Sometimes love is deceiving. And she fell into that death trap: she fell in love with a man who, apparently, seemed madly lost in her, thus returning the feeling. But it was all a lie. The story goes that she noticed this as she sneaked up one night at a bar he used to go to, catching him flirting with another woman. Desperate for what happened, she killed her beloved and ran off towards the lake. The screams behind her became intense as did the words: "murderess" they all exclaimed and, while they accused her of murder, she threw herself into the lake and drowned. The bitterness in the mouth and the thirst for revenge led the spirit to watch over that lake for eternity. It is not known exactly what the consequence will be if you stumble into the depths of the abyss, but it is said that she is ready to take away any man in love with her. So beware, from the depths of the waters you could lose sincere and pure love by totally destroying yourself.
Yes it’s true, it seems to never end. It seems that humanity is condemned to an eternal struggle just to buy bread. It seems. Lately I often reply with a phrase that I said to myself when I was working, giving exams and in the meantime I had my father in hospital for cancer. Be grateful that you can fight, because you mean you are Alive. No matter how long the fight seems, it is the purpose and the mood with which you face it that make it appear to be war or peace. Choose your way and you will no longer have any doubts that that bread tastes sublime.Reality is the testimony of what the average man has been over the centuries. There are minorities who have lived through this rottenness for years. They had to remain silent by agreeing to live on the fringes FOR YEARS. Aware of every possible and impossible injustice, of the evil inherent in many earthlings, and sure of the fact that sooner or later everything would explode. Many, however, only today realize the disgust and are desperate like snakes in a trap. I am sure that someone has thought or told them: “welcome to my world”. Now is the time for those who have always known it. And there are no laws that hold. This reality has always been there but you were sleeping. Yet someone had told you to keep watch with the lanterns always on.Every time I dream I return there, in that devastated country of which only white rubble and souls without a body remain. I walk without memory through its streets, I rarely meet you. Then when I find you, you tell me how much you would like to rebuild everything, start over. Then you frown, hold back your tears out of pride, but I know you’re crying. Suddenly you pull me away, I follow you, but you push me away. Why can’t I stay? You scold me like a mother, telling me that remembering will kill me. How I would like to kiss you when you do this. I am desperate for your fragments in the soul of others, but I never find you. What looked like a shard of diamond turns out to be another shard of sharp glass that hurts me with disappointment. It destroys me not to remember your name. I would like to sleep forever, stuck in a dimension where your death doesn’t exist, but I can’t. Please come and see me again tonight.
If you are a woman you know it very well. How many women are raped every day? Lots of them. How many women are killed? Lots of them. Who does this? The men. How many men attack and offend women on social media? Too many. How much violence exists in groups of men who make fun of women? Too much. So why do men behave so badly and then wish women were willing to go out with them? What sees a woman around are violent, bullying, angry, aggressive, dangerous men. So why should a woman choose to risk her life with one of these dangerous subjects for her?
Love brings a lot of violence and in fact many women are killed by jealous men, angry boyfriends, betrayed husbands. So if a woman thinks of a man she imagines him sweet, caring, affectionate, kind, good. But then maybe he knows someone and what does he perceive from them? Anger, hatred, resentment, revenge, violence. So why on earth would he put his life on the line? Especially if a woman has children she does not want to bring home a probable offender or an alcoholic. So many women now don't want to go out with men anymore because they fear the worst and are afraid.
Violence against women is one of the most serious and widespread forms of human rights violations. Amnesty International relaunches its awareness campaign against the violence perpetrated against women, girls and girls all over the world. UNIFEM statistics are terrible: 1 in 3 women in the world suffers a form of physical, sexual or psychic violence. For the mere fact of being a woman.
According to UNIFEM data, one in three women has been raped, beaten, forced into sexual intercourse or abused at least once in her life. According to a study by the WHO and the World Bank, domestic violence is the leading cause of death or serious injury for women aged 16 to 44 - more important than cancer, malaria or road accidents.
