projections

the more i read other people's blogs, especially friends', the more i realize that i am fundamentally introverted in my writings, when and if said writings see the light of screen. i am not able to see the big picture those friends see. i am unable to discuss wider topics such as politics, music, literature, philosophy; rather i focus on small topics such as… my thoughts. i limit my inquisitive self to what is going on inside said self. maybe because it seems that there's enough going on in here that i can't possibly begin to examine what is going on out there. i don't watch movies to discuss or analyze them to the smallest detail; i don't read books with the purpose of reviewing every paragraph. my deconstruction works inwards rather than outwards. i am certainly inspired by their style of writing, and read them out of interest - but at the end of the day, i fall back inside the realm of the self - *my* self - and look around to see what i find. and those movies and books are more of a means to be distracted rather than challenged.

[i think all day long, please, for a moment, dear movie/book, entertain me]

am i less of a valuable person if i don't listen to NPR? if i don't post about national health care or fuel-efficient vehicles? if i don't know the capitals of every sub-Saharan nation? will i be labeled as ignorant if i can't recognize different meat cuts? or clothes styles? or make-up shades? am i less interesting if i can't remember movie directors? or can't name more than 5 russian novelists? less of a woman if i don't care about purses and shoes? that does not mean that i float in blissful oblivion. i read. i do my best to keep up with what is going on around me, and on a larger scale, in the world. i keep up with the news, at least until they disgust me and make me feel so small and insignificant, the classic speck of dust on this giant floating rock, that i decide, once again, to retreat to safe shores.

[yes, i can fix my own computer; yes, i know how to change a tire; yes, i know how to shoot a firearm; yes, i played sports; yes, i mount my own furniture; yes, i play musical instruments. so what. i do things i like, just like you]

maybe it's because i believe that, before trying to make sense of how other people behave (or how they direct movies, or write books, or rule countries) and think, i at least have to try and make some sense of how *i* behave and think. if i am unable to make sense of *my* self, which lies here, close by, a thin layer of skin away, how would i ever be able to make sense of selves so far removed from me? selves i can't even being to comprehend, not just as bodies, but as embodiments of human beings each with their story, their background, their traditions, their upbringing, their quirks, their beliefs, their own personal disasters they deal with.

[someone once told me, be nice when you deal with people, you have your issues and problems, but they have their own too, so be respectful]

and it's hard enough to make sense of this self as it is. the ups and downs, the joys and sorrows, stairways to heaven and descents into hell, all in one day, on repeat, like an old dysfunctional juke box. it's hard enough to come up with sentences that make sense in a language in which i dream but in which i do not *feel*, to use the right words at the right time while my brain is running away to the next thought, leaving the fingers behind.

[i need lotion on these aging hands; the rough skin is starting to show signs of time. so do my eyes. so does my soul. is there lotion for the soul?]

the insightful thought of the day is that i project me/myself on people. not in terms of expectations - i hate that word - but in some kind of behavioral pattern. i dislike being by myself, so i make sure my closest friends know they are never alone. i dislike being invisible, so i make sure my closest friends know their absence is noticed. i dislike feeling like nobody cares, so i make sure my closest friends know i think about them, just a text or a call can suffice at times, no need for huge displays - as the saying goes, it's the thought that counts. i dislike not having anybody to talk to when i need it, so i make sure my closest friends know they can count on me to listen, no matter what/when/where we are. it's a total devotion they get, a "no strings attached", "you owe me nothing in return" unconditional friendly love. sadly but not unexpectedly, this dog-like (not my description) devotion has earned me quite the number of "use then toss" tickets. i call them my battle scars. i refuse to give less than this, to a very select few. do i expect them to behave the same with me? no. would i like to be treated the same way? yes. for once, for a splendidly precious once, yes. i dream of being somebody's best friend, and to be told so, as childish, sappy, weak as it may sound.

[30 years and counting, i wait, maybe someday, one day, it will happen]

in the meantime, i end up watching a funny romantic comedy.

at 4 am.

alone.

in my room.

in the dark.

