shelter

When the sun shines, we’ll shine together
Told you I'll be here forever
Said I'll always be a friend
Took an oath I'ma stick it out till the end
Now that it's raining more than ever
Know that we'll still have each other
You can stand under my umbrella
You can stand under my umbrella

i leave my bed unmade

i leave my bed unmade
every time i enter the room, someone different is making it
someone who stays for a while
sharing a word
or just a gaze
worth a million discourses
we speak the language of dreams
they come from distant days
wearing clothes weaved with tears
of abandonment and fear
they enter with the breeze of summer days
of a world that doesn't exist
the leftovers of dreamless nights
companions of fearless times
ghosts of long-gone days
they don't stay long (i wonder why)
but after all
they never leave

how much for a ride?

spinning carousel returns the same old horse again
ramble on and on, the thoughts that fill my head
sometimes i wake up, there's nothing there but emptiness
so i search myself for what there was to do
cause she was his lover, she was his friend / he was her everything, someone to depend / when she wakes up in the mornin', and all his things are gone / she looks into the mirror, thinkin' what did i do wrong? [...] everyday has its ups and downs, you think you're lost, you will be found / most of us want the same old things, someone to love, what it brings / i know it's hard, it gets tough sometimes, you gotta hold on, like a carousel / going around and around and around and around...

follow the light

prison break

trapped

tempus fugit

4/7

of something

so precious
so unique
so beautiful

all is left

is ashes

'cause you bleed red and so do i

h2o

cold water, cleaning my wounds
a side parade, with a single balloon
i'm done with this, i'm counting to ten
blue as seas, running to them

i feel like i am watching everything from space
and in a minute i hear my name and i wake
i think the finish line's a good place we could start
take a deep breath, take in all that you could want

til it runs dry

i never knew the taste of blood till now
it's clear i never should have known
breathing fire was never this much fun
so there's a dark side in us all

keep walking

the only way out is through
the faster we're in, the better
the only way out is through
ultimately

protect me

i can't fly
when it rains

save me

don't let me
drown

ohm is where the heart is

I couldn't tell you why she felt that way.
She felt it everyday.

Her feelings she hides. Her dreams she can't find.
She's losing her mind. She's fallen behind.
She can't find her place. She's losing her faith.
She's fallen from grace. She's all over the place.

She wants to go home, but nobody's home.
It's where she lies, broken inside.
With no place to go, no place to go to dry her eyes.
Broken inside.

20/20

this fountain of regret,
this looking back with twenty-twenty
torturous hindsight
if i knew then what i know now
this mountain of remorse
won’t repeat with my understanding
this wouldn’t have happened
if i knew then what i know now

cycles

when i remember bygone days
i think how evening follows morn;
so many i loved were not yet dead,
so many i love where not yet born

[o.n.]

cum tacent, clamant

hopefully...

... today it will be over.

somewhere, over the rainbow...

los angeles

[photo by john hesketh]



i want to be an angel...

~ two suicides ~

roadside

and tell me how i'm supposed to feel
when all these nightmares become real
'cause i don't know
...
so leave me on the roadside
and hang me up and out to dry

[r.a.]

if you could read your life
like a story written by someone else

what would you tell yourself to do?

the ghost post

what do you do when you have an image that would pair perfectly with a portion of text...
and you cannot use either? why? because it gives it away, because it would take vulnerability to a whole new level and i don't think my skin's thick enough for that. yet.
you get this: a ghost post. and every time i look at it, i'll think of the unposted photo and the unposted text, one floating before my eyes, the other whispered in my ear. what will you think of?
or a sign. of? or is it yet another one i'm imagining?

depending. on whether you take the ghost post as something you want to say, but don't have the words for, or take it as the sign that you should not even bother looking for them.

follow?

if heaven and hell decide
that they both are satisfied
illuminate the no's
on their vacancy signs
if there's no one beside you
when your soul embarks
then i'll follow you into the dark

i'll follow you into the dark

objects in the rearview mirror...

