and sleep and wake up and you’re still alive and so again, like an absurd vice. I think it’s been a year since I last hugged someone. The intolerable semantics of tenderness – this too is difficult to explain. A year has passed, the exams are back in high school – you haven’t returned, despite Nietzsche. My waist is light and awaits the wind like a feather on the back of my hand.

Previous Older Entries

%d bloggers like this: