Tag Archive: wandering on the dark path


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.

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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.

Some days I’m myself.
Other days there’s a filter.
Or anger.
Or fake smiles.
Or brutal honesty.
Or the look that tells you to shut up and take your ass far far away from me.
Then there is my depressive mode and in those days I’m not myself.
I can be moulded and suppressed.
And the stories become true.
I write the worlds deep beneath the oil, the slickest the best.
The kind of dirt that sticks permanently under your nails.
Petroleum is the river.

2534

Apparently I wrote about something already existing in the realm of touch…
Linds suffers from lack of touch and the definition is quite true and frightening eye-opening in his case.

Touch starvation is actually a thing. The term for it that’s emerging in medical/psych circles is “skin hunger”. We as humans are meant to be much more social- and especially physically social – than we actually are, and Americans in particular are often touch starved because the casual, platonic contact that often happens between friends in other places just. Does not happen here.

There’s a really Puritan idea that’s pervaded our culture, that touch and sex are inherently linked, and it’s doing us a massive disservice. Touch is incredibly important for humans- hugs reduce blood pressure, cuddling releases oxytocin, and babies will straight up DIE without being touched enough because the stimulation releases hormones that are integral to their healthy development.

We were never meant to hold one another at arm’s length, and if you feel you need physical contact, don’t be afraid to ask for it! Hug your mom. Cuddle a friend on the couch. Ask.
There’s a good chance that they need contact just as much as you do.

Because Linds was never held in the arms of his mother and – in a sterile environment such as an orphanage – there is no space to give affection to all.
Linds lives in the shadow of its ghosts and I could almost pinpoint with certainty the moment in his life when he realizes that the touch of someone can happen and he discovers the hunger for it.
He doesn’t expressly like touch but turns out to be dependent from it and has the knowledge that touch is not necessarily tied to the deepest feelings.

If we take as true the statements above is incredibly sad to think that ‘his touch rations’ are derived mainly from encounters with people who do not form any deep imprint in his life.
I shudder at the part

babies will straight up DIE without being touched enough because the stimulation releases hormones that are integral to their healthy development’

Somehow I created a ‘monster’…in fact Linds survives his infancy alone with the help (damnation?) of his own IQ.
There’s acually a place in ASTTL, in the very early chapters were in a flashback Linds says ‘Since then, the brat was dead.  And basically I think he had never been born.’
My skin is actually crawling now the more I think about the internal layered structure of his psyche.
As a baby his thoughts were already complex enough to instinctually understand the magnitude of betrayal he was victim of.
Linds could have died not from frostbite but for heartbreak.
He could have stopped fighting for his life.
He choosed not to.
He is strong enough as a ‘brat’ to say on his own: ‘Fuck YOU! I’m going to live, to thrive, to suffer AND rise from the mud.’

And now I see him with new eyes and a newfound love…as someone would say GO LINDOR! LoL

It’s time

There are words in front of my eyes, finally. And I’m crying.

The time has come to finish something at least. I will not back down until I have an end.

2015

When your particular taste for dark things finds the perfect time to be known and every step is dragged into pitch.

Any unborn words swallowed down whole like unused weapons meant to rust.

The last chime is heard and the gate starts to close.

And you need something to keep you from wandering.
And you search for the atmosphere.
Searching for the absolute meaning of magical…=D
Tarja…this one is incredible!

Tarja – Medusa di tarjacoloursinthedark

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