Category: Passato


D’estate, quasi sempre, riprendo in mano i miei libri…si sá che vivo solo di notte con ‘sti caldi…

Ed ogni volta che inizio mi cade l’occhio sui miei andrinople.
Tento di resistere, inutile davvero.
Finisco che li apro al solito modo.
Mi perdo.

È qualcosa di più che un’infatuazione per caratteri d’inchiostro e carta rilegata.
È un mondo che conosco a memoria, capace di risucchiarmi negli anni fra il 1880 ed il 1920 in una comunione di sensi e spiriti insieme alla prima persona della Imperatrice.

Quella bilogia rimane una delle mie letture più belle e private.
Un pilastro dal quale ho attinto anch’io inverosimilmente con Steps anche se non sembrerebbe…

Volete la mia Bibbia? Leggetevi Hannàh ed Imperatrice.

Sometimes I find myself thinking about dualities.
A story can be written twice and be the same yet completely different.
Sometimes I get lost in a spiral of intrusive thoughts and find myself lacking.
That’s when I change my road even a little.
A couple of hours out, watching flames or waves.
Under a sun strong enough to melt my bones.
Shining light in the cave that is my brain where echoes never stop.

“One day when you wake up, you will find that you have become a forest. You have grown roots and found strength in them that no one thought you had. You have become stronger and more beautiful, full of life giving qualities. You have learned to take all the negativity around you and turn it into oxygen for easy breathing. A host of wild creatures live inside you and you call them stories. A variety of beautiful birds rest inside your mind and you call them memories. You have become an incredible self sustaining thing of epic proportions. And you should be so proud of yourself, of how far you have come from the seeds of who you used to be.”

– Nikita Gill, You Have Become a Forest (via meanwhilepoetry)

Sometimes I truly don’t know what I need.
Somedays I look far into the horizon and I see an invisible wall.
Then there’s the freedom, the absolute where you know you can, and you will.
You take a trip with only the strenght of your legs and a bicycle, you go so high it gets quite difficult to inhale and keep pushing.
You reach the top and you’re proud of the sweat rolling down your brow.
Because you did it, against your own very cynicism.
It’s almost an year of going against my laziness and – God be my witness – I’ve changed so much no-one actually recognizes me in the streets.
Yesterday I bought my very first pair of skinny jeans size 44, it actually was a 42 on the waist but my legs are so muscled they couldn’t fit.
An year ago I was much skinnier but developing muscles I reached a healthy average weight of 53-55 kg.
All my old clothes are way to big for me now to the point that in 12 months I had to make four new holes in my leather belt.

I was afraid of changing too much, of being ridiculed, of never ever reaching my goals.

Today I can safely say I’m still myself, with 10 kg less, a somewhat round belly (yes, i hate abs workouts) and two powerful legs that can achieve an average 70 km per ride.

I am phisically and mentally strong and I am myself.

Old goals reached and new ones to come.

I shall never ever stop.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.
– Robert Frost

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maladaptive_daydreaming

Holy….

This is me, it happens EVERYDAY and I never found a way to stop!

That’s why I write and I truly TRULY construct everything before putting word on paper!!! =O

Sadly I have no triggers, I simply live in multiple different worlds at the same time.

I’m glad to know it can’t be defined as an obsession, I always thought it was a state of mind…

 

The first days of November are purity itself to me.
No false promises when daytime gets so much shorter.
The sun is only a disc of molten lava over the red mist.
Leaves draping a path of mud and dew and lush green grass in the place where my mind always is.
The below zero mornings when the sky is like spun glass and everything lies under a white sheet, gold light on the treetops climbing up the walls of my room.
The Search beneath the naked trees for the last ripe fruits, treasure of months behind us.
I love the smell of the woods, the burning hearth, the cup of tea fuming in my cold hands, the sound of the buzzards in search of prey, the silvery water spilling from the rock, sound of wilderness, soft moss silencing my boots, squirrels raiding nuts, my breath in clouds while walking the road of Old.
The wintry peaks so far yet so close in the crisp air.
Cold knows how to paint the hills and find me a moment in time worth to remember besides every line of all my many favorite books.
This is the time in the year where I look around and I don’t say a single thing.
Such is the power over me when winter comes: I find myself again.
This year of all my Years, is the sweeter so far.

087b71d787111289d43b1e9304adeac8

I want to be the fire in your veins.
I will burn you to cinders.

Il cassetto nel cassetto

Un Mondo di Parole

Tea Leaves and Reads

“As always, one of her books was next to her.” ― Markus Zusak

Simone Morana Cyla Official Blog

Blog ufficiale dell'artista digitale Simone Morana Cyla.

Mathew Lyons

WRITER & HISTORIAN

comeseavessileali

"What a guy, what a fool am I, to think my breaking heart could kid the moon"

Livelines

«Sono una figura di un romanzo ancora da scrivere, che passa aerea e sfaldata senza aver avuto una realtà, fra i sogni di chi non ha saputo completarmi». [Pessoa]

Matteo Gianino

Photography Portfolio

Ps: Fun & Travels

Blog Idee viaggio

Fools Journal

Magazine di cultura: letteratura, fotografia, arte, moda, queer life, eventi, musica, cinema, attualità

Dimension Gate

"All worlds, all of time are yours to explore"

UnTipoQualunque

Cose che mi piacciono trattate con semplicità.

Gio. ✎

Avete presente quegli scomodi abiti vittoriani? Quelli con la gonna che strascica un po' per terra, gonfiata sul di dietro dalla tournure? Quelli con i corsetti strettissimi e i colletti alti che solleticano il collo? Ecco. Io non vorrei indossare altro.

April is such a Cursed month

Permanent wounds that never heal.

Matt on Not-WordPress

Stuff and things.

dodicirighe

...di più equivale a straparlare.

Vivoescrivo

God Hates Us All!

Il Nemico Utile

Exoriatur Lumen Quod Gestavi in Alvo

Fools Journal

Magazine di cultura: letteratura, fotografia, arte, moda, queer life, eventi, musica, cinema, attualità

Anette Olzon Italia

Your first Italian source about Anette Olzon

lamentesepolta

0, 1, 2, ecc. - si.tormento@gmail.com

Show me a garden that's bursting into life

I'm contemplating thinking about thinking

Kathryn Dawson Photography

"Vision is the Art of seeing the invisible" - Jonathon Swift -

Briciolanellatte Weblog

Navigare con attenzione, il blog si sbriciola facilmente

the m0vie blog

an Irish nerd's eye look at the world of film

TheCoevas official blog

Strumentisti di Parole/Musicians of words

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

music, poetry, musings, photography and philosophy from a woman who found her way back home and wants you to come over for a hike and a cocktail.

F. H. Hakansson

F. H. Hakansson - Writer

tuttoquestogiallo

Ventitrè estati, ventidue inverni. Immaginare storie. Scriverle con un lapis su pezzi di carta ingiallita. Scappare lontano. Viaggiare con la mente e con il cuore. Sognare una casina bianca e un giardino pieno di rose. Leggere un libro. Guardare il mare. Ascoltare in silenzio la voce dei propri pensieri. Affacciarsi su un balcone e guardare l'alba. Fotografare un istante e conservarlo gelosamente nel proprio cuore. Fumare una sigaretta su una vecchia sdraio verde mentre guardo le stelle. Immaginare qualcuno dall'altra parte del mondo. Colorare di giallo la mia vita. Giallo. Giallo, perchè è prima del rosso. Giallo, come un limone. Giallo, come la mia canzone. Giallo, perchè disturba. Giallo, come qualche miliardo di stelle.

The Harry Potter Companion

the story, the beauty, and the magic of harry potter