[cue gut-wrenching dreams]

no

love this song, been playing it a lot lately...

fail

i fail as a teacher - for not being the one who makes them learn

i fail as a friend - for not being the one they want to talk to, or spend time with, or confide in, for always coming second (or third, or fourth, if any)

i fail as a student - for not completing my requirements, for not wanting to finish my program

i fail as a mentor - for not being able to teach what i have learnt

i fail as a lover - for not being memorable

i fail as a significant other - for not being pretty enough, or important enough, or loving enough, or lovable enough

i fail as a person - for not being good enough to get a job

i fail as an acquaintance - for not being likable enough to become a friend

i fail at so many things, it's not even funny anymore

i feel like such a waste of oxygen

double standards

money, value, availability, worth, age, happiness, love, maturity, distance, importance, time, ability, devotion, tiredness, interest, anger, truth, friendship.

i guess it's all relative.

i guess i ruined it. it was going so well.

me and my stupid mouth.

the joy of driving at night

That idea, then, is night in a nutshell: It's a universal experience that thrives on its abstract essence. Like the automobile, night is a gloriously subjective thing; because it lacks definition and clarity, it's free to be all things to all people. And there's no better way to see it than from a car.

What does it mean to us? Simple: To drive is to remind ourselves that we are alive, and to drive at night is to remind ourselves, in every sense of the phrase, that we are not asleep. So go. Roll the windows down, throw the sunglasses into the glovebox, and venture forth into blackness. It may be dark, but if you can't see the world around you, you're not looking hard enough.

[sam smith - original here]

ugh

sitting by the heater, trying to warm up.

i have protection for the cold outside, but there seems to be no solution for the ice inside.

it's like being told you only have 6 months to live. at least that is how it feels to me, right now.

what now?

when those i trust are away, offline, unreachable, or busy with something better. what now? who do i go to? only a handful of weeks left, and i sit here, alone.

what now?

let me rest among the rainbows

when i die, please spread my ashes at angel falls.

[screenshot taken from DC "planet earth" documentary]

[more about angel falls here]

hopeful new year

just like it started, it's about to end.

in solitude.

and i'm here, in my room, alone with a nice bottle of champagne. alone with chocolate pudding, made for no reason. alone with your favorite chocolates.

once again, i lost.

if not to someone else you'd rather be with, to something else you'd rather do.

lost the job opportunity i thought i had.

not good enough, for anybody, or anything, i guess.

i want to lose the ability to care.

things could have been different, with company, conversation, laughter.

support.

would have been different, if i hadn't chosen to protect you.

priorities.

could have been different, if.

wishful thinking.

but alas.

one more sip.

one more smoke.
they help to cope with the loneliness.

this is the end, beautiful friend.

this is the end, my only friend.

the end.

3...

2...

1...

gone.

disappointments are inevitable;

misery is optional.

Prayer

do not stand at my grave and weep;

i am not there, i do not sleep.

i am a thousand winds that blow.

i am the diamond glints on snow.

i am the sunlight on ripened grain.

i am the gentle autumn rain.

when you awaken in the morning's hush

i am the swift uplifting rush

of quiet birds in circled flight.

i am the soft starts that shine at night.

do not stand at my grave and cry;

i am not there, i did not die.

[12/9/96-12/9/09]

there is a light that never goes out

take me out tonight
where there's music and there's people
and they're young and alive
driving in your car
i never never want to go home
because i haven't got one
anymore

time to go

to sleep

to never wake

see you on the other side

i'll wait for you

in that fleeting moment

between slumber and awakening

where nothing hurts anymore

tried to convince myself that i didn't need it, but i guess i do; apparently it's all i have left.

how am i supposed to compete with that?

the million dollar hotel

the heart is a sleeping beauty, and love the only kiss it can't resist. even if its eyes lay open wide, there is a heart that sleeps inside. and it's to there you must be hastening. for all hearts dream, they dream only of awakening.

[tom tom - tmdh]

sanctuary

lying here in my sanctuary

days go past and it's autumn already

and i wish it would thunder

oh high up here in my sanctuary

days go past and it's autumn already

and i sit here and wonder

one can only hope

It has gradually been driven home to me that I cannot be of help to [a] troubled person by means of any intellectual or training procedure. No approach which relies upon knowledge, upon training, upon the acceptance of something that is taught, is of any use. These approaches seem so tempting and direct that I have, in the past, tried a great many of them. It is possible to explain a person to himself, to prescribe steps which should lead him forward, to train him in knowledge about a more satisfying mode of life. But such methods are, in my experience, futile and inconsequential. The most that they can accomplish is some temporary change, which soon disappears, leaving the individual more than ever convinced of his inadequacy.

