Tag Archive: musings


I am living for the sunny days.
The rainy ones.
The hours I can escape.
The moments I know I closed a deal.
The tiny pleasures I find in the weirdest places.

I live in every breath in and out of my lungs while I ride.
I live for the lost days, the warmth of afternoons in the shade.
I live for the humid stillness of summer nights.

I run on my own two feet.
I run on my MTB down the hill at full speed.
I run on the chevrolet darling.
As the clock chimes the hour.

I am tired, I admit.
Life now is still sweeter than honey.
And my skin is turning golden under the sun.
As time goes and doesn’t come back.
As memories start to fade and music remains.
Screaming voices are getting dim in the ride.
Or maybe I’m just older.
And I still dream.


Okay, post molto neofita, molto tecnico e molto borioso su MTB retrò e ‘vecchie’. Bear with me.

Ora tutto questo con una premessa:
Di norma faccio giri bisettimanali (se fortunata) di 50-60 km (2, massimo 3 ore).
Se riesco a mantenere questo livello di allenamento arrivo a fine stagione (estate) capace di farne dai 75 agli 80 km senza fatica (dalle 3 alle 3,30 ore, dipende da che percorso scelgo).
In materia di velocità oraria costante vario in tiro duro dai 20/25 ai 30 km/h senza decelerazione di fine stagione.
La mia bici è sicuramente sopra ai 10kg.
Il mio peso corporeo varia dai 55kg ai 50kg, compreso lo sviluppo muscolare.
Un anno (quello della fine stagione con percorsi da 75/80km) sono arrivata addirittura a 49kg, praticamente ero pelle, ossa e prosciutti al posto delle gambe.

In teoria sono senza bici da 10 giorni, in pratica no.

Il mio ‘cancello’ preferito è da rifare totalmente davanti, dietro, sopra e sotto.
Il telaio era dei primi anni ’90 robusto come un ‘cancello’ appunto ma pesante per gli standard attuali e non sembra essersi fatto nulla a parte qualche graffio in più.
Purtroppo le leve, i fili del freno, e cerchione in alluminio da 26′ sono in stato pietoso. Il manubrio tubolare di ferro si è piegato visibilmente.

Il cambio uno shimano SIS tricorona con cassetta filetto a 6 velocità e catena grande sono riuscita a salvarlo ma era già da qualche anno che avevo intenzione di sostituirlo quindi…

Configurazione ora.
Tricorona 28-38-48T
Cassetta posteriore 14-28T

Se parliamo di sviluppo metrico la mia MTB si poteva già considerare una ‘ibrida’ perché sul piano in rapporto duro (48/14) riuscivo a fare 7,14 m abbondanti ad ogni giro del pedale e senza particolare fatica anche in leggera salita.
Sul rapporto agile (28/28)arrivavo a 2,02 m e di norma lo usavo solo con inclinazioni peggio che proibitive.

Ora…il mio desiderio nascosto è aumentare lo sviluppo metrico del rapporto duro.
Non sono particolarmente amante delle corone giganti quindi la mia idea era mantenere la vecchia impostazione e modificare il dietro (che in termini di sviluppo metrico conta di più di cosa si usa davanti) ma le mie buone speranze sono andate a P****.
Il mercato si è spostato sulle bicorone o monocorone con cambi posteriori a cassetta da 9/10/11/12 velocità.
Se volessi un rapporto 12/32 dietro sarei obbligata a cambiare la ruota posteriore per intero (l’unica che non si è fatta troppo male) oltre al resto.

L’unica opzione disponibile per ora è un cambio a filetto Sunrace vecchia scuola offertomi da un tizio, capace di portarmi a 7 velocità con 13/28 sul vecchio cerchio.
Sviluppo metrico duro 7,70 m (un buon mezzo metro!)

Ma col cambio del rapporto dietro sono obbligata anche a cambiare la catena da grande a sottile e qui il grande dubbio: la catena sottile sulla guarnitura 48/38/28 funziona?! Se sì come? Bene o male?
È meglio cambiare anche le corone?
Ed il deragliatore posteriore??
I comandi del cambio? (Il SIS montava anche cassette a 8v…mah?)

Dubbi amletici da non dormire la notte, giuro.

Intanto domani vado a recuperare un ‘cancello’ nuovo regalato e rimasto a prendere la polvere degli ultimi cinque anni.
L’ho già cavalcato e ho solo una cosa da dire: Lo odio ma sempre meglio che girarsi i pollici.
Per cronaca ha tre corone con ruote da 26 anche questo ma di massima 42t e la cassetta dietro 14/28, come il mio.
Sviluppo metrico duro 6,25 m
Ciò significa pedalate su pedalate ed ancora pedalate…per fare molta meno distanza.
In più ha una sella che dopo mezz’ora le chiappe doloranti sono il centro e culmine dei tuoi pensieri.

Oh…sarò di nuovo sulla strada presto…
Più lenta e con le emorroidi…
Ma sulla strada! 🚴🏻‍♀️💪🏻😎

Sometimes the past labeled ‘Hate’ comes back.
It’s like pushing the trigger of a gun.
The bullet is released and the sound of the shot just cracks in the still air.

For me it can only come back with songs, now.
It’s a good thing ‘cause I control pretty much anything I hear these days for technology is wonder.
Today I wasn’t that lucky and I hate when it happens.

For it’s just songs, not even that good for my tastes, never really liked but still kept in an old music archive.
It was barely 40 minutes – now agony – you said you liked.
Pop, hardly meaning anything profound.

Today it just went straight to my head,
with all those months thinking anything but rationally.
All those years mourning practically nothing.
Me, my cups and the fucking hope.
The sinister glint in my eyes under a canopy of trees long forgotten.
I truly hated for I wasn’t myself.
Search, find and destroy.


I thank daily every deity for I am still here on this Earth.
For I find I’m not bitter if my triggers stay unreleased.
For if I have known ‘hate’ I did bid it goodbye a long time ago.
I never searched for you, never I will.
I don’t care anymore and in a way it amuses me how needs and feelings can change.
Sometimes I feel a little blue, I write/work all night (Yes, I write, I still do that!), Consume my poor Chevrolet darling, find the time to nurture and watch my orchids flourish.
Bright colours, fluorescent skies, rolling hills in pale green, the ticking of my bike going down at full speed.
The sounds of morning, sun on my windshield.
It feels like change.
I do have changed in ways I doubt you would understand.
For I love, I share and I try to help.
The past made me what I am.
And it won’t return.

Coexisting in life is never easy.

We humans have so many ways of thinking and seeing things and taking critics.

Sometimes you just try honestly to help and all you receive is scorn for ‘YOU are not sharing MY views, admit it!’

Of course I see what you see, but I also see what I see, and possibly have an opinion of what the rest could see…truthful or polluted it may be.

There are days I truly resent helping for I know what I will gain.

Other days I help and stay silent and regret.

Truth and pain walk on the same cobble street often.

Family is family, I guess.


He had simply left, his power gone, his money not.

Went for far away refuges, man amongst men speaking many tongues.

Fought  for wavering rightful causes, cried for solid dreams made of clay.

Bittersweet the day he returned where no-one remembered the slick handsome beast now made man and scarred by truths.

Years had left lines on his noble profile and wear on his clothes, specks of early silver in his hair.

Heart beating a stoic rhythm under tanned skin, eyes placid and mindful.

Steps surer in a long ago city he still remembered but no more owned or wanted.

The old concrete, the harsh light reflecting in the windows high above.

Summer was in full swing as the roses in the park bloomed and died in the span of a few hours.

Sickly sweet wisteria hanging limply from balconies, children running amok in the muddy shore by the lake.

Every path freshly covered in grey gravel.

He found that afternoon to be a shade of lie he could stand, softly blurring the edges of his vision; a picturesque world long gone.

Grass bending gently to the breeze, white jasmine flowers weaved in crowns over young girls hair.

The pale green of her dress was the first thing he saw.

Tiny bare feet peeked through the hem and hid in the grass as the leaves overhead moved.

Peaceful sleep softened her features, the dark silk of her hair cushioned her head, lavender wafting gently to his nose.

Was she part of that sunny lie?

Cold as winter, so long gone.

There he sat, patience now his to nurture.

The sun slowly descending, bright amber green rays on her face.

A hand in his lap while she yawned and stretched like a cat.

Eyes on him, sharp and searching, half-relief half-suspicion in the steel gray.

You never told me your name, Nemesis.

Her smile true, her voice soft.

You never asked yet you find me, Narcissus.


1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8 § 9 § 10 § 11 § 12 § 13 § 14 § 15 § 16 § 17 § 18 § 19 § 20 § 21 § 22 § 23 § 24 § 25 § 26 § 27 § 28 § 29 § 30


She walked and walked under the sun.

Of course she already knew of the High Castle’s fire but nothing more.

The voices of before now gone.

Mirrors erased.

Doubts taking hold.

Quicksilver eyes lost into reverie.

They called him Adone, still.

The thought saddened her to the very core.

As if a side of the beast survived when I know it did not.

Stubborn like a goat, quick like a fox, mindful like a wolf on the hunt.

Slaved to a living lie.

Sun scorched her dark hair like a flame and she reposed under a tree.

And what dreams you dream, fairer lady amongst fair?

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8 § 9 § 10 § 11 § 12 § 13 § 14 § 15 § 16 § 17 § 18 § 19 § 20 § 21 § 22 § 23 § 24 § 25 § 26 § 27 § 28 § 29


“Have you heard about Adone, dear?”

“Do tell!”

Pointed chins, diamonds and  pearls on thin necks, little bifurcated tongues wetting fat lips.

“Seems he went absolutely bonkers, such a fine handsome man he was…” a sharp turn of a perfectly manicured hand with two-inch claws “You remember that little, insignificant, mangy, blind girl? Yes, just the one with those dull eyes…so scary…seems she died.”

“Shame.” I don’t care in the slightest…but do tell me more!

Smile before another drop of evil fell from painted lips “Indeed! Such intelligence and handsomeness thrown away just for a little stupid no-one…well, seems my perfect son – you know my kind depraved, invincible coward, strong weakling darling! – was out with friends one of these nights doing what good, young gentlemen ought to do and…you know the High Castle, that beautiful place he had was heaping with flames. Mind! It was the finest for a bachelor house, the grandeur, the richly furnished bar, the beautiful soirees…at least before he stumbled on that little rat.”

A pause while sipping white tea.

“Did he die?”

“He wasn’t there, they say. No-one knows…maybe he found his way under a slab to find her!”

Dry high laughter while pointy tails swished gaily from the shadows projecting on the wall.

Or maybe you should try the weight of the slab you so desire.

A pair of orbs smoldered in the tea shop, a rough voice lethal in the racket.

The sun-drenched room went frigidly cold as the two old hens stood agape at the very same dead rat.

Eyes burned in her lean face, pale but very much alive.

Little but imposing, her chin up and nostrils wide, natural red lips thinned in deadly fury.

I think you need some more fun activities in your miserable life.

Her voice had a cutting edge, low and final before she took for the door.

Starting now.

The heavy tablecloth took on fire like tinder on their faces and soon the place smelled of burned flesh.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8 § 9 § 10 § 11 § 12 § 13 § 14 § 15 § 16 § 17 § 18 § 19 § 20 § 21 § 22 § 23 § 24 § 25 § 26 § 27 § 28


Winter thawed in mud and decay.

He didn’t watch.

The casket lid splattered in sodden earth.

Silence and sounds of misery.

He still had more than any man or woman could want.

He didn’t have what he wanted above all.

The high castle a dark cave, echoing his steps.

He couldn’t find the mirror, solace to make him blind.

What would it be in its depths now?

Sun-blinded eyes over water.

White cherry flowers floating in sewers.

High ceilings encased in flames of lead.

Yet searching for a neon-lit name mounted over the grand entrance of Limbo.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8 § 9 § 10 § 11 § 12 § 13 § 14 § 15 § 16 § 17 § 18 § 19 § 20 § 21 § 22 § 23 § 24 § 25 § 26 § 27


She fell ill.

Mercury spouted in big mouthfuls, silvery venomous pools.

Some days she couldn’t see at all, others her mind was blind.

She never crazed, never fevered, never closed her eyes.

Adone watched while her skin took a grainy quality and almost glowed in the night.

A drop of silver on her lower dry lip.

Her voice cracked like static.

Have you found your name?


There is power…in a name.


Give yourself a name and you might be found.

Her hand twitched and fell from his fingers.

The deamon-eyed shrew never drew another breath for she became moonlit stone.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8 § 9 § 10 § 11 § 12 § 13 § 14 § 15 § 16 § 17 § 18 § 19 § 20 § 21 § 22 § 23 § 24 § 25 § 26


Snow stopped, blinding under a clear blue sky.

Melting under the sun’s metallic light.

She couldn’t keep her eyes open, agonizing in dark rooms.

She was prescribed a plethora of things but nothing would do to ease the torment.


Voices echoed into the high castle, no-where to be found.

You defeated the mirror and freed the man from the beast, witch.

We will now take what of you remains.

Fear not as the pain won’t ease, you shall burn as the molten core in your blind eyes.

Ghostly white, she walked slowly in the renewed dark.

Bones protruding slightly from her back.

Dry, laborious breaths.