... may appear
nicer
than they are...

e il naufragar m'e' dolce in questo mare?

tu portami via
dai giudizi cattivi
da questo abbrutirsi
dentro a riti banali
insegnami come si fa
a non sentirsi di troppo
e a non avere sempre dentro
il mare d'inverno

life isn’t about
waiting for the storm
to pass.

it’s about
learning
to dance
in the rain.


vuoi ballare?

E-soul

I listed my soul on eBay. I set a very high reserve price (the secret one, the minimum acceptable amount to be reached for the sale to take place). I can let you in on it: a million euros. I got the idea from an old Peppone and don Camillo movie. The priest persuades a communist to sell his soul for a thousand liras, “since you don’t believe it exists anyway.” In the end, the man begs the priest to sell his soul back to him. I was sure of myself, even though I had just finished reading an interview to an (alleged) actress, titled: “Even clams have a soul.” She wasn’t a mussel, so what did she know?

Right after I listed my item, I started getting the first small offers. The usual curious, penniless folks. However, someone posted about it on blogs, and soon it appeared on websites, TV, and even newspapers. “A guy is selling his soul on eBay.” Offers started pouring in. 300,000 from Colin Powell, who lost his own convincing the UN that Saddam was preparing the atomic bomb. 400,000 from Alan Sorrenti, who used to be a serious singer. 800,000 from Berlusconi, “then I’ll give it back to him, poor chap, I do it for him, in my infinite kindness.” 850,000 from the Pope, because one thing is to evoke something, another is to show it in a glass jar from the window in St. Peter’s (“p.s.: I’ll pay double for the whole Trinity”). Finally, one million, as I wanted. From an unknown buyer. The devil, most likely.

I got an empty box, put a bow on it and sent it to the buyer’s p.o. box. I got credited a million euros on my bank account. The day after I, I, bought a small boat, a Ferrari, a Rolex, ten tailored suits and a platinum nose-hair trimmer. At that stage I realized that, believe it or not, I had, after all, sold my soul.

[http://www.repubblica.it/2003/g/rubriche/naviinbottiglia/e-soul/e-soul.html]

you're not a person, you're a disease

you made me regret being helpful
you made me regret being forgiving
you made me regret giving another chance
you made me regret trying to forget
you made me regret being patient
you made me regret trying to do the right thing
you made me regret being me

all this life that you've been taking
deep inside, my heart is breaking
broken home from separation
don't you know it's violation?
it's so wrong, but you'll see
never gonna let you take my world from me
the world outside these walls may know you're breathing
but you ain't comin' in

when (and if) the cracks in the shield become wide enough, when i can't contain it anymore, when it starts to ooze, you better brace yourself.
it's coming.
it's after you.
and it won't be pretty.

'nuff said

i know, i know, it's shameless self-celebration. whatever.
but you know what? made me laugh.
and that, in and of itself, is quite an accomplishment.
(the fact that it was written on a semi-official document definitely adds to the hilarity)

1

you saved my life
i wasn't there to save yours

i'm sorry

i hope you can forgive me
because i know i can't forgive myself

buio

hardly more than a blind woman
sitting alone, silently, in a dark room
senses alert, looking for a black cat
searching for something which isn't there

vibrate

my phone's on vibrate for you

god knows what all these new drugs do

i guess to have no more fears

but still i always end up in tears

[r.w.]