The failure of any such approach through the intellect has forced me to recognize that change appears to come about through experience in a relationship … If I can provide a certain type of relationship, the other person will discover within himself the capacity to use that relationship for growth, and change and personal development will occur.

[Carl Rogers]

the way things are

in a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning, day after day

[f. scott fitzgerald]

there were days - it seems so long ago now - when waking up in the morning brought along a good feeling of willingness to go to work, spending time in class, interacting with young minds, seeing friends, spending time outside. now, waking up (and going to bed) is ridden with anguish. what-ifs float around, loud as thunder in the silence of the night, sharing their noise with car alarms, vehicles speeding on the freeway, the 2 am train, sprinklers. the hours spent in bed before sleep takes over are filled with imaginary situations, none of them positive, studying possible outcomes, possible ways out, looking for doors and safe exits.
the short walk to work has new company now. palms that get sweatier the closer i get to campus, shakier with each step. each shadow an enemy; the eyes that used to wander from plants to sidewalk now scan the surroundings from every angle, in the vane hope of foreseeing the unforeseeable. it's an unwelcome paralysis in what used to be a pleasant routine. the perception of danger is behind every blind corner, brought on by the slimmest shadows, the tiniest noise, doors closing, doors opening, voices. a safe world now infected. it's surprising what a mere presence can do to a scarred soul.
every step is now dragged, slower, calculated, the body wrapped in heavy movements, as if saving the energy for a quick defense move, a fast run, a loud scream. the only sanctuary of safety is a small room - a golden cage is still, sadly, a cage - where the ear never fails to listen, assisting a body constantly scanning the floor's slightest vibrations brought about by steps on the stairs outside. the closer they get, the faster the heartbeats. shivers leave when they fade. i sit in the dark, thinking, breathing, rationalizing; mind wandering to dark places, phone always at arm's length. eyes water unexpectedly, panic finding its way out in liquid form from every pore. i speak less. i breathe less. i eat less. i sleep less. i dream less. i laugh less. i live less. i just hide.
a debilitating sense of loneliness comes about, born from the desire to have someone here, some company, some comfort, what if what if what if. the terror of being caught alone, unprepared, would anybody hear? would anybody notice? the desire to speak, to voice all this, mangled by the dread of being perceived as pathetically exaggerating the issue. a hand stretched out meets only emptiness.


and as i smoke yet another one, looking up at the moon hiding behind eucalyptus leaves, breathing in the cold air of the late, late night, i silently, tearfully wonder what tomorrow will bring.

many years ago i had my palm read by a fortune teller. tonight, i sleeplessly lie in bed wishing she was right.

the downside of always being there to pick up the pieces is that you're easily forgotten when the job is done...

tired, sleepy, angry, frustrated, thirsty, alone, baffled, hungry, replaced, ignored, lonely, silent, used, rejected, judged, misplaced, underestimated. sadly mistaken.

und so weiter...

one step closer

i'm around the corner from anything that's real
i'm across the road from hope
i'm under a bridge in a rip tide
that's taken everything i call my own
[...]
i'm on an island at a busy intersection
i can't go forward, i can't turn back
can't see the future, it's getting away from me
i just watch the tail lights glowing

this is why i dislike to be away. silence. disconnection. it hurts. it brings up a general malaise, and i don't know what to do. locked behind a thick rubber wall. can you hear me scream? even my joints hurt under this weight. a storm brews inside. can you see the rain through my eyes?
away. removed. alone.
save me.

in so many words, ugly

"you have a boyfriend in america?"

"no gramma, i don't."

"oh, well, don't worry if nobody wants you. you don't need one anyway. it's not that you're not pretty... i guess. but don't worry, you don't need to be pretty, you have other qualities."

a miracle

Booth: Here we are, all of us. Basically alone, separate creatures, just circling each other. All searching for the slightest hint of a real connection. Some look in the wrong places; some, they just give up hope because in their mind they're thinking "Oh, there's nobody out there for me." But all of us, we keep trying over and over again. Why? Because every once in a while... every once in a while, two people meet and there's that spark. And yes, Bones, he's handsome, and she's beautiful, and maybe that's all they see at first. But making love... making love... that's when two people become one.

