Archive for marzo, 2019





Kindness is often mistaken for softness and let me tell you, friends….that is a mistake you don’t want to make. 

Kind people are not born that way, they do not stumble into it, kind people are forged in fire and darkness and imploding stars…they have steel cores. Throw a punch and you’re going to break your hand. 

Kind people are kind because they know firsthand that life isn’t.

I was just talking to someone about this. Kindness isn’t a natural-born trait, it’s a daily choice, so when you call someone kind you’re not praising their personality, you’re praising their effort. 


Her half seeing eyes glowed in the darkness, a silent question from where she lay.

You missed dinner.

There, in the night, slowly a smile crept.

On her face, her lips, her eyes.

For even not knowing she always knew.


Adone turned, suddenly disgusted, ready to forgive and forget on the cold bottom of a bottle.

But it wasn’t to be done.

She turned him back to her, eyes large and trustful, little tiny hands like pure white doves on his coat.

Come near the fire, let me see the human eyes you always hide from me.

Her voice sad, old like he felt.

Her fingers on his cheek, warm and gentle.

I longed for this glance.

Have you found a shred of sympathy? Have you seen what life can do to the best of men?

For poverty and misfortune are no laughing matters.

A poor man can be honourable and share his tepid little meal with no reserve.

Tell me in confidence, for your pride is still too great to say it, have you found your human heart?

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I hear the creaks.

Something is breaking.

Or maybe we are just stretching the kinks out of our bones.

I guess I like more the second thought.

For the first time now I’m thinking the thing between us is not going to work anymore, Ti.

You want more than what I’m trying to give you.

You want 200%.

Not only my work, my mortal coil or my mind.

You want all of it, the words out of my mouth, the words I promised my freshly adult self of twelve years ago I will never utter to anyone anywhere anytime for the rest of my sorry assed life.

I don’t like to be owned, Ti.

You asked one damned question some weeks ago – the one you shouldn’t ask – and all I heard were links rattling on a chain.

If you keep pushing this on me I’ll bolt like a hare.

The hard part is knowing you’re actually convinced this is the right way.

The correct way.

The only way.

In other words fuck Nietzsche.


Winter persisted.

Everything an easel to work ice into intricate shapes of beauty.

Soon wind chill, soon death.

He worked late that night, mindless of the snowstorm, weary of returning.

Cold jewels crowning his head, well fed and clothed, without a care for the world he strolled down.

The back alley sparsely lit but a faster way to the castle.

He didn’t mind, never he had feared darkness.

But the dark pleaded, begged with the voice of man and fever-lit eyes.

Man looked upon man.

Cold light reflected in his eyes as thunder stroke.

The beggar was unlike him, he thought.

Half dragged, half supported he weighed less than a feather in his hold.

Dirt over him was an unthinkable first, shows of gratitude for once unasked and unwanted.

Neon light downed upon their heads and warmth burned his skin, biting bitterly.

At last the shelter, filled with raucous sounds and weak men’s miseries.

The concrete floor wet and unclean, air steaming from the many big pots of the poor’s canteen.

It was much later he found his way back into the castle clean, warm and dark atrium.

Tiredness leeched into his limbs as the night was growing already old and no-one had awaited.

No-one except her.

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Not every old thing can be fixed, but new ones might be found.

~ by someone somewhere I don’t quite remember when but the thought is rather stuck in my mind now.


Her sight was coming back slowly and so very fast.

She smiled more now, dimples showing in her finely shaped cheeks.

Medical checks were more and less far between.

No witchcraft! She exclaimed amused to him one dinner What if I’m strong enough to survive?


She seemed incapable to see life in any other way.

Like a wild animal, Adone thought, a prowling little carnivore with the courage to bite anything bigger and turn out the victor.

He had noticed a distinct change for some time now, as the snow drifted far below.

For she searched his company in the half-light, dragging him into unending conversations through the long winter nights.

A nice change that showed she was educated in many a subject unfit for the likes of a female.

Mechanics, chemistry, physics, architecture, mathematics, astronomy and a disconcerting way of playing the piano.

The first time he heard her play the music filled his lungs like hissing lava, tea agitated in the clinking china and every string in the piano humming alive.

Her fingers brutal on the keys from Contra to Great, firm from Small to the Two-line and featherlike on the higher octaves.

She was far from a perfect player but it was like nothing he ever heard: a soul gutted out from an inanimate object and forced into shape, feeling and voice.

Her half-seeing eyes wide open, fixed in concentration, the muscles in her arms tense and ready to leap.