the verge is a few frustrations to your left

it's in times like this that i wish i had the linguistic (and mental) ability to regurgitate all the anger and frustration and... and what? if i can't even put it into words. and why anger? against who? frustration, well, maybe. sit at a table, smile, be my better self, introduce myself with witty expressions that will make you smile and maybe even think i'm funny but i'm just trying to... to do what? the message is not in the words, read between the lines ~ why do you want to know who i am? what i do? it's inconsequential, i despise what i do, and what i really do, nobody knows, it's mine, do you really think i care about this? that your pretentious, empty words really make you important in my eyes? that i will look at you in awe? that what you do matters to me? that your pompous abstract lucubrations define who you are? i know that my priorities don't match yours, what you deem so lifesaving, your seemingly vital meetingspaperstheorybusinessbureaucracymoneyappearances and whathaveyou, hey, be my guest, i can gladly do without that, i'll trade all of it for a pair of eyes and a smile, the unmediated, raw, gut-wrenching, heartbreakingly painful, tear-jerkingly sad human side of life, the only (valuable?) trace i want to leave of me ~
leave a mark, sell an image. i'm not good at that. it's heartbreaking to be so fake at times. i swim in my green glass, anchored to the bright, plasticky red of a solitary cherry. no pit, we match. self-involved or self-pitying, the difference at times is so thin, see-through like an indian blouse that shines in an unforgiving sun. i want to be saved by tea. i know i was supposed to offer, but i didn't, and i feel guilty now
stop hinting at it, will ya? stop looking at me, will ya?
but at the same time, i can't let her in
please stop, dinner is turning into a nightmare, stop
i can't take it, it's overwhelmingly saccharine. i can drown in lemons, not in sugar. if only they were red. and my nose stopped bleeding. overflow?

sanity is relative.

leaps

what do you make of a day that doesn't exist?

how do you go through it knowing that for the next three years it will be nothing but a click of a clock's arms? that it will not last longer than the blink of an eye? a breath on your lips? an instance, barely intense (or long) enough to be remembered past the initial awe.

and yet, here you are, living through it as if it were a real day, like any other on the calendar, to mark off as yet one more slice of life silently buried in time past.

what if it was just a dream? and for one day, only one, time stood still, and nothing else mattered?

what if.

take a leap.
of faith.

i never had poetry dedicated to me
or a song.
if you had to give me one,
which would it be?

last shot

time to go

gather momentum

find your balance

aim

good luck

the end

score

after all

that's the goal

or so it seems

T.B.C...

if you say so...

so many plays


so little space

T.B.C...

ready when you are

patiently

waiting

T.B.C...

pick your goal

the coast is clear ~ nobody interferes

one puck ~ color's irrelevant

two goals ~ alike yet different

it's your choice ~ nobody else's


which will you pick?







(part 1 of a short thread dedicated to roller hockey ~ not good enough for a project, but satisfying enough to share)

T.B.C...

cold

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps through my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight
In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie
You’re in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here

[sml]

di carezza in carezza

di certezza in stupore
tutta questa bellezza senza navigatore
come se gli angeli fossero lì
a dire che si
e' tutto possibile

[l.l.]

flowery skies

interesting light effects...
is it still "homely"...





... from atop a wooden chair...
... even when seen through tears?

disposable

perishable


recyclable


...

the slow winter of the soul

this is my december
this is my snow covered home
this is my december
this is me alone

this is my december
these are my snow covered dreams
this is me pretending
this is all i need

and i just wish that i didn't feel
like there was something i missed

and i’d give it all away
just to have somewhere to go to

[l.p.]

In Caelo et In Terra fiat Voluntas Tua - Gloria Spiritu Sancto

What language do You speak/If You speak at all?
Are You some kind of freak/Who lives to raise the ones who fall?
Hey, would You tell me why/The cat fights the dog?
Do You go to the Mosque/Or the Synagogue?
And if our fates have all been/wrapped around Your finger
And if You wrote the script then/why the troublemakers?
How do You do?/How does it feel to be so high?
And are You happy?/Do You ever cry?

[I sometimes cry]

You've made mistakes/Well that's ok 'cause we all have
If I forgive Yours/Will You forgive mine?

{s.}

marketing 101

"identify your target audience"

Oh, I'll get by with a little help from my friends

Yes, I'll get high with a little help from my friends

I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends

Merry...

3, or 4, 430, even 5...
O-h so way much better than santa...
[guess what letter i'm thinking 'bout?]

~ iris 236 ~

this rain doesn't come so often,
and these tears are just the same.
it's not the things that haunt me,
but those that have left, i blame.
beneath the forest's gaze,
the wind's hymn does play.
saving up what's left of its strength,
for the hope of a better day.
and here i've been waiting,
under this ancient sky.
waiting for the perfect moment,
to finally say goodbye.