Bones: It is scientifically impossible for two objects to occupy the same space.

Booth: Yeah, but what's important is: we try. And when we do it right, we get close.

Bones: To what? Breaking the laws of physics?

Booth: Yeah, Bones - a miracle.

[303]

is my fate in the lines of my hands?

(original italian and french)

pointless

Before I write these annual review letters, I really need your prospectus. It does not need to be elaborate. Just 10-15 pp. plus a reasonable bibliography.

how do i tell you that i could not care less? how do i tell you that this life makes no sense to me anymore? how do i tell you that i completely lost interest in this? that, for me, it's all empty words, written without a purpose for an invisible audience? something that will not help anybody? or make anybody's life better? that my batteries ran out years ago? that i got to this point just because i didn't want to leave? that i like the kind of academic life that you so much despise? that research is pointless for me (at least in this field)? that i stay for the teaching? that it hurt to be set aside to favor someone else? that i despise all the competitiveness of this world? that i wish you found a place for me so i can stay, and not have to leave everything i hold dear? that i loved working hard but lost the pleasure for it when i was told 'we'll miss you'? what for then? so that you could pick her instead. good to know. but after all, i should be used to that feeling by now. always second choice.

beaten up

i just want this day to be over.

quick.

please.

what have i done to deserve this?

what am i lacking?

why am i not enough?

why always second best?

swirls of blue at sunrise

dazed and confused, numb, still awake at 5 am for who knows how much longer... read stuff i shouldn't have... just made it all worse than it already is... is there a bottom to this, at some point? it's silent outside, just the faint noise of cars on the freeway - where are you all going at this time of night? - and crickets, or whatever other critter makes that noise. it's a night, summery noise. summer. i like heat, but i have come to dislike summers. it was the time of year i loved the most, the time when i would go to the beach, see friends i hadn't seen in a whole year, enjoy freedom, swim, be in the water. now summer is time for silence, for distance, loneliness. now i hate summer. too much pain came from summer. and i have to go through it just to wait for the fall, just to come face to face with yet another nightmare. my world, infected, again. will i make it? will i be able to take it? will i get used to the feeling of blood freezing in my veins every time, cold sweat, muscles blocked? run away. i need to learn to run, and then start running and not stop. or get a car, and drive away. i wish i could walk to the beach now, sit by the water. i wish i didn't know how to swim. almost left. but where to go? and what for? i don't like the expiration date i have been given. i'm not an object. i feel like one. plastic. recyclable. bends, never breaks. glass core. shattered a long time ago. pick up the pieces, will you? put it together. 'we can make it better, we have the technology.' alanis as god, with a fancy skirt and long hair. like mine. would i look prettier with shorter hair? would i look pretty enough this time? thinner? taller? darker? malleable, like plastic, indeed. say what you want, you'll have it. genetically engineered perfection to fill your void. there once was something i was good at, i forgot what it was. i forgot a lot. poster child for lack of brain capacity due to sleep deprivation - hang on, i'll give you a photo. lack of short-term memory, they call it. and a scar, still there. did you know that? and everything else? the hidden, the unspoken, what i do and don't say. if you knew, what would you say? speechless, probably. more cars on the freeway - where are you going? can i go with? or am i destined to see you come, and go, and leave me behind?

on days like today i feel like such a waste of space and oxygen...

little girl, crying alone on the grass... i feel your pain.

some days

some days you wake up early, not quite rested, and can't go back to sleep. thoughts start flowing into your brain against your will, seeping like a poisonous oil that prevents you from closing your eyes and drift back into safety, into numbness. thoughts that make you realize, clear as day, like a slap on the face, what is going on, what you have been trying to avoid, what you do not want to see. thoughts that answer the call for the sign you have been waiting for. that clarity that has the uncanny, unwelcome ability to ruin days, if not weeks, at a time.

wake up call.

is it time to go?

not like anybody would notice. or care.

finally~

i always knew i was a night owl, that my brain works much better at night, in silence, away from the distraction of daylight life... it had been a long, long time since i last experienced the bliss of a) understanding, let alone b) agreeing with a scholarly piece of writing, and c) finding the inspiration to write scholarly pieces myself.

tonight, i can go to bed happy, having found:

a) an article i like, well-written, concise, to the point, clear;

b) a way to tie together my dissertation proposal;

c) an authoritative voice to help me in my battle against those who believe that translation is easy, unimportant, and unrelated to the field of comparative literature (more people than i thought, sadly...)

d) a nice incipit for the dissertation.

