Tag Archive: That snow road where answers are silent


4560

Into an eclipse we run.

Not scared, barely able to breathe.

Sunlight black.

Keep the car running, never look back.

For distance is nothing when you’re not counting it with miles.

Time looks up, pushes you down, drops venom between your eyes.

No, we will never stop.

There is no shore, no security, no wings.

Only a one-way road in front of us.

We will die on a mirror, searching for truth and lies.

 

Annunci

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! 😭

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Estate.
Molti dicono che l’estate può essere solo una, frenetica, troppo corta nella maggior parte dei casi.
Sono tutte balle.

Tre anni fa (cavolo…già così tanti?!) le mie estati erano lunghe e scure, soli obliqui che foravano sentieri di terra sotto le suole delle mie scarpe da ginnastica. Posti ombrosi dove gli alberi cigolavano sinistri ed io, io che mi isolavo da quella natura a tratti pericolosa con Metal e Nightwish e Soprani al volume massimo, cercando di bruciare tutta la rabbia che mi sentivo addosso con la voglia di pericolo e di scoprire ciò che avevo intorno. Ho battuto quei boschi palmo a palmo con ‘metodo’, la mia personale follia.

Quando ero bambina la mia estate era come un pomeriggio che non finiva mai, un sole che ti abbaglia anche se sei all’ombra, un quadrato d’erba chiuso da soffocarci dentro, trattenendo il respiro sotto l’acqua gelida di un pozzo. Pezzi di ambra chiara e cristallina che cola dalla corteccia e frutti dolci come il miele sporti a penzoloni dagli alberi.
Mattine seduta al sole sul balcone della casa dei miei, quasi invisibile in mezzo ai vasi della mamma. E sere a guardare affascinata le lame luminescenti di rifrazione della luce che si proiettano al tramonto dove il sole non scende. Colori che non dovrebbero esserci eppur ci sono per un brevissimo momento, proprio come stasera.
Ed i temporali, io furtiva che osservavo i fulmini cercando di scorgere la regina ed il suo calesse, mai davvero impaurita e più che mai curiosa.

La noia totale e completa delle mie estati quando ero adolescente, non finivano mai.
Lancette praticamente bloccate con l’attack macinando chilometri tutti i giorni sulla Renault 21, desiderando poterla guidare…='(

L’anno scorso, la mia prima estate con Ti, la mia prima estate al volante della Chevrolet darling.
Quando diviene tutto di colpo possibile ed l’ultimo pizzico di negativismo se ne và, quasi magicamente tanto che t’aspetti che sia uno di quei sogni in cui sei convinto di saper volare e poi cadi dal letto facendo i conti con la dura realtà xD

Questa estate?
È iniziata non proprio col botto ma promette bene, diciamo così.
La mia Chevrolet, l’amore meccanico della mia vita, che ringhia e accelera come una invasata quando la guido già con la punta del piede. Un mostro che adoro e che Titan teme LOL
Io amo andare veloce, non è mai stato un caso.

I miei quando avevo 14 anni: “Lo vuoi il motorino?”
Io adolescente di poche parole ma previdenti e decise: “E che me ne faccio? A scuola ci vado a piedi, e comunque è meglio la macchina.”

E Ti.
Oh Ti.
Il fautore della trasformazione.
Senza di lui non sarei tornata io e, se potessi farlo, gli direi quello che non dico ma penso 7/24/365 ormai.
Ci ho provato ma non mi esce.
Sembro quasi uno di quei pesci da acquario, mi sconforta ed infuria il non riuscire ad esprimermi liberamente.
Un anno.
Più ci penso più mi sale il panico ed una dolcezza che trabocca nella mia gola e mi porta il magone.

Quando lo guardo, a lungo, forse anche disperatamente.
Come ieri, nella luce del giorno che finisce mentre ci rilassiamo in terrazza e si gode il suo whisky con ghiaccio ed io la mia vodka alla menta con limone.
Se ne accorge, ricambia il mio sguardo.
Il peggio è che lo sa.
Sa perfettamente cosa vorrei dirgli e, con estremo tatto, fa finta di nulla.
Sorride e mi lascia un bacio sulla tempia, il suo braccio sulle mie spalle.

Stop time, I want this present to last a-while.

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.

I’ll always be a chrysalis, saving my colours for a better, sunnier day.
In summer I shall sleep in the darkness of my homeward woods, lulled by the cries of the prey.
Shadows and shades of green, peaceful slumber for a never-would-be butterfly.

In winter ego is the furnace of my worlds.
I write to shape them, countless rules bound to my imagination.
I am living hundreds of years just by finding the best path to turn on.
From night to morning, stoking up the flames.
Never once lonely, always thrilled by the chase for perfection.

Still I am the orchid that will blossom but never flower, untouched by time.
In wintry silence the blooms will dry up and fall, nourish the soil where I took root.
I don’t need many things to survive but the ones I consider vital I shall always protect.

I hear the marching flood.
I still fear the black irate waters in my dreams.
But now, like that damned river, I found my sea.
This year the strand is nearer and someday I will return ashore.
Of steel will be my veins and pleasant I shall be no more.

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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

2794

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.

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Somedays I dream
And somedays I find
Somedays I sing
And other days I stay silent
Some nights I ask myself what I left behind
And all the echos of doubt recede like mist in October Mornings.
Train lulls into a peaceful slumber of Amber…
In my mind’s eye you’re seated in front of me.
After so many years, so many seasons gone
Still there like the Sphinx and her riddles

2675

Un piccolo appunto per ricordarmi che avete fatto bene.

