Tag Archive: musings


7/?

The next time he saw her was two months later, summer ready to burst with its heat.

She sat alone at a café table, watching the contents of her mug.

He almost didn’t recognize her at first as she looked more and more odd to his eyes.

Worn and paler. Thin as a rail. Quiet as a mouse.

He approached, sitting in front of her without a ‘by your leave’.

She watched him.

He in one of his best linen suits, fit and healthy, strong jaw and perfectly trimmed beard.

She was shabby, all her clothes in dark colors, with bags under eyes missing all the fight.

And what ails you, fairer lady amongst fair?

She ignored the sarcasm, pale fingers curved on the mug, eyes casted down.

Something cold, dark, gripped him raising his hackles.

The mirror, its reflecting quality gone, stood silent and livid.

Substance dripped slowly onto the floor, pooling in one big puddle full of mercury.

The unnamed feeling in his breast, so new, was fear.

Annunci

6/?

Adone didn’t see her for a few weeks and life went on.

Unchanged and defined by his taste and desires.

No anger in his mind, no missing void.

Sometimes he smelled the lingering perfume of her hair, French lavender in a summer twilight.

As time passed her eyes were dark and watchful in the fatigued mirror.

Heavy nightcaps did nothing to banish her out from the surface or from the sheets on his bed while deep in dream.

Every morning, every button fastened and wrinkle pressed away, he was the same.

Commanding his empire of pawns with gentle pushes onward and shoving weaklings down in six feet of mud.

He could be cruel just like her and take pleasure in it.

One day the flaming sword would fall on her dark head and he’ll have the she-daemon unclawed at last.

5/?

He was amused, sourly bored by his old life, searching her out.

She didn’t like his attitude one bit, more bitter towards all he was than ever.

The months leading to spring were passed sparring like blood lusting fiends.

Both too conceited to withdraw from the carnage and too prideful to admit kinship.

Above their heads the sun ascended burning cold, reflecting in her eyes, melting matter.

Primal was the moment he found a way to cage her moonlit beside him for one evening.

No care spared, nor love or true hate found them while beautiful human voices danced in the dark, beneath them.

Her pale profile stark in the dim light, silken hair braided softly in an updo heavy on the nape of her neck.

One lone tear shimmering down her cheek as the last tragic aria ended and her eyes closed.

Later, at her door, he earned a sharp slap that turned his head sideways and would smart for a few days.

A true hellion of a woman, not half his size, and amusing him immensely.

That night a mirror wept in agony, warped and unclear.

4/?

A will to behold hers.

Unforgiving and cruel, unbending to pleasantries.

He knew it, he tried but nothing lured her.

Her cupid’s bow so tight in irritation at his not so casual presence.

Eyes flashing, a tongue fully able to drew blood with tones so cold winter frost was nothing.

You just want something you’ll never have.

He wasn’t relenting, smiling kindly, always kindly.

He who had everything hard-cash money could buy, could stand the novelty of her whims, the simple plebeian life she led.

Admiring the blinding heat of her spirit, the too sharp wit, the savage gleam buried in those eyes.

They weren’t alike, he had to admit in the shadows of his parlor nursing the last drink, they were two sides of one coin.

Never supposed to meet. whispered a mirror weakly in the room beside, strangely straining in the middle. Remember little soldier that tin will melt too near the sun.

3/?

A recurrent thought into the snowstorms through the years.

A pale face carved in the finest bone china with just a hint of colour.

Jutting stubborn chin, square jaw and lips dark red.

She was crowned with a thick head of dark silk and eyes-

The first time she laid eyes on him all his beauty, politeness and apparent perfection fled.

She smiled, no words still, a dark look in those thrice-damned eyes.

Then her voice hard and rough carved a path no self-inducing could dim in his ears.

A voice with no pity or kindness, omniscient and ringing true in its spite.

Few bitter words made to lower him to just a man, less than one, sickly poison in his ear.

No-one ever shamed his riches and fortune before.

She did and watched silent while the mirror revolved precariously, turning negative and black, all he thought himself to be cracked more easily than ice.

2/?

Moonlit reflection casted upon a sleeping form.

Every plane, every ridge and muscle defined by silver.

Silent underwater room, richly furnished.

The moon climbs through the glass, scintillating on the black lacquered bed stand, shining brightly on the cold brass woman, whispering sweet nothings on the linen sheets.

The bed is empty for Adone, always was.

The cracked mirror watches while the tin soldier breathes a world he no longer owns.

And the moon cracks too, like a mere egg’s shell.

Graceful and sweet is the coo of her voice trough the crack.

Find the shore you lost, little tin man as for all your brute strength, polite smiles and cold heart, She will never return.

Not to you or anyone else as she found her freedom in blindness.

1/?

Adone in a suit.

Starched to perfection from head to toe.

Made to belong on the best streets of the best cities of this world made of dirt.

A gentleman first by his looks and than by his mannerisms.

He turned eyes daily, it was so long he found himself almost not caring by now.

Successful, working hard, kind when it fitted him.

