TIME TAIL

Over the years I have stopped clinging to the concept of “Time”, to place all my hopes in it. It is true that it has undeniable power but it does not work miracles. If we continue to do the same things, if every night we go to bed thinking that we have met the only person able to understand us, to love us, we continue to tell each other a lot of nonsense and it happens that the more we put memories on the pedestal, the greater it will be. the propensity to think that only one person is the right one for us. The more we do this, the more we build impassable walls. It is from there that suffering arises and it is from there that we do everything to continue basking in pain because it is simpler, it costs less effort than getting back into the game. See dear, you can wait as long as you want but things only change when we really want to change them. True, love hurts like hell when it ends but I assure you it hurts just as much to be alone. It could happen that people, who for you could be a cure-all, pass you by and leave because you don’t even see them. So you suffer but then keep in mind that sooner or later you will have to wake up on your own and dive into life. As that genius Nick Miller used to say, life sucks, then it gets better (he also says it sucks again, but don’t think about it).
Your hunger is my own hunger. Hunger to go further, hunger to discover unknown desires that belong to us, hunger for those who can’t stop, hunger that is not made up only of meat, moods, groans, hunger for the soul. Your thoughts are my own thoughts. Thoughts written in the same language, thoughts soaked with everything that stagnates in the hidden folds of being, turgid thoughts that bathe the mind, the flesh, which do not torment but awaken repressed primordial appetites, silenced, misunderstood, unavoidable, insatiable. Your key is my own key. An unread poem that I know by heart, a melody never heard but heard, recognized, a work never seen but realized, complete, liked. We are made of the same substance. A closed set that is not completed, but which adds making a difference.
The world has its root in the earth and its crown in the earth. Like a Moebius strip, it coils around itself. Shoulders hunched under the weight of expectations How I carried them in shopping bags. And from the shyness that does not hide from you because it has a short veil. Life is so much a cinema that you are silent. Your bottles have no messages. Who says the world is wonderful, has not seen what you are creating to stay there. Shut up, no opinions. Your ceiling, stars and planets. Headlong into your limbo, prey to thoughts. Proceed through your maze without walls. I survived the woods and beat the ogre. Leave me alone, make an effort, and take your time. And don’t be afraid that …

GOING OUT

After about two months of forced distance, today I went back to walk in My Beloved park and it almost did not seem real to me that I could see with My eyes, My beloved trees and bushes that I have missed a lot, just like being in contact with Nature while I immerse myself in its colors and its unique smells that do so much good to My increasingly stressed and restless spirit. While I was walking rigorously accompanied by the pressing and unmistakable rhythm of My Beloved Music, the sun wide open on My face and the imagination at hand, I had almost the perception that everything suddenly stopped, as if these two months had never passed. actually existed, picking up where everything left off. The only difference is that this time I was wearing a mask, which contrary to what I expected, did not bother me particularly, as did the thousands of pollen scattered almost everywhere. They did not prevent me from fully enjoying that moment so long sought and uniquely Mine. Yet this time I began to let my mind pervade the various accumulated doubts and perplexities, to try to group them and let them escape. Now more than ever I feel the need to empty My Soul, like a trash can full of waste paper to throw away to make some space – and as I listened to the noise they made as they were thrown away, I began to feel a lot relieved, because they weighed on My imprisoned heart like a real boulder. The feeling of liberation I feel every time it happens cannot be described. I walk at a fairly high speed, I don’t want to exaggerate, I just want to walk, to enjoy that long-dreamed and desired peace, thus rediscovering the joy of doing something I love and that for a very long time I was not allowed to do, thus rediscovering it and loving it as if it were the first time. At a certain point on a bench I find a little girl sitting with the tool in her hand to be able to make soap bubbles, and immediately my childhood comes to mind when I also liked to do them. I am amazed that they still exist. Exactly like I did, you too love to blow into it to discover the effect it has. And just as it happened to Me, I was ecstatic to see on his face that veil of disappointment to discover that he had no possibility of command over them. The bubbles wander in the air without anyone being able to grasp them, and when they feel they have no air thrust, they go out by themselves. In short, they are without masters, completely free to fly and to choose as they want. So My life comes to mind and I think she is the same too, although she is Mia I feel I have no control over it, free to do and act as she sees fit, without ever deigning to ask me for an opinion at least. I can and must only accept what he proposes to do, thinking that whatever it is, he does it for My Good. For everything there is a why and I have understood that My Life intends to make me discover them little by little, without going around them so much, direct and straightforward as it has been from the beginning. However it is fantastic to be able to regain possession of My Normality, albeit with the right and due prudence. It was hard to leave when it was time to go home, maybe because I’m afraid I may have taken it off again, the very thought makes me tremble. I really hope it won’t happen, even if the imprudence of others does not give me hope! Better not think about it. Better to keep thinking about that soap bubble that wanders in search of its freedom, between memories and a lot of desire for redemption.

FRAGILE SOULS

Sometimes I stop to think … I find myself lying on the mattress staring at the ceiling and reflect. I think a lot, maybe too much, and we know that too much is good, unfortunately it’s part of me and I just can’t avoid it, it’s as if it were an unconditional reflection. I think back to everything, everyone, I think back to everything that made me feel good but also to everything that made me suffer. Today I went to bed with tears in my eyes and a weight on my chest and I think it’s one of the most unpleasant sensations in the world, you know? When you just want to sleep and switch off your brain, but you get so sick that you just mull over what doesn’t work. I interpret it as psychological torture: to suffer for something, and to feel even more hurt after thinking about it intensely for hours. What an unpleasant feeling of oppression. Oppressed by their own feelings, rather than by people. It is strange to think how something apparently abstract, such as emotions, can alienate you from the totality of the world for an indefinite period of time. It’s almost scary to think we’re so vulnerable, but it’s part of life after all … If it were too simple, it probably wouldn’t be worth it.

WOMEN ARTISTS AND RIGHTS

Louise Bourgeois – Femme Maison, 1946-47

Feminism’s most powerful tool for transmitting the message was surely art, in all its forms. It is true that women were present in art history both as artists and models, but only the latter is widespread and offers plenty of information, while the former barely stands ground. It was the men who painted women, often objectifying and misinterpreting them, and the topic seems to be more than recurrent.

While there’s no doubt some of them are world’s greatest artworks, it was time to bring to light also the achievements of women in the field, and to do it now.

https://www.widewalls.ch/magazine/how-art-fought-for-womens-rights-feature-2015

YOU HAVE AN INTERNET ADDICTION

THE SYSTEM WANTS YOU TO BE ALWAYS ONLINE SO THEY CAN CONTROL YOU.

YOU WILL NOT HAVE TIME FOR YOUR FAMILY, FOR YOUR REAL FRIENDS, FOR YOURSELF.

THE SYSTEM WANTS YOU TO BE ALWAYS ONLINE TO STEAL YOUR MONEY.

THEY WANT TO USE YOU AND ABUSE YOU FOR EVERYTING THEY SELL.

 

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