[jackie pastrama]

sean, you always said that you'd beat this, in life or in death, you would beat this. as it was pointed out today, by many, you did, in fact, beat it ~ it destroyed your body, but it never managed to destroy your spirit.

farewell, angel among angels. you will be missed.

~ Requiem for a Friend ~

Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone

Close your eyes
And bow your head
To rest your soul
And to praise the dead

Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone

Dry your eyes
And stand upright
Put a smile on your face
He wouldn't want us to cry

The sun will rise
The stars will shine
Turning day to dusk
And night to dawn
We'll pass on
But until that time

Say Hallelujah
Hallelujah
Say Hallelujah
Hallelujah

Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone

Have mercy
It's a wonderful life
Eternal rest for the weary
Mourners party tonight

Say Hallelujah
Throw up your hands
The bucket is kicked
The body is gone

Wave your hands
But don't say goodbye
We're all gonna meet you
On the other side

[t.c.]

~23~

Farewell, sweet Sean.
You will be missed.

[12/9/84 - 12/9/07]

11

In Memoriam: M.R. 1/8/76 - 12/9/96

And when I chose to live
There was no joy - it's just a line I crossed
It wasn't worth the pain my death would cost
So I was not lost or found

[...]

'Cause when you live in a world
Well it gets into who you thought you'd be
And now I laugh at how the world changed me
I think life chose me after all

[but you already know this, you were there]

I'll leave my window open
Cause I'm too tired tonight
To call your name
Just know I'm right here hoping
You'll come in with the rain

say your goodbyes, hold on to the memories

I don’t pretend to have the answer to this.
What do you do when there’s nothing else to do? What do you do when all hope is gone and only a machine is keeping them alive? I find myself irremediably torn between the impossibility of letting them go, and the unbearable sadness of seeing them suffer. If on the one hand I love them too much to see them suffer, and wish they weren’t in pain anymore, on the other hand I just can’t let go. I just can’t. In both occasions, it wasn’t my call. What would I have done, had I been a mother? A sister? A wife?
A few days ago, after visiting him again in the hospital, I wrote this:

~the deepest cut is the desperate cry for help in the eyes of a friend, the request you cannot honor, that leaves you powerless in the wake of an unavoidable tragedy~

I have seen this before, and it’s still perfectly clear in my memory. The evil that gnaws away at them, little by little, eating away the hope as well. It’s tragic in any situation, but when it touches you, when it hits home, and when it affects people who have barely entered their twenties, well, it’s just plain cruel. Very selfishly, I know, I say that it is cruel. But I have no other way to say it. It’s plain and simply unfair.
And who do you blame? What do you do? How do you cope? I have seen people smile, people laugh, people pray. I sat there. Frozen. I can’t smile. Let alone laugh. I really don’t know how to pray. And even though at times casting blame is a way to overcome grief, what can you blame in this case? Or who? Whose fault is this?
So, unable to do anything else, I just sat there. And I remembered.

Remembered two people who had their entire lives in front of them. Both very smart, bright young men, strong, healthy, generous, loving. I remembered their strength, their determination in the face of the greatest obstacles, their willingness never to give up, their wonderful smiles, the ability to joke, laugh and have fun even when they would have had every right to be bitter, every right to complain, to be spiteful.

In my memories, I held their hands, heard their voices, looked into their eyes, laughed with them. I remembered their legacy: their strength. The compassion. The faith. The love for life. No matter what.

When you have a problem that seems insurmountable, when you feel like the world is falling apart, that everything is crumbling down around you, and you find no way out, please take a moment and think about them. Think about those two young men. And feel blessed – if anything, because you are still here, healthy and alive, with the possibility to do all you desire. With friends who care about you, who are there for you.

I’m here for you.

the smell of hospitals in winter...

... and the feeling that it's all a lot of oysters,
but no pearls...

i wish i knew how to pray.
i just know how to hope.