Sea of thoughts made of sad realities.
Let's dance until we no longer hear the thoughts but only the sound of our hearts beating in unison, let's leave the sad real world to others and enjoy ours, the two of us together. So that nobody disturbs us we run away, dancing an infinite dance, made of freedom and joy, we run away from that sea of reality that cries us to come back, that dreams end and that they are not real, but I do not listen to it and continue to dance , with you. Our endless dance that cries for the freedom to never go away.
The original meaning of the word lose is literally "to ruin" which is then reflected in the concept of being deprived.
“I'm lost” is ignoring one's position in space. Remain devoid of oneself? It is like being in the middle of the sea. Lost in the most turbulent waters, In the grip of currents, in the grip of forces that pull in indefinite directions, currents that are incessant. The fight becomes daily and you have to try to stay still, to maintain your position and not to be swallowed. On the other hand, in the boundless and flat waters where the horizon is no longer seen, one is deprived of oneself and the directions to take disappear, the past and the future disappear, ambitions and fears disappear, one remains naked to the soul like animals in peace.
I find myself navigating on sight. Change and tensions are inevitable, just as stasis is inevitable. It is the law of opposites, if there is stasis there is movement. It would be nice to realize that the two concepts exist and coexist together.
I never managed to stop in one point or rather I never stopped in one point because I stopped in too many points. I thought for a long time that this was a problem and I pointed it out as one of my worst flaws, trying day after day to correct it. Then I simply observed this part of my character and looking back, looking at all the points where I stopped, made up of passing obsessions and temporary passions, I saw all my experiences lying there one after the other.
The best thing I could do was put them in a trunk. Now I always carry them with me well aware that I will put others in there, without blaming myself for them because it is me and my trunk, it is me at 360 °, only in this way am I complete, only with my toolbox.
How much tranquility exists in the sand to sit by the sea, in total silence and listen only to the sound of the waves that are thrown against it.
Thinking and rethinking about everything that is beautiful we can have but that we do not exploit for reasons that we do not even know, thinking that we are here today and who knows tomorrow, because after all we are all one who knows, all our thoughts by the sea have a who knows.
Admiring the colors of a sunset that has now come to an end, with the most beautiful colors that the sky can give us, is knowing how to appreciate all its shades.
I was by the sea today and I started thinking.
I thought that the sea is a bit like life don't you think? Sometimes calm, sometimes stormy, there are those times when it is stormy and those times it gives peace. There are those times when it is illuminated by the sun and other times when the darkness surrounds it, leaving no room for light.
Life is just that. Never constant, never perfect, not always calm, not always stormy, we don't always find the light and we don't always live in the dark.
You realize that there are days that are different from others, experiences stronger than others, there are people who enter our life and others who walk on the shore because they are afraid of getting wet.
We are afraid of the depth of the sea as we are afraid of facing certain immense experiences that life puts before us.
I looked at the sea and I understood. I simply understood that there are waves that are stronger than others.
Once upon a time there was a small oyster, it was small and black, the darkest in the ocean.
Everyone made fun of her: "You'll never be as beautiful as us"
The poor shell tortured itself and tried to find a way to resemble the others as much as possible, he couldn't bear the insults anymore.
So one day decided to roll away from his strip of sand, he rolled away until he reached another sea where he rested.
Its shell was now all ruined, the poor oyster had pushed beyond its capacity… it would never be as it once was. Other shells saw it, their reaction was the same, if not worse than that of the first ones: the oyster, however, was adamant, it would never change, but inside it was crying more and more. Until one day she felt an intense pain, so strong that she was forced to open. He did it slowly… without fear. When it was completely opened a pearl came out. The largest and most beautiful pearl that had ever been seen.
"Are you going to go now too?" He asked her for the oyster.
"And why on earth?" answered the pearl.
"Can't you see them? Look how ruined and discolored I am."
"I think you are beautiful ..."
The moved oyster asked her: "and why on earth?"
The pearl did not speak immediately, thought about it for a moment, then said: "Your every scratch, every stain and discoloration of yours is part of your story. Even when you are moving through the seas I was growing inside you. You carried me and the your body has modeled itself according to your needs, which is why you are beautiful.
The oyster, without saying a word smiled, his pearl was special He knew how to see beyond superficiality, beyond what everyone saw.
On the other hand, the pearl saw a different shell, not in a negative sense, she liked different.
And for this he already knew he loved her, even though the eyes of others saw her wrongly. Even the oyster loved her pearl, she was the only one who made her feel special.
Furthermore, it was not a white pearl like many others but a very rare black pearl, the most precious of all.
Bones from the flow of dead bodies inside a dream of freedom.
Bones of dreams.
Closed eyes.
Dreams disclosed.
Missing at sea.
Desperate dreams.
Eaten by sea monsters.
Scraped from the bottom.
Bones ended up in fishermen's nets.
Run out of ropes,
they couldn't swim.
Living was the reason.
Surviving was the end.
Azzurra is the tomb of these gutted children.
They saw the horizon but couldn't catch it.
At dawn they found the bones inside the pots,
like jewels picked up by mistake.
I scream because they are still alive.
They await the right burial.
Little children with no future.
I, like a stranded soul,
in your skirt full of folds and flowers, I enter the holes and sew on you.
What did the weakness matter?
A caress of mine came out of the memento mori casket.
All the quivering skin of a mermaid thrown back to the sea,
with that rope that I was holding tight to you, and you who didn't even want to free yourself.
It was intended that I wanted you to stall, in the warmth of that emotion that makes you human,
and then you throw yourself back,
together with the memories of a summer that ended badly.
Using teeth and throats, lips for breath beats, the flesh to whisper, storm of veins, paw, sweat. In the shell of your eyes winters a hard star, an eternal gem. But your voice is a calm sea, ancient shells, pieces of reason, mind in fragments of the sea. The palm of the hand in the sky he marvels, the sun darkens, to be able to look at you better. You are also a grass, an orange, a cloud, a rock on which to crash. The world falters at the kidneys, the pleasure of the inner sediment contracts. The heat of the heart expands, twisting towards the atrocious futures. We sat exhausted in the rubble of your body, we sucked the liquor from your brain, and not only that, and we had to keep walking jumping over obstacles of love. You are suspended on the circle of life and you hold your skull well polished like an ancient object, you cover it with your hair, you put it back. Put on another wig and you are another different woman. You have only indulged in your perfume of infinity.
Unfortunately, the thing that unites all of us dreamers is the fact that we always wait for something to happen without ever doing anything to make it happen. We are always there, thinking, “I just have to wait. Sooner or later I will be happy. Sooner or later there will come that thing that will change my life, that will upset it. ” Yes, I said well, I used the word “upset” because, let’s face it, we all expect something to arrive that upsets the monotony of our life. Everyone, including me. And because of that, I’m missing out on the best years of my life. They insulted me, they tried to kill me inside, they used me, they pretended to love me, they beat me and trample me. Wasted effort, I’m still standing.I’m the right brain. I am creativity. A free spirit. I am passion. Wish. Sensuality. I am the roaring sound of those who laugh. I am the taste. The feeling of sand under your bare foot. I am movement. Bright colours. I am the urge to paint on the naked canvas. I am limitless imagination. Art. Poetry. I guess. I hear. I am everything I wanted to be. The truest part of me is in the impulses I control, in the emotions I hold back, in the thoughts I hide, in the things I don’t say. They are not for everyone, they are for those who can look inside me.I am the cry of the blood in the glass of the sea, I am a fever of the air, of the flower, I am a leaf, a great funnel for the black nectar. I am welcome to new havens. I am a flame, seeking its drop of water, it sinks, but remains liquid inside the earth. they are a mixture of various parallel directions, different trains, tears mixed with private joys, I’m the green grass, fox and bird, I dare to challenge every hunt, I am inside the battles of the heart, no way out, no trembling, no hesitation.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 