[and as a side note, e) produced a few pages to get the editor off my back for a couple more days]

oh joy... heh, it's a small thing, but i'll indulge in the happy moment :)

bring on the wonder

some of us

some of us laugh

some of us cry

some of us smoke

some of us lie

but it's all just the way

that we cope with our lives

?

what's worse: knowing i've been lied to, or pretending i don't know about it?

...

i tried.
and failed.
again.

don't know

don't know how to react anymore, or what to say. asked to understand and accept something that is never explained. asked to keep doing something that is always turned down. asked to quit doing something only to be berated later for having stopped. offer unconditional friendship and love, only to be told there's nobody who cares.

a tiny vessel full of questions in a silent sea. must be a bad friend for being replaced so easily and quickly, for being second choice when not third or fourth. for being so easy to let down and leave aside without remorse or second thoughts.

i'll go back on the shelf now, gathering dust til next time you decide you need me.

wings

- we can have anything!

- no, we can't. we can aspire to anything, but we don't get it just because we want it... i'd rather spend my life close to the birds rather than waste it wishing i had wings...

one liner

i: [quizzical] "a.f.i.?"

n: [matter-of-factly] "a fire inside"

i: [puzzled] "i don't understand, how can you have a fire inside?"

a: [grinning] "that's because you only talk to her"

that's right.

i can stand to be humbled. i can stand to be hurt.

but i can't stand to be humiliated.

have you seen that girl

have you seen that girl
that everybody says i used to be
have you seen that girl
where along the way did i lose me?

[l.a.w.]

[photo by sdq]

angel

people like you are the reason people (like me) still have some faith in humanity.

thank you.

and bless your kind, generous heart.

le diga, por favor, que dios le bendiga, que es nuestro angel.

tonight, you're mine, too.

speeding cars

here's the day you hoped would never come / don't feed me violins, just run with me through rows of speeding cars / the papercuts, the cheating lovers / the coffee's never strong enough / i know you think it's more than just bad luck / there, there, baby, it's just textbook stuff / it's in the ABC of growing up / now, now, darlin', oh don't lose your head / 'cause none of us were angels...

now what?

i've become that person. the one i feared i would become, years ago.

i need a me, for me. the one i wish i had had, years ago.

now what?

they'll never know

and i’m talking to myself at night
because i can’t forget
back and forth through my mind
behind a cigarette
and the message coming from my eyes
says leave it alone

[TWS]

i wasn't here

i wrote stories

i told dreams

i dreamt of wars

where did i die?

at page 200?

at 3 am?

at the outskirts of kabul?

who buried me?

the reader's hand?

my wife's caress?

the enemy's bulldozer?

when will i be born again?

in the next chapter?

with sunrise reveille?

in the spring weeds?

will you recognize me?

i'll speak to you between the lines

i'll touch you lightly in your sleep

i'll give you my weapons

will you remember me?

i wrote stories

i told dreams

i dreamt of wars

when was i alive?

when i wasn't writing

when i wasn't dreaming

when i wasn't dying

when i wasn't here

[gabriele romagnoli ~ http://tinyurl.com/cq376k]

this is the marriage of silence and love

asked for a sign for yes or no

got three

one louder than the other

be careful what you wish for?

between the lines of fear and blame

what are you willing to do

to protect?

had i known how to save a life

[whose?]

fingers bleed in picking up pieces of what's left

words written or said

never heard

never read

ignorance

is

bliss

hide behind the curtain to play the needed tricks

detangling the knots

never known

never seen

speak now, or forever hold your breath.

if you do, you know where i lay.

got keys?

the human heart has hidden treasures,

in secret kept, in silence sealed;

the thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures,

whose charms were broken if revealed.