Striving to bestow what he got to unfortunate souls if he could.

He cut a figure so clever and handsomely took the rewards into his high castle.

One day his world made of truths clear as day cracked in the middle like a mirror too heavy for its frame.

That world tilted, changing its reflected view.

He tried to straighten it but he couldn’t remember what it looked like before.

The halved surface tricked him, blinding burning destroying.

Cease your ascent for it is as vain and futile as your looks.

The mirror said through the crack.

You shall never again compare to the little tin soldier you were.

Oh,

Those shades leaden with so near blinding sun heat.

Black asphalt to run on carefree.

Me double mirrored on his sunglasses.

No places to be.

Sand under my naked feet.

Sweet smelling jasmine and ice-mint whiskeys.

My big dark blue straw hat, yes just the one that gives me that 30s diva look and he always fingers up to watch my eyes.

And that road never-ending under a sky so blue.

I was just so happy in those 3 days, Ti.

The sea scent lingering, the torches still lit and the laughter ringing in my ears.

“Are you daydreaming, Fräulein?”

“What if I do?”

“Keep your dreams close.”

I just smile, tightening my hold on his hand.

“I think I shall.”

4312

oH, lOOk that glass marble, did you loose yours, my dear?

I did, somewhere alOng the way.

And things I never seen SO CLEARLY in all my life.

So dear is vision when you have one and you go right to the end of the path to get exactly the things you want.

Never be afraid of what you want.

Never hold yourself back.

Never balk and stop.

TRY, RISK and BLEED.

You want something?

You go out in the world and you only come back home when you OWN it.

Let others talk behind your back, you’re not a child anymore, you don’t need to prove your self-worth to anyone NEVER AGAIN.

Fuck them, work your ass off and reap the benefits.

Be the master of your Own Universe. 💪🏻

Shall I talk?
Or will you whisper it?
The dreadful thing we have squeezed between us.
The mixture of seasons, your old and my new.
The smell of spicy tobacco I call aroma.
My kind of freedom you loathe when you can’t reach me and I finished all your favourites.
The long nights I spend driving and working.
The late dinners you cook just for one to be heated in the oven ‘not the microwave, you infidel!!’
The early Sunday mornings, starting the day with a shower for two, tumble and dry.
You trimming your beard, whistling your favourite pavane.
Me and my Twinings Tea.
You and your enormous shirts, as gigantic as your wardrobe really, and my silk scarves.
The lightbulb in the bathroom mirror you are too lazy to tight properly and irks me to death (note to self: bring needed tools).

Do you know the words for this Ti?
I shan’t say them.
I knew crushes and silly affections and stupidity.
I used to know broken dreams, flat promises and often no’s.
All the wrong sidestreets of naiveté I walked.
I don’t look to you as an older figure – a father figure the most cinical say, they watch so much and they become so blind – I look at you as Ti.
Never old in my eyes, not with that hungry glint you have.

I have no words but I know there’s no turnin’ back now, not after all this time.

And if there will be an end to this someday it will be worth it, glorious and ours for it won’t be a surprise but a choice.

As you said
“Love is a journey best appreciated in the company of two or more. Sunrise to sunset. No time is wasted when it fills the desires in your soul. Be grateful if you have found it.”

“To fall in love is easy, even to remain in it is not difficult; our human loneliness is cause enough. But it is a hard quest worth making to find a comrade through whose steady presence one becomes steadily the person one desires to be.” – Anna Louise Strong

 

Edit 13.43 pm: and my heart breaks at the news…oh we shall never hear your beatific voice again! Oh Montserrat! Sad is the day and darkest is this world! 😭

4031

What if I do pray?
I know, Ti, God is nothing to me but I’m praying through this awfully hot days.
While my brain is slowly dying to death along with my eyes for the sun and humid air.
While I exercise like a madwoman.
While I drive fast on the highway.
When I find myself thinking of you, looking through tea depths, in my few moments of rest.
At 5.50 am when I usually wake.
I see what I can’t.
I hear nothing, and you are in the shell of my ear.
It is maddening more than anything else I ever knew.
If God existed it would hear my prayers, isn’t it?
If it was a benevolent God, that is…
I know you would smile that knowing crooked smile, now.
All finesse and glinting eyes.
Smoke shimmering in your breath, the sweet cherry flavour of the tobacco you use.
I can savour it on my tongue now.
Maybe the stillness of this heat will make me mad…I don’t truly care if I can have you.

And saying those dammed words that will never leave my mouth.
Shall I wait when it’s going to be too late?
Yes, because I am that kind of idiot.
Silly little thing with an iron will who can plow for its dreams in the midst of the last deathly heatwave  of the summer and then turn spineless coward with fear of an imminent end to happiness.

And I pray, yes, more than you’ll ever know.