Statistics on violence within the couple vary considerably from one country to another: according to the UN, 30% of British women are abused by their spouses or ex-spouses. In western Jordan, the percentage reaches 52%, in Nicaragua at 28%, in Bangladesh at 47%, in Canada at 29%, in the South and Southeast Anatolia (Turkey) at 58%, in Australia at 23%. % and in Cambodia at 16%. A survey conducted in Switzerland in 1997 showed that one in five women between the ages of 20 and 60 said she had already suffered physical or sexual violence by her spouse or partner. In 70% of cases of murdered women, the culprit turns out to be the spouse. In 1999, 14,000 Russian women were murdered by their spouses or family members.
Physical violence almost always goes hand in hand with psychological violence. In the Swiss survey cited above, 40% of women indicated that they had suffered psychological violence from their spouse or partner. A study carried out in Canada in 1993 shows that a third of women who have experienced domestic violence had, at some point in the relationship, fear for their lives.
When a single woman sets out what can happen? Many people say, nothing, it is the same as when a man sets out. Well this film shows that unfortunately a single woman gets scared of the men she meets. I don't want to tell you if it ends well or badly. You can find out for yourself.
My new thriller novel explores the human mind and all those choices that lead to an extreme outcome.
How much pain can a woman endure? What can turn her into a serial killer? The thoughts and experiences of a woman on the edge of herself. So if you want to browse and read something about my new novel you can click here, you can read all my novel for free, you don't have to pay anything:
Confidentiality, humility, modesty have become inconceivable. Everyone screams, so you have to scream to be heard; they all provoke, so you have to shock the other. It does not occur to many people that, if you are intelligent, there is no need to make your neighbor feel nothing and, if you are strong, you do not need to prove it by bullying or celebrating yourself; and that, if you are young and beautiful, perhaps it is not essential to load your beauty with sensuality, beyond all limits of good taste. Just as it is not essential to chase fleeting youth at any cost. Embrace every stage of life to truly live it. To flourish. Wither. Revive.They often tell me that I am too reserved, that I do not show anything about myself, that I do not show selfies, I do not visibly give myself in the eyes of others. They say I’m too shy that I don’t like to expose myself as a masterpiece, that I blush, that I look down. But I believe confidentiality is now a rarity in this open house society. I don’t like showing my house, my garden, sometimes I put something but I don’t like letting all eyes enter my nest. It is my den, my world, and it is not a choice to be reserved. Being an artist I was used to showing everything about me, everything created. But the artist in some way, not all of them, remains behind his work, almost hides himself, because not even I know where everything I do or write comes from; it is a mystery to me too and therefore I keep it dear, protected, just as I keep hidden what I have inside my heart.
Have you ever tried to take care of a woman’s hair? Slip them between your fingers, welcome them in your hands if they are too curly as if it were wadding. Touching a woman’s hair is very important, taking care of it even more. Because if you do it, it is with her consent, it amounts to permission to touch her heart. Dissipating any tangles or brushing them frees his mind, a massage to his soul. We should all take care of a woman’s hair, with dedication and delicacy. Make them a braid or brush them with extreme delicacy, you too will benefit, because relaxing being a source of serenity. A woman’s hair has its own scent, which differs from woman to woman. By arranging her hair you put her soul in order, she will allow you to listen to her secrets, because taking care of her hair is a very intimate act. In Portuguese it is called “cafuné” the act of tenderly running your fingers through the hair of your loved one. Kiss a woman’s hair, because they deserve respect. Take care of a woman’s hair, because they give positive energy.
I thank you for your closeness and your support. I believe that our freedom will never go back to the way it was before and that now we are the only ones left who know what it is. I see people very happy to be slaves. I see that everyone watches TV and believes in the mass media, they are manipulated and diverted. The dark mind is now mush. I am very sad and in the past I was an artist but now I am dying. I had an art blog with my paintings, I didn’t sell anything, I gave them away. I said that if nobody wanted them I would burn them. I have no real friends here, I didn’t know who to give them to. I wanted to leave them on the street but there was the covid and they would have thrown them away. I said I was missing, that I would burn them, and nobody told me anything. Nobody cared about what I created. I studied art in London, I refused recommendations, I refused a career. I regretted it. One day I wrote to a psychologist who had an association, I told him: “I give you my paintings, they are 50, you sell them and use the money for sick children”. Do you know what he answered me? “You are not famous, you do not get anything out of your paintings.” I regret having rejected my career. And so I burned all my paintings. My artistic blog no longer exists and there are few paintings left in my attic, eaten by mice.