[charlotte bronte]

i put a lock on my heart to guard an infinite abyss...

oltre alla beffa, il danno

e' gia' difficile di per se' venire a sapere di non essere il miglior amico di qualcuno via FB o posts sul blog, senza che sia necessario anche vederselo sbattere in faccia.

davvero mi chiedo cos'ho fatto di male...

do we speak the same language here?

i guess the message didn't go through the first time around.

or maybe it's me, my weakness, my hatred for confrontation. i let you patronize me; i tried to forget and let it go, and what i get in return is condescension. you do know how to crush with carefully selected words, arranged neatly to underline your moral superiority.

things will really never be the same again. you came like a hurricane. go ahead, take it, it's all yours. enjoy. but spare me the act.

no wonder i don't trust women.

name your price

i'll trade you

my dream

for someone else's

too late

there's no turning back

too late's come and gone

(had i asked in time, would you have said yes?)

lives

one taken

one given

i'm sorry

congrats

next time

be happy

i know

i won't

double-edged sword

"oh, don't worry. if you need help, call her. she's always willing to help."

i know it's what i do.

it's what i want to do.

so why did that make me feel so cheap?

but being ignored makes me feel even cheaper.

شکریہ

for being you~

2/14,1210-2

come to the ivory tower, we have cookies

"For all its claims to the contrary, graduate education does not seem to enhance the mental freedom of many students, some of whom are psychologically damaged by the experience. As Newhouse suggested -- perhaps more rhetorically than seriously -- graduate school these days seems to have a lot in common with mind-control cults."

[http://chronicle.com/jobs/news/2004/06/2004062801c.htm]

safer

wasted time building castles with sand

and every night i'll watch them fall and slip through my hand

and just when i think i'm on top i wonder how i'll get back down

and just then the moment is lost, i stumble and i hit the ground

food for thought

tears from the moon

couldn't sleep so i went out walking
thinking about you and hearing us talking
and all the things i should have said
echo now inside my head

weary

of being a plan b.
of being a regret.

it comes and it goes

some days i wanna and some days i don't / sometimes i can feel it and suddenly it's gone / some days i can tell you the truth and some days i just don't / only a change of mood, sun goes down / someone says something too quick or too soon / a touch not made, one made too late / armies of words cannot hope to contain / then it comes and it goes / and i have no control / some days i can think clear and some days i won't / sometimes i can feel it and suddenly it's gone / some days i am strong and some days my skin's broken and thin / that's when it feels and it takes what it needs / and it leaves before i get to know, it's only a step away / moments that armies of words cannot hope to contain / then it comes and it goes / and i can't make it home / and there's nothing at home / and it breaks me when it goes...

this way, please

welcome back

dancing in the dark

you can't start a fire
you can't start a fire without a spark

... --- ...

-.-. --- -- . / .... . .-. . --..-- / .-.. . - / -- . / .... --- .-.. -.. / -.-- --- ..- --..-- / ... .. -- .--. .-.. -.-- --..-- / --.- ..- .. . - .-.. -.-- --..-- / ... .. .-.. . -. - .-.. -.-- / .... --- .-.. -.. / -.-- --- ..- --..-- / -.- . . .--. / -.-- --- ..- / ... .- ..-. . .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.- / .-.. . - / -- . / - .-. -.-- / - --- / -- .- -.- . / .. - / --. --- / .- .-- .- -.-- .-.-.- .-.-.- .-.-.-

bottle it up

stop

stop to pain and heartache, to sadness and tears.
do not cross with me into the new year.

stop to pettiness, lies, anger, fear, secrets, painful silences, discomfort, impatience, selfishness, lovelessness, misplaced trust, deceit, backstabbing, inconstant friendships, blindness.

stop to crushed dreams and hopes; stop to loneliness and abandonment; stop to opportunism and falseness.

stop. do not cross with me into the new year. i've had enough of you. you brought me to my knees, and others to theirs. i beg forgiveness if i failed to protect and save those i care about. i hope i paid my debt.

as of today, i've been here 3 times over the break, and for the 3rd time i'll be alone.

