The Mask

~ slow me down ~

~ 3 am ~

There was a time when we used to talk,
When we used to laugh and we used to walk;
We would open up like never before,
There was a time, but now it’s no more.

Started all by pure chance, on a February day,
(“that’s quite a coincidence!”, I heard someone say);
The top of a mountain fit all in two hands,
It was all so spontaneous, no games and no plans.

A walk up some stairs, from the roof we'd see lights,
You gave me the gift of some wonderful sights;
Then I’d meet you outside, and underground too,
(Where unexpected was one, even more it was two).

We’d stay up for hours, we’d type on and on,
At times it so happened we’d stay up till dawn;
We’d share many details of our private lives,
So trusting each other that we’d tell no lies.

We’d share in our passions, and our beliefs,
Of each other’s time we would be the thieves;
I’d listen to you speak of airplanes and cars,
(Your expertise stretches from here up to Mars!)

We’d talk of perfumes, shoes, dresses, and jeans,
You’d even explain what a fashion term means;
You would ask me questions ‘bout my favorite food,
We’d write crazy fiction if we were in the mood.

You showed me the path to the shutterbug life,
You laughed at me, “Hey! Come to school with a knife?”
Shared music and videos, “Top Gear” and its fun,
Our chats never skipped the chance of a pun.

And from across the world, come whatever may,
We’d make it a point to talk every day;
I’d post pics of the things I would see, eat and do,
So that you would feel you somehow were there too.

By the way I would type you knew if I had to vent,
(a shoulder to cry on, that’s a gift heaven sent);
I’d feel if you suffered, I cannot explain
The reason why I could sense all of your pain.

And when for a long time either was gone,
The other would text or call on the phone;
Watch out for each other, make sure we’re all right,
Something like this, there’s no way you can buy.

The pleasure to talk, and even to share,
It isn’t that hard if the willingness’s there
To listen and care with a wide-open heart,
A beautiful friendship in which to take part.

There was something else (well, how can we lie?)
We would joke about it, and as time went by
More and more people (delicately) pried;
With a blush and a smile, we firmly denied.

On only a few days we didn’t communicate,
When I was on a plane, or you drove state through state;
Now we chat every day, although we don’t really talk,
We barely hang out, and now never walk.

Been away two long months, no chance we could meet,
So I’d hug you while standing on the tip of my feet;
You’d bend over – you’re tall, and stretch up to the sky,
Or you’d pick me up, it felt like I could fly.

You know, it is sad, for I sincerely miss
The sweet, fun, daily dose of pure, simple bliss;
I wish things went back to the way t’was before.
That lovely time, why is it no more?

~ Temptation ~

Me gustaría no hablar más, atreverme a apoyar la cabeza en su hombro. Me concentro en esta idea que me exalta, pero de inmediato se ve acosada por un ejército de razones encargadas de salvaguardar la normalidad y oponerse al riesgo; surgen como una flora de anticuerpos que cercan a la tentación, se entabla una lucha intensa y breve que conozco de antiguo. Al final, mi cabeza permanece inmóvil, como era de esperar: caer en la tentación siempre ha sido más difícil que vencerla.

[I'd like to stop talking, have the courage to lay my head on his shoulder. I concentrate on this exciting idea, which is suddenly attacked by an army of reasons in favor of safeguarding normality and opposing any risks; they rise like antibodies that surround temptation, then engage in a short, intense, war I've long been