I had a blog with 3000 followers. I said very interesting and important things but people weren't there. There were a lot of them but none of them spoke. I was really disappointed. I wrote very important things but somehow there was no dialogue between them and me. This made me very sad and one day I deleted everything, I deleted the entire blog. These 3,000 people got lost. I don't know if they still exist, I don't know if they looked for me, because I also changed my nickname because I wanted to close with the past, I wanted a new page in my life. But I believe that past has remained and always remains glued to me like a dark shadow.
I was very sorry to close that blog but maybe people didn't expect a woman to talk about certain things. I didn't talk about nails and I didn't talk about actors, not even about cooking, or about many other subjects that women love. I don't regret what I did but a piece of my life has been lost, destroyed, erased.
If you present yourself with a naked soul to a person, you are presenting yourself unarmed and defenseless. You are giving him all of you: hidden truths, your emotions, your soul. As you do this you need to be aware of it, you need to know that there can be an after-effect of ashes. You must know that if and when he goes away there will be nothing intact inside you because you have given him everything, but believe me when I tell you that there is nothing more beautiful than doing it totally without limits or inhibitions. Without putting a limit on your being. But while you do it you must not underestimate the consequences, the taste and the quantity of the tears of the after, of how much it could hurt the end or discover that it was only “lies of words” to enchant you and make “Strip” your soul. If you introduce yourself to a person with a naked soul, do not underestimate anything because afterwards it will be too late “to get dressed”I think it’s in our nature to want to try to the end. We are not made for lukewarm emotions: when we choose, for better or for worse, we do it with the heart and soul, and we do not give up until we have given our all, even what we did not think we had. Pain does not scare us, this is our problem, so we are willing to throw ourselves into the flames … All in a desperate attempt to keep a balance, something as abstract as love, which we women continue, despite everything, to believe that it is concrete and stable.
I like the idea of the station, of the train. If I stopped even for 5 minutes at the station, my whole life would pass from there: my life in the past and that of the future. I don’t know why but the stations have something magical about them. Sometimes I would like to go to the station and stop there for hours, just to observe the people, try to understand their gestures, their lives and their thoughts. Because only if we stop to observe can we capture the details. Also, I think it’s the only place that can give me the answers I’m looking for. For example, I could talk to a bum: after all they are nothing more than people who need someone to listen to them. I could find myself in front of scenes of children leaving their mothers to go to work or college or mothers leaving their babies to their husbands because I have to leave for work. I might meet travelers getting on and off from train to train to get around town. Or I could witness the kisses: the real kisses and the goodbyes, the real ones of two young lovers. Who knows maybe I could also find some crazy kid (like me) who has decided to escape but who in the end can’t because he knows that what he leaves is too precious for him and if anything one day he will take a train, it will be the one for eternity.Or maybe the person I really imagine I’m meeting is a woman. I don’t know what age, maybe around fifty, or maybe younger, I don’t know, I know for sure that I could share my whole life with her. I know that I would not hesitate so much to tell him all the things I have never told anyone, everything I have inside and I know that behind his silences his answers would be hidden. A person who would be able to undress me, in short. To strip myself not of the clothes, but of the masks that society obliges me to wear, that I manage to strip my soul: to dig inside myself. I love this type folks. But I don’t just love the people I can find there, I also like the objects, the sounds we find in the station. For example, his bell always reminds me of the school bell, and how at school it rang when the time changed at the station it rings when a train arrives. The benches make me reflect on how sometimes it is bad to wait for someone or something that does not arrive, and then all the tiredness that we carry with us. Then there are the time tables that remind me that everything has a time: life is based on time and it is up to us to decide how to occupy the waiting moments.Then there are the tracks … well I love those. You never know where they end up, you only see infinity in front of you and behind you, and then if you see them at dawn, what a strange effect they have on you. And then the tracks made me understand that coincidences are nothing more than a pause: you stop, parallel to something else and after a while you leave. And since for me life is made up of coincidences, because I don’t believe in destiny, I realized that every time I stop I leave with a different baggage, richer or poorer, ruined or healthy and shining, but the fact is that that coincidence has changed something. That’s why I don’t believe in destiny, we are the proponents of destiny… at every coincidence we stop and it is precisely in that waiting time that we decide our future.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 