4018

And if one day.
But never tomorrow.
We woke up again together,
emerging from a whirlwind of dream and thunder.
Will you listen to me?
One day when the dunes will take the color of the evening and the tired bells will stop playing the dull tones of a return that will no longer happen.
Will you find me?
Surrounded by the storm on each side as far as the eye can go and remaining stoically immobile in a given place.
What would you choose?
Your empty words or my dead gestures?
Shadows behind my skull, breathing the pure air of your last breath.
I finally know what I want.
Lie down in the hay of a summer that no longer exists at this time.
Crushing to dust the dry flowers between the pages of my books.
Walk distant streets in the sunlight.
Catch you by the hand and drag you into the light.
Living for the sake of it.
I do not need a motivation.
Words will have to come out sooner or later.
Or I’ll end up forgetting what it means to say them.

Ieri notte pensavo questo.

In mezzo alle mie scartoffie a digiuno da cena ed ancora vestita in tiro, le chiavi della Chevrolet a due centimetri dalla tastiera del portatile ed mail lavorativa con contabilità da fatturare sullo schermo.

La verità è che se qualcuno me l’avesse detto due anni fa gli/le avrei riso in faccia di gusto.

Il passato sta diventando una bruma molto grigia che faccio fatica a ricordare con chiarezza.

Tutto era fermo in uno spazio che mantenevo immobile, un cimitero nel quale mi seppellivo nascosta in mezzo ad iris e rose, l’unico colore insieme a quei sentierini sperduti e decisamente pericolosi rimastemi in foto da qualche parte sul disco del mio powerful oldie.

Ieri sera ho dovuto ammettere a fatica che sono debole e forte insieme.

Debole per aver perso dieci anni della mia vita nel limbo e forte perché sono qui dopo due anni di movimento e ne voglio ancora.

Quando ho deciso di cambiare il mio terrore era non riuscirci, o riuscirci e poi perdermi per strada.

Ora il mio terrore più grande è rivedere tutto fermarsi.

Non potrei sopportarlo.

Forse è per questo che sono stacanovista distruttiva peggio di Ti, vivo praticamente nella Chevrolet Darling ed ho rispolverato le mie doti da leader.

Non è che sia meglio o rose e fiori, no.

Tutti i giorni mi armo fino ai denti con ansia da prestazione e la sera potrei addormentarmi davanti al portatile.

Eppure sono qui, resisto.

A volte dormo fino a mezzogiorno, altre sono insonne e passo la notte ad occhi spalancati davanti ad UT che non vuole saperne di concludersi, altre ancora dormo di un sonno che è una caricatura del riposo ed alle cinque sono già al volante della Chevrolet rincorrendo l’asfalto.

Rimane che ho voglia di vita.

La strada che continua due anni dentro al futuro.

Money, power, glory.

Vi è mai capitato di aver finalmente staccato dal lavoro ed invece di iniziare il tanto paventato weekend davanti alla tv o a fare ciò che vi interessa…le vostre mani, la vostra testa facciano tutt’altro?

A me sì…

Oggi pomeriggio, seduta al volante della Chevrolet darling x tornare in città…

Strade incasinate piene di buche per l’asfalto sfondato dai diluvi degli ultimi giorni, semafori e lavori in corso, traffico da astinenza di nicotina…

Chi me lo fa fare?

Al di là dei doveri e delle questioni da tenere sotto controllo per chi non può farlo.

Delle scadenze, prelievi e versamenti.

Della pura tristezza che è diventato vivere qui dove sono nata.

Non sono pensieri veri, no.

Piuttosto un rumore di fondo, una sinfonia distorta fra il desiderio e la melanconia di notti passate allo smartphone solo per comunicare con Ti.

Di voglia di scappare via dove respirare non è solo dovere di tutti i giorni ma emozione.

Non erano pensieri definiti.

Ma la freccia di direzione per salire in tangenziale l’ho messa e la Chevrolet darling ha ubbidito mentre la lanciavo in corsa ed iniziava a piovere ancora.

La verità è che non ho un motivo per guidare così tanto o così a lungo oggi.

Ma i serbatoi Gpl e Benzina segnano entrambi il full e se solo potessi davvero…

Ed guardo l’asfalto avanti a me, un occhio sul retrovisore e l’altro sui cartelli per l’autostrada.

E Lana che mi accompagna in un viaggio anche mentale in pensieri che non sono veri pensieri ma hanno spessore e intento.

Perché sono ancora in strada ora, l’abitacolo buio e la pioggia che ticchetta sul vetro e quella cosa senza nome che mi fa spingere il piede sull’acceleratore.

Quel pensiero che fa di nome Ti e che…oh, she always knows…

Blue Hydrangea

Cold cash, divine

Cashmere, cologne and white sunshine…

The Depth of Now

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

thedihedral.wordpress.com/

Climbing, Outdoors, Life!

The Renegade Press

Tales from the mouth of a wolf

Discover

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)

INTJ:Break-The-Chain

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!

Doduck

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”

RUMORE

Interferenze radio e disturbi di segnale

Tea Leaves and Reads

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

Mathew Lyons

WRITER & HISTORIAN

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]

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.

dodicirighe

...di più equivale a straparlare.

Vivoescrivo

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