Ecologist and naturalist discourses proliferate. Endless talks on talk shows and youtube morning and night. All convinced ecologists who even give advice on how to save water. But the questions arise spontaneously:
LET'S TALK ABOUT HOW MANY WASHING MACHINES DO SO MANY PEOPLE WHO CONSIDER THEMSELVES ECOLOGISTS DO IN A WEEK?
AND WHICH WASHING PROGRAMS DO THEY CHOOSE?
AT YOUR HOME DO YOU WASH, OR WASH, MANY TIMES OR ONCE A WEEK?
USE THE SHORT CYCLE I GUESS AND I HOPE.
Where there are small children it is good to wash more often but if you are an adult and aware you should also pay attention to these small habits that make the difference.
So I wonder if we are really ecologists.
All these things will be forgotten,
all these things will be drowned,
all these things will be just memories,
the world will no longer have this image,
and the sadness of knowing what will happen makes me drown,
it makes me water,
I dream of the sea,
I dream of it.
Sand under the sea,
but when the high seas will come
there will be no sand but only the end of this land as I see it now.
All things will become different and this scares me
and I don't know why all this will be allowed,
why does God want to extinguish man again?
I have no answers,
maybe he doesn't have them either,
he is thinking about it,
he is deciding whether to do it or not,
whether to give us a chance,
but he sees the hatred and the war,
and the violence,
and how can he say that we are still one thing good?
What is in the sky is within the earth.
Perhaps blue, infinite water, a life in reverse.
Maybe I say, I try, I preach.
Dug the earth,
a primordial cave, from where man comes out as a newborn and knows nothing and wants to discover something,
but what he finds is explosive, it damages the earth.
A vivid wound lies within the human being, a reminder of what he lost by falling from his universe.
And he remembers the pleasure of being alone with Nature but never rediscovering that pleasure and he sinks into the atavistic pain of being alone.
I see sincere tears, lights of various colors, screens full of numbers and hopes, hopes.
Come out of the nest, lonely wanderer, come out of the wolves' den, out of the mud pond, come out of the buried sky.
Be blue too.
I feel exactly like … a black rose in a field of daisies. A black, withered, neglected rose, but with the thorns still ready to protect it, even when someone would like to pick it up like this, worn out as it is. I feel like a dead rose, but still with the strength to defend myself from others. And I know that I could spoil the beauty of the other flowers, because in comparison to me they look more alive and colorful. I also know that I spoil the landscape, but I feel this way and I can’t help it.For a long time I have wondered what it takes to be truly happy: maybe a perfect family? Maybe, a person you love? Perhaps, a house in the most beautiful city that exists? Here, these things could not exist if our happiness were not the fruit of something more, if there were not something that elevates us so high as to lead us to love something we do not have. Happiness lies in what we do not see only with our own eyes: it is seeing the lawn greener than usual and being able to photograph the only flowering tree in a square; dancing on cut trunks and hugging trees; wait for the train to pass before taking a picture and greet those who smile at you from the wagons as if you were crazy; feel your hands burn because they have been rubbed on a bark and try to attract the attention of two dogs that will never listen to you anyway; adjust your camera settings to make this photo the best and feel your eyes water from the sun; playing with (pseudo) pine cones and falling off a bench trying to do something artistic. Well, I didn’t think I could enjoy all this, to have that little bubble of energy to feel that around me there is still so much to observe and analyze. And above all, I didn’t think I had someone with a bubble so big that I could get bigger. And never break out.I’m like a daisy. They are of an almost banal simplicity, taken for granted, nothing special. But thus being born everywhere, thus resisting the cold and the wind, those who trample me, those who do not appreciate me. So astonish only those who still have a pure heart, like that of children who, after tearing a daisy from the lawn, give it to their mother. They are purity and sweetness at the same time. Sure, sometimes I wither, but I never die.Today I dress in the daisies of the sky. Those who laugh more than the stars. With the same anxiety that keeps the seed alive. Inside the black clod. As long as he sees the unknown desired light, and accompany the river on its long journey. Between monotonous shores towards a glorious sea, where together he recognizes and reaches his goal. I was waiting for you without knowing it, And waiting was also love. I remember this and nothing else, and I can tell you nothing else, now that the time of love is revealed. I create dances of little balls on the wind and a rush of gladness takes my heart back. The eyes sink into the eyes, sweet lips come together and all the petals fall from the sky like snow.
Divine Mother, majestic land in which we are all born,
forget our karma,
sparkles of radiant lives,
you, divine light brighter than the sun,
golden water.
Where the petals open our spring,
rise from the end of the black age.
Magnify the heart,
amplify love,
becomes birth again.
Mother of us all,
blue flame of the sky,
defeat the color of Death.
Open your roses,
stretch out your hands,
scatter your heart inside the branches,
fruit be given to each weary breath.
Lady of the golden earth
walk with your feet
over the terrible devils and kill them all.
Taste some of this water from my fingers of this which still has the flavor of a cloud that will return cloud there is like a concordant ending a silent conspiracy of circles in this alphabet and so you too will return how do you go now that I pass without touching you it is the same simplicity of the stone ready to turn into dust it is the same simplicity of silence silence, only, perfect.
