Category: Vita morte e miracoli (sopratutto morte)


C’è bisogno di commentare? 😍

Sarei capace di mangiarmeli tutti…accidenti…

…Home is the best place on this Earth.

4791

Mi sento molto sola.

Ecco l’ho scritto.

Non è tanto intorno a me, quanto dentro.

Una sensazione di deserto a livello di pensieri, idee e cime da raggiungere.

Un ossimoro quando in realtà non sto per niente male.

I problemi della mia amata Chevrolet darling risolti, mai sentita ringhiare così.

Il desktop ritornato in vita, grazie ad un attento esame della babele di cavi che aveva dentro, non ha mai girato meglio d’adesso.

Grandi kaching! futuri assicurati grazie al mio occhio.

Io che, al mio solito, faccio l’autodidatta e riesco al primo colpo.

Forse è questo il punto, tutto dimostra di andare bene.

 

Ma niente è più come prima.

L’equilibrio si rompe, il disco si inclina, cade a terra e la musica si ferma.

Questa settimana compio 31 anni e non ho voglia di vedere anima viva.

Non desidero spiccicare parola.

Non voglio andare da nessuna parte.

Nemmeno per vedere te.

 

Ed il fatto che cerco rifugio in cose, suoni e storie concluse non risolve nulla.

Fa buio e freddo.

Un giorno rivedrò qualche stella probabilmente.

Ma non subito.

4786

Ahem…

Holy fucking shit….look at my scores!!!

You know.

Every road, raindrop, curve.

My memory cristal clear, glasspane between now and then.

Eidetic, electric.

The engine still running, my queen Chevrolet bee.

Too long a distance between.

Still there depths and pillars, altar of love lost and found.

Rekindled flame, rain never ending turnin to snow.

I remember you, silence and smile and impossible things before dawn.

The clock, the sounds, digits and limbs.

Here in my car, pitch black on a road that lead nowhere until…

The day I met you.

I can’t describe the change…but I can write down the start of the end.

Can I?

The road always goes on, and delivers.

You just have to travel and never stop.

You’ll be tired and you’ll be wishing many things left behind you.

Regret them not.

All you need is within yourself until the engine groans.

Rain pouring.

Silence black in the alley.

Cold set of keys in your hand.

Flat deserted of light.

Quiet steps, breath held.

Bed of giants, rocks of dwarves.

Man sleeps while my mind rambles of ends and means.

Soft breaths, solid warmth.

Cinder and soot.

4766

Sono nel momento di mezzo.

Così la vedo.

Il problema è non rimanerci incastrata…

Sapevo che non sarebbe stato facile smettere di scrivere…

Continuerò ad avere daydreaming ogni giorno e per quello non c’è cura…

Crisi di astinenza come queste sono peggiori di altre…

Sopratutto quando tutti i giorni un terzo del tuo cervello rimane lì a filare e tu sai che sono buone storie, ma sai  anche che non hai più il tempo per scrivere. 🤦‍♀️

You win and you lose.

Truth of every fraction of time spent on this Earth.

A misty morning is the promise for a radiant sunny afternoon, you just need to climb where the rain doesn’t drop.

Sometimes this never comes to fruition for you don’t want to.

So comfortable in your cashmere coat and the constant sound of rain, so perfectly happy with your thoughts made in heavy lead.

You search light and warmth when you’re unhappy, then you’ll move.

Just don’t stop yourself at the first ray, go straight for the supernova and be blinded.

You talk nosense. You are the noise.

I talk of love lost.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8

4759

Why do I dream of you?

4757

I can’t write anymore

I can’t read anymore.

Life devoid.

Your hand in mine.

Little flame.

Tiny speck.

Aurora borealis

I like to travel roads forgotten.

Gravel crunching and savage greenery deep.

There is lack of noise beneath leaves.

The road winds upon the hill like a coiled dormant snake under no sun.

Thoughts become louder every step of the way, muddy footprints in the labyrinth.

Water trickles, warm fog sticks on your coat.

Sometimes, while I walk a new street I stop and watch.

I try and imagine how would be to live there opposed to the city, the best apartment money could give.

I choose silence and difficulty.

My answer sure lacks logic to you.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7

6/? Liquid gold

I like the waters far below.

Cold, dark baritone enthralling.

Home of complex subjects that need to be thought extensively in contralto phrasing and uttered in sparse murmured word.

I can stand higher cords but just so.

Water trickling down, plinking.

Rain, laughter of the Gods, muffling the sounds of this city.

Good will of old drowning us in sanctity.

The current in the river diluting pains forgotten.

Washing away layer upon layer until the rock at the bottom glints.

Copper veins in the grey.

Why do you smile?

As this place wastes away we shall leave to return.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6

This is no medical condition.

Sometimes is better to have a conversation inside your brain then hear a shit ton of today’s music.

Noise…that’s screeching noise, darling.

Fairly simple to do, actually.

Shut all of your devices, not standy, SHUT THEM OFF.

Don’t worry you can live without them…your smartphone doesn’t make your heart beat nor your mouth eat.

Paper, pen, brain.

They won’t bite you, try to think with your mind.

Sometimes the harshest of sounds and sensations are inside yourself.

You won’t comprehend them at first, it’ll be just a matter of time.

And you’ll discover water depths.

Treacherous, never ending.

Mother’s womb.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5

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