Se non l’aveste fatto non avrei mai avuto il coraggio di lasciarvi indietro e rimettere le radici nella terra buona, agganciarsi alla roccia.

Non sarei mai riuscita ad scrivere di affetto ed amicizia ed l’infatuazione e l’amore e l’odio e il tradimento e la gelosia e tutte le piccole cose che rendono un paio di paragrafi vita.

Lasciarmi cadere è stato il regalo più bello che mi abbiate mai fatto.

[actually written Sunday afternoon in a painful moment of clarity]

I’m feeling misguided anger but for once I’m hesitant to act on it.

I’m not happy to see things taken, but I am, because old valuable pieces need to live through many human existences and see happiness and prosperity anew every few decades.

With this thought comes the realization that I’m lost to this new shade of future: it’ll be of course a place into time but I’ll rarely see it and through the life of someone else.

Still know that I’m happy of a happiness without warmth but deep-seated in my blood.

Brother is unknown to me and only now I discover how lost, how true, how damaged a blood bond could be with carelessness. (my absence of thought, impudence, impulsiveness and egotistical tendencies)

That’s why I shall love the punishment and I’ll never ask in any way or form.

To me, for me there’s only left a still, quiet place to look from and nothing else.

I understand Brother, and you won’t hear me say a hurtful thing.

Be happy, Brother of mine and live this new difficult life ahead of you.

In the past I always said I never wanted a brother and now I see the foolishness of my ways, the idiocy.

I’m a wreck but I still wish you happiness, truthfulness and goodness.

Absolution is something I will never receive nor do I really want when too many bells have already tolled.

For the world’s more full of weeping
Than you can understand.

2346

Time is ticking out to a place I never thought of.

It’s quite weird to lose oneself into some form of memory induced dream, then let reality kick you in the face.

I’m not going to regret things I never wanted in the first place, but the possibility of them will hunt me till my last days on this Earth.

Even the ones I let go because I never truly felt to deserve.

I have many regrets, one of them is You.

I still dream of you after ten years and, when it angered me beyond my wits for your betrayal, now I find my anger is gone and I can see you for what you were.

Better than me, witty, patient and deserving of a good life.

I’m not going to let you find me, if you ever searched that is.

The longest span of my ultimate plan to give you freedom, at the very least.

I  was unworthy (still am) and today I shall remember you and hope for your happiness.

One thing only remains and I will leave it where I confessed it to myself after all this time.

I will let us lay and fester under the fragrant shade of roses and wisterias.

And someday I will follow my impractical dreams into the soil.

There was a viaduct in my recurrent memories as a child.
It’s still there actually, with his decrepit grey cement and lampposts never lit.
At night it was a dark ominous thing to look at from the windshields and the last big sign that we were a very little distance from home.
I always feared it to fall down when we passed under it.

The high pine trees and silvery cedars you could see from the windows of my parent’s home became ugly, horned monsters able to eat me whole during winter storms, lit in cold fire by lightning.

The green light that will filter under the door beside my little bed in Grandmother’s old house when the church’s clock struck the twelfth hour. I never slept well while there, my eyes fixed on the key inside the keyhole that always seemed to turn a fraction more.

The irrational fear of the dark I had for a long long time, until I discovered that real terror very seldom hides in darkness.

A very curios saying that sticked with me was this, and they told it to me so often it became a beautiful mysterious story: when a storm was approaching/going away the many thunders were the hooves of Devil’s horses as he was taking his bored Queen for a ride over the clouds.
I think it’s a family thing because no-one I know seem to recognize it.
It was and still is incredibly poetic to me.
I passed many a storm looking up, searching for glimpse of that mythical (to my eyes) coach with black horses and the glossy opals of the Queen.

These were my fables, still deep waters under a broken bridge to be never rebuilt.

What were yours?

[Background Music: Beethoven – Moonlit Sonata + train home]

2200

I used to be a strange child.

In the summers I looked at the landscape under the scorching sun from the shadows.

In winter I read endless books about beautiful days, my feet tucked between the bed and the heater to stave off the cold. Often I was bored to tears by the longest talks between brothers and sisters on Sundays.

Spring was just a glimmer of dry cerulean sky.

Autumn was the time of the year I never step foot out due to the rain so I read, there was little else to be done.

Always secluded in a big quadrilater of green grass, closed by tall walls and a heavy iron gate. I rarely played with someone ‘cause they were no other children my age and I was forbidden to go out.

I read several hours a day, and I dreamed vivid dreams.

I never felt alone in my world.

I actually started to see other children only at five years old and my seclusion showed: I was not capable of instaurate friendships, I did not understand a inch of what the other children thought (and I came to the conclusion pretty soon that children my age did not think at all)

I was an introvert to the highest degree.

So I became an extrovert to not feel different and that’s what caused the “Tendencies to be a leader” note of the teachers in first grade. The leader was not me, but I could act pretty well the role for five hours a day.

Still I never really connected with people my age, it was a rarity to invite someone home or go play with other children.

Sometimes when someone came to my house to play I had to put a straight face and play with them but after a while I just stopped to be responsive and dismissed them to their own world, bored to death.

This cycle never really stopped I just ceased the extrovert persona at twelve when I understood there was no point in stressing.

I was different, end of story.

I loathe to have friendships now. They never did me any good or be useful in any way.

The only real delight to me is putting my thoughts on paper with the clarity of silence.

A pleasure greater than this I honestly still don’t know.

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