Never had she looked so beautiful.

There to master, conquer and slay.

Eyes burning, sound deafening and you tied to her on a thin string knotted beside your hairy heart, tin man.

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Say hi to my new darling love…🤩


The old Year is dead. Long live the Year!

They went out again.

For the first time he wasn’t very interested in feeding his vanity, but his presence was requested and he couldn’t decline.

In a moment of madness he asked her and she smiled.

It was bitterly cold, Adone wrapped her in the softest fur two hours before the end of the year.

Her steps surer but he still guided her on his arm.

In their private booth, lights doused, the tiny stones pinned in her hair shined like stars giving her an eerie quality.

That night was so different for she talked softly to him, her midnight blue silk dress rustling when she moved and leaned her head on his shoulder with ease.

Lavender sharp in his nose, reminding him of spent dreams unmade.

For this was an illusion, a trick reflection, a spun web made of glass.

No reality could hold.

Adone stood stock still, polite and smiling to anyone but her.

For the dream had lost its luster and the beast the need to sharp his claws.

Her snares were just unworthy of his attention.

Fine china he could find, silken hair and a willing faceless body too.

A faceless body, yes. Admitted the mirror, mildly interested with no tongue or words a-flame.

I wonder, tin man, what lies are you concocting under that little helmet you wear, so little it’s getting tighter around your inflated head.

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The anger didn’t subside under a veil of cinder.

Every night two doors closed, steps muffled and clinking of glass, the murmur of a brush through hair and some low humming.

We are such good friends! She exclaimed one night, oddly sweet and peering from between her lashes.

His hands trembled badly, the liquor spilling from the sides of the glass.


If she noticed the dry tone she didn’t appear to, a silvery laugh started in her throat.

I will see again! Again!

It was fact now as shapes where taking form before her, especially in the semi darkness.

Her happiness a blind flame sunlit while winter approached slowly swooping low.

Sea wind, first frost.

Clouds of lead storming high.

Howling and running like a horde over the city.

As the tempest approached the tired mirror churned.

Little soldier…have you ever thought what a prize is defeat?

You never learned to be content.

Shame on you.

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No fear and no glance.

A calm heartbeat beneath his fingers.

Mouth set, chin up.

You never had a true understanding of love and care.

You, recipient of empty adoration, gatherer of false empathy.

You don’t have a beating heart in your breast but an angry mouth full of teeth.

Show me, then. She provoked with a smile Try that mouth on me and feel pain.

Beyond that declaration life went on.

Adone loathed her for she was hard as nails and he had fallen down into a pit of savagery.

The beast was coming alive, hour upon hour, slitted yellow eyes and deadly clawed paws.

Ownership and dominance deep into its growl.

White hands, fragile bone china, on its cheeks.

Silky night shrouded him in perfume.

Tin man…you’re slipping and what’s worse is that she knows. The mirror called lazily, swinging from side to side, counting time. She knows and will strike you when the final blow will hurt you more.

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The first objective was to own.

Yet you can’t have what’s not given.

How to then? He asked to no-one.

Words echoed through the halls of a too big castle.

He tried politeness, riling, scorn, blackmail.

Nothing would do to break her hard shell as she placidly sat.

At last something in him snapped and brute force took over.

Shall you bend her, tin man? The mirror mused Break her? Do you really think you’re man enough for the job?

Her thin, pale neck between his hands.

Easier than waking up.

Better than watching her slip away like shifting sands.

Mine or dead.

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I don’t have a workstation…

My old pc with the AOC monitor, the notebook, two 1 tera hard disks for archive, my monstrous stereo (there! In the corner! ❤️) with Radio Ga Ga on, my 20’s lamp and hiding there an indestructible American Keyboard by IBM with a PS1 connector…

You can laugh all you want but that keyboard survived a mug of hot milk once and it just worked through it, lovin’ it xD

In short I have a Nuclear factory and two smartphones now…ah…pleasures far and few…😝


Softly humming colour onto a phantom world.

Adone watched her with awe while in the dark she peered from slits, silver flashing and smoldering.

For her eyes were no more entirely blind.

Sunlight hurt her, confusing the ghosts.

She said she could see spots and nothing more.

But the quiet smile on her lips spoke of witchcraft.

There was steel in her veins under the soft pale skin.

His mouth tasted sour, at the same time he longed for one glance.

Grey afternoons came and went, watching dark clouds move above his proud head.

Cold settling in the wind, lending time to pensive thought.

You, fool. The mirror laughed You, inconsolable, heartless wretch.

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