~ it's been a long december, and there's reason to believe, maybe this year will be better than the last ~

to all of you out there:

be loved.
be happy.
be safe.

farewell~

the heart asks pleasure first-the promise/the sacrifice

the heart asks pleasure first
and then, excuse from pain-
and then, those little anodynes
that deaden suffering;

and then, to go to sleep;
and then, if it should be
the will of its inquisitor,
the liberty to die.


[words by emily dickinson, music by michael nyman]

it's all the same...

... yet not quite so.


something's missing.

and its absence is louder than words.

vorrei avere il becco

vorrei avere il becco / per accontentarmi delle briciole / concentrato e molto attento / si, ma con la testa fra le nuvole / capire i sentimenti quando nascono e quando muoiono / perciò vorrei avere i sensi per sentire il pericolo / se tutti quanti lo sanno ma hanno paura che l'amore è un inganno [...] più o meno come fa un piccione / e mica come le persone che a causa dei particolari / mandano per aria sogni e grandi amori [...] noi però alla fine resteremo insieme / più o meno come fa un piccione / l'amore sopra il cornicione / ti starò vicino nei momenti di crisi / e lontano quando me lo chiedi / dimmi che ci credi / ci sveglieremo la mattina, due cuori sotto una campana...

como agua para chocolate

Mi abuela, Luz Del Amanecer, una india Kikapoo, decía que todos nacemos con una caja de fósforos en nuestro interior y que no los podemos encender nosotros solos. Necesitamos, como en este experimento, del oxígeno y de la ayuda de una vela. Sólo que en nuestro caso, el oxígeno debe provenir por ejemplo del aliento de la persona amada. La luz de la vela puede ser cualquier cosa, una melodía, una palabra, una caricia, un sonido. Algo que dispare el detonador y encienda una de las cerillas. Cada persona tiene entonces que descubrir cuáles son sus detonadores para poder vivir, ya que la combustión que se realiza al encenderse uno de ellos, es lo que nutre de energía al alma. Si no hay detonador para los fósforos entonces la caja de cerillas se humedece y ya nunca podremos encender uno solo de ellos. Si eso llega a pasar el alma huye de nuestro cuerpo, camina errante por las tinieblas más profundas tratando vanamente de encontrar alimento por sí misma, ignorante de que sólo el cuerpo que ha dejado inerme, lleno de frío, es el único que podría dárselo. Por eso hay que permanecer alejados de personas que tengan un aliento gélido. Su sola presencia podría apagar el fuego más intenso. Mientras más distancia tomemos de estas personas, será más fácil protegernos de su soplo. El alma desea integrarse al lugar donde proviene, dejando al cuerpo inerte. Hay muchas maneras de poner a secar una caja de cerillas húmeda. Se puede estar seguro que sí tiene remedio, claro que también es muy importante encender las cerillas una por una, ya que si por una intensa emoción llegamos a encender todas de un solo golpe, se produce un resplandor tan fuerte que aparece ante nuestros ojos un túnel, esplendoroso, que nos muestra el camino que olvidamos al nacer y que a la vez nos llama a reencontrar nuestro perdido origen divino.

heal for the honey

points of light
shootin' through the tree-stained vines
it draws me in
to catch a fistful of wind and chime
[...]
poised, unrefined
delicate and loosely lined
oh i am a dreamer
but i'll deny it til' the day i die

come se il mondo...

a volte mi manchi, e ancora fa male / sarebbe una balla se dicessi di no / ma alla terza bottiglia si diventa più saggi / il dolore lo sai prima o poi svanirà / e allora brindo alla vita e a ciò che ci porta / bevo agli amici, ai compagni, anche a me / in un'osteria calda tra le nebbie e la bassa / dove posso sentirmi quasi come se...

... come se il mondo finisse stanotte...

[per r.]

random rant

want to tell me a lie? want to give me an excuse?
better be a damn good one, either way.
i always find out.
1- if you're my student, makes you look just the more pathetic and self-entitled, and it only exponentially increases my annoyance with you.
2- if you're my friend, it just &%@$*$# hurts. and there's only a handful of things more emotionally exhausting than pretending to be none the wiser.

12

if there is a heaven
i know you're there

thankful for...

1. the strength to carry on
2. the certainty that night will come, and then morning, and then night...
3. forgiveness
4. ...

replaceable

replaceable
it's cynical
call me useless
just you wait
put me down
and call it fate