POINT OF VIEW

Punctuation is very strange as I see it.
The ellipsis make me anxious, yet I use them a lot, they give me that feeling of indefinite, of something to leave pending.
The two points are used to define and explain precisely, but I remain with the idea that you cannot always explain everything and, you know, to define is to limit.

The exclamation points are overbearing, like a cry, a firework, when they explode they make a lot of noise.
The question marks? Sore point, they are very dangerous. They leave you with only doubts and uncertainties.

There is the point. Definitely too final, it is always difficult to put a period, not to mention that sometimes you have to go to the head or even turn the page.
And then there are commas, I love commas.

After a comma, everything can change, or nothing can change.
Each comma is a breath, a brief silence between one word and another, a small pause.
The nuances mark out, and where there is a comma there is no end, there is no doubt, only the desire to continue.

PLANT YOUR HEART

At a certain point

You decide to be born.

And it is as if this childhood

It was an abuse, a compulsion

To live

A condition to undergo

But at some point you are born

Decide which side to take sides

Whether to redeem yourself or repent

Whether to live or die

Whether to open your eyes or flee

Why sooner or later

You will fall into the archaic trap

In the question of the questions

To which there is no answer

But only points of view

And if you think about it, it could be playing bingo

Or play an important role

The meaning of your life

I hope it will be paid

Your expectation.

Whatever it is

Why sooner or later

You will fall into the question of questions

To which there is no answer

But only points of view

And you will start thinking about your body

At the finite time that characterizes us

How there can be no beginning without an end

And it will be here that perhaps you will notice the hitch

How every day tribulations for small matters

Because in the face of the end we are like autumn leaves

And then you will use the most varied theories

You will believe the three maries

Maybe a deity who tells the faithful how to lead their lives

Perhaps you will find joy in a prophet

In the most complete anarchy

Or maybe you will believe in eternal darkness

But the point is that perhaps this is the meaning of dying

That of being able to start over

Once again to feel

Human.

JUST TALK

Sometimes I would like to find an arrow indicating “free life”. I don’t know, maybe on the way to some woods, where the light filters through and the heat doesn’t kill you. A kind of guarantee that you will go and meet like-minded people there. People to talk to about everything but vaccines, governments and passes. Just talk to. A place you reach to express absolutely nothing, no opinion, no point of view on hundreds of points of view by now worn and tired. The only thing that sometimes matters is the need for sharing among similar people. Vibrate in the same tribe. Simply because it feels good to be together on the road. Stay in touch with someone who looks like you and isn’t afraid to hug. Talking without a muzzle, talking about good things, without someone having to convince the other and the other having to defend who knows what. Talk about what seeds you planted, what bullshit you did, the music you wrote or the love at first sight that got you. Thus, without having to find that prosaic meaning to the questions of living, the more you think about it the more they have nothing to do with Life.

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