Yes, the mirror’s dead. She admitted with a smile

I don’t fear death for you all will accompany me, Deamons or voices I shall not spare anyone.

Write your sins into the core, just believe in your free will.

You won’t return.

I will, in time.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8 § 9 § 10 § 11 § 12 § 13 § 14 § 15 § 16 § 17 § 18 § 19 § 20 § 21 § 22 § 23 § 24 § 25


His sight was clearer, alert but she was the exact same.

Sharp features, dark hair and striking eyes half-seeing.

Pale, not exactly beautiful.

Fine to his eyes, cold to the touch.

We should go back.

She watched him then nodded, her lips a shade of blue over the red.

Back at the castle she didn’t warm easily as he had hoped.

They watched snowfall together, her head on his breast while sirens echoed the arrival of a severe storm.

Will you give me a name?

She laughed weakly.

No, you should do that yourself.


It will come to you, I’m sure.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8 § 9 § 10 § 11 § 12 § 13 § 14 § 15 § 16 § 17 § 18 § 19 § 20 § 21 § 22 § 23 § 24


A new Eos.

White muted light under a dove grey sky.

Sharp wind of early morning trough naked trees.

Winter still.

A little warm hand nestled in his, an anchor safe and truer than his sight was before.

For he could see now.

The harsh lines of concrete, the raised voices and dirty pavements.

Columns of smoke where Once-Men huddled for warmth.

Little dirty houses, crooked and decaying.

Enormous eyes in hollow children’ faces.

Dark rooms and hard stares in the stale air.

Brutal was the sight, monstrous.

For hell’s just beneath the thin oily film of the river he swam.

Heaven is a man’s illusion. She murmured calmly at his side A final idea made of innuendo quotes.

A big round mirror in which the world reflects perfect and whole.

Is it perfect, whole?

Every step deeper in the lie, less you see it more you ignore it as truth is not something anyone wants nowadays.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8 § 9 § 10 § 11 § 12 § 13 § 14 § 15 § 16 § 17 § 18 § 19 § 20 § 21 § 22 § 23


He didn’t know the answer, for life never put him on the line.

And her hands felt like a balm on his skin, sinking deep down and feeding little morsels of peace into his soul.

Tranquility found where her sharp claws had torn him many a time to shreds.

The soft wool of her sweater under his palms.

A new spell cast, a hold of black steel.

Her low rough voice vibrating on his neck.

You will divest this cage, shed the beastly coil, leave the lies and see the world with my eyes tomorrow morning.

No more mirrors between you and reality.

No more Adone, tomorrow you shall be man.

Somewhere in the distance a howling sound as the ugly, cracked looking glass found his final resting place in pieces on the green marble floor.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8 § 9 § 10 § 11 § 12 § 13 § 14 § 15 § 16 § 17 § 18 § 19 § 20 § 21 § 22




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?

1 § 2 § 3 § 4 § 5 § 6 § 7 § 8 § 9 § 10 § 11 § 12 § 13 § 14 § 15 § 16 § 17 § 18 § 19 § 20 § 21

Human Pages

The Best of History, Literature, Art & Religion

The Travellothoner

Travel, Running, Fitness, Life, Writing.

Let's Support Them

Make them smile and happy

The Paper Drafts

Creating Art, Poetry and Fiction.

Natalie Breuer

Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.

The Alchemist's Studio

Raku pottery, vases, and gifts

The Depth of Now

By Martina Korkmaz


Climbing, Outdoors, Life!

The Renegade Press

Tales from the mouth of a wolf


A daily selection of the best content published on WordPress, collected for you by humans who love to read.

Demoni di EFP

Una grande minaccia infesta EFP e l’intero mondo delle fanfictions! Le storie squallide!

The Minds of ...

Nelphaell Simblr (Hyde)


Empower Yourself

unbolt me

the literary asylum

Poetica di Viaggio

Equilibrio tra preparazione e improvvisazione, tra emozione e razionalità

Bikes Philosophy

We're gonna travel the world by bike to spread love, respect and culture of bicycle all over!


Lo stagismo è il primo passo per la conquista del mondo.

Racconti ondivaghi che alla fine parlano sempre di amore

“Ships are safe in a harbour, but that’s not what ships are made for”


Interferenze radio e disturbi di segnale

Tea Leaves and Reads

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

Mathew Lyons



«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]

Ps: Fun & Travels

Ami viaggiare? Sei sul sito giusto!

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"


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.


...di più equivale a straparlare.


God Hates Us All!

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

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

The Harry Potter Companion

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