When I was younger: I would put my arms in the shirt and tell people that I had lost my arms. I restarted the game every time I knew I was going to lose. I slept with all the stuffed animals like a baby so none of them got offended. I had that 4-color pen, and I was trying to push buttons at once. I poured the soda into a lid and shaken it as if I were making small glasses. the hardest decision was choosing which nintendo game to play. I waited behind a door to scare someone, then I left because it took too long to get out or I had to pee. I pretended to be asleep so I could be carried to bed. I thought the moon was following my car. I watched two drops of water slip on the window and pretended it was a race. I used to go to the computer just to use paint. the only thing I had to worry about was the tamagotchi. the only ‘false’ friends I had were the invisible ones. I sang in the shower. (now? now I take some life choices down there). I ingested some fruit seeds and was scared to death that a tree would grow in my belly. I peeled my knees which healed better than a broken heart. I remember when we were kids and couldn’t wait to grow up. what the hell were we thinking about?
The footprints of the night walk beside me. I meet the eyes of tomorrow and call in silence the actions, the waves, the tracks of the sea wind. I remain leaning against the clouds, my face sways, he tells you lashing words. Blue candy floss night. I have a root in my heart. I have roots in the mind. I have roots that germinate blue flowers. My face in clouds. My space inside. Remember the stone. The stone in the blue sea where I seat and think about your galaxy. My blue eyes see your nitght flowers.I often stay staring at the sky while I’m in the car or just when I’m walking around. I look at the sky because from there my mind opens and makes me reach the sea of ​​stars on the expanse of salty, clear water, full of star reflections. It reminds me of winter evenings, when with very few degrees I was short-sleeved on the beach taking pictures. As I looked at the immensity of the sky, I imagined people who, like me, looked at nothing like a dreamer. I imagined people looking at the stars immersed in black to return home or as they looked out on the balcony or the bedroom window with a cigarette between their lips or a steaming cup, and in taking their time to think, they lost themselves looking at the sky with eyes and heart full of anger or sadness, letting oneself be engulfed in the bubble leaving the world outside, and who knows, maybe we are all astronauts but with the fear of leaving the earth and entering the darkness of the universe among the planets and the stars.During the day I manage not to get lost in my thoughts. I easily evade tedious issues, impending responsibilities, troubled problems. But in the evening, how the fuck is it done? What is the reason that leads us to reflect more than necessary? Why does the setting of the sun urge us to express our concerns, to accumulate our disturbances? It is late at night and, while I let myself be carried away by this inexplicable introspective flow, I have not yet found the answer.I think that in twenty years of existence – let’s call it life, if you like – I still haven’t found half a person willing to look at me for a moment and – why not? – to look inside, and not stop outside. I have so many things inside that I don’t say, I don’t do, I don’t share with anyone because no one in my opinion can understand them as I see them. And it’s always the same story. I’m not saying I don’t love my friends. I couldn’t say it and denying it would be a lie. They are an essential part of my good mood. But I don’t know, sometimes these people seem unknown to me in spite of everything, because they don’t see things as I do, and it’s a bad thing because it means that I can’t really get to know myself probably and it makes me wonder if these people would like it. same good to another me, more personal, iridescent, perhaps crazy. I just want to be myself even more and I just can’t take so many things inside me anymore that are filtered before I speak, think, act in the company of other people. Ask me something, whatever interests you looking at my blog, I am in a moment of absolute truth.
Maybe not everyone will understand me, but the smell of chlorine on the hands, tired muscles, the sound of strokes, swimming and thinking at the same time, letting off steam. These are the beautiful things.Her heart broke and over time, disappointment after pain, it hardened more and more until it turned into a stone. She was drowning and yet she knew how to swim, but no matter how hard a weight was holding her back and inexorably drawing her closer and closer to the bottom.We swam, turning our cries into strength. We swam, never asking why. We swam, we competed, we fell and got up. A love that no one can understand.
Most men don’t want to swim before they know how to swim. Witty, right? Of course they don’t want to swim, they were born for the land, not for the water. And of course he does not intend to think: in fact they were born for life, not for thought. Yes, and those who think, those who concentrate their life in thought can go a long way, it’s true. But he traded the land for water and some moment he will drown.
I miss swimming. Swim for hours, chasing away all negative thoughts that make you sick. I miss the feeling of being free, of being myself. I miss the smell of chlorine. I miss my instructor. I want to go back to that place where I spent most of my time. I miss fighting with the cap and goggles. I miss coming home with sore arms, tired legs, and just wanting to go to bed. I need to swim to be alone. Feel the heartbeat underwater and burst into life. You can’t imagine how good I feel while swimming. Isolated from the world and I feel only my breath and the water that movesThe smell of chlorine on your skin that doesn’t go away and the inexplicable smell of when you leave the locker room and enter the pool. Prepare the bag, put on the cap and goggles, the dives, the tanks done in a few seconds to try to throw out all the anger, sadness, problems and inner emptiness. How I missed all of this, how stupid I was years ago to leave something that was only good for me. After years I have tried that wonderful feeling again and it was wonderful because the nutto is like that or you love it or you hate it. You are swimming alone, there are no other people: it is you, the water and your determination. I won’t leave you anymore, I swear.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 