Tag Archive: writing


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

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

That’s disgusting.

Rolling my eyes, putting one earphone on.

I tell you what’s disgusting: the level of noise in this goddamn city!

Noise…what noise?

I watch him for a full split second like he sprouted a second head.

Then I shake mine and start to walk past blaring clacsons, people shouting on their smartphones held far from them, dogs barking and messiahs preaching the end of something.

My notepad still totally pristine…proof of continuous interruptions.

The place where I come from is the total opposite of this hellhole.

People here fear silence or essential harmony.

They fear everything different than noise.

Sound of life gone to waste makes you deaf.

Mercifully coddling you into one direction and this one only.

I hate this city.

You couldn’t hear a coin drop in water.

Or a person scream.

1 § 2 § 3 § 4

Poised with a dilemma there are many roads you can take.

Steel cages and wings, yours to decide and mine to debate.

Still too much noise in my ears, unbearable city.

Wonderful in its diversity, unfeeling but supreme.

Time in double speed, piano strings waterfall.

Exquisite food that I can’t tuck into.

No one could eat with someone watching, waiting to strike.

The ice-blue in those eyes stepping onto my bones, grinding my teeth.

Done with this, chair creaks backwards.

Question time…shoot.

He looks surprised, taken back from a dirty dream.

Smile on my lips, napkin on my legs, no doubt it was dirty.

Won’t you eat?

A look, that’s all I need to shut him up.

I have a regret in front of me.

The perfect steak on my plate.

Bloody and rare.

Going cold.

1 § 2 § 3

2/? Mind gap

City of steel and glass.

Madhouse.

No way I will sleep.

It wasn’t fate, no.

It was human error.

Mismatched rooms…it looked too good to be true.

Still too tired, barely awake, perfectly able to comprehend.

A new key and already the thought of sleep.

Pair of ice-blue eyes, unintelligible.

I would like to buy you dinner.

Do I want to? Would I like it? How the heck could I know?

The depths I can’t see, things I don’t know.

Words out of my mouth with no filter. Now it’s too late.

He doesn’t smile, not with his eyes. Tomorrow then. I insist.

Thought process of a split second that feels like a whole bloody month of accusations.

Yes.

1 § 2

1/? Water

Another big town.

Same set of eyes, journey made of thoughts.

Streetlights on, shops never closed.

Avenues and bridges over water singing in the rain.

A pristine notepad in my Eastpak, stages in the back of my mind.

Earphones thunder loud in my ears.

For this city is noise and life, chaos unordered.

No void corner to hide, no place to park.

High palaces in the cloudy sky.

And the rain…oh the rain.

Low is my voice underwater for I’m sure

I’ll see you still with no light.

Laugh God.

1 § 2

Sto riascoltando i Nightwish dopo un’assenza di anni dalle mie playlist giornaliere.

E come tornare indietro di dieci anni per me (li avevo scoperti per caso fra il 2008 e il 2009).

O ancora più indietro, negli anni della mia infanzia a passare la notte con una torcia, un atlante e il naso rivolto all’insù per scovare le costellazioni.

Gli anni che ho passato ad ascoltarli on repeat quando il mondo aveva perso tutti i colori.
Quando io non sapevo più chi ero in realtà e tutto ciò che aveva un senso risiedeva proprio lì nelle mani di Tuom e compagni.

Sembra impossibile eppure i NW mi entusiasmano ancora adesso, adesso che sono lontana anni luce e ad ascoltarli mi viene la pelle d’oca.

Ho riletto DOR in parallelo ed è stato un connubio perfetto.

Quella fic, tutto il tempo speso a scriverla, tutte le notti passate a chiedermi che senso aveva quando in realtà ero totalmente incapace di prendere in mano ciò che restava della mia vita.

Sorrido ora nel pensare che DOR ha avuto un discreto successo solo perché ho vissuto per scrivere quella storia.

Allora non volevo ammetterlo ma ora non mi vergogno più: se non l’avessi scritta probabilmente non sarei qui a parlarne oggi.

Ho incontrato anche molte persone allora, persone che oramai non ho più sentito da un po’ ma è ok…eravamo unite da un comune amore per i NW e son sicura che nessuno di noi proverebbe niente se non un po’ di malinconia nel guardar indietro ma con un sorriso sulle labbra per tutto quello che abbiamo condiviso.

Sto guardando le stelle stanotte, un bel po’ più a Nord dell’ultima volta.

L’aria è umida e si fa tardi.

E Tuomas Holopainen ha sempre ragione su tutta la linea.

Story of your life
Time of solitude and strife
Freedom of an open road
Hope, and many miles to go
Promises to keep
Countless goldfields to reap
To be rich is to seek
To relive a memory

All the strangers on your path
Crossroads, the letters from home
The cooling embers of a Yuletide hearth
All the sounds of wilderness
The truth in which you roamed
Now your lost Rosebud has brought you back home

[Tuomas Holopainen ~ A lifetime of Adventure]

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.

 

Update

UT al capitolo 20! =)

Update

UT è al capitolo 19 ora….buona lettura!

Update

UT è al capitolo 18 ora….buona lettura!

30/30

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.

Fin

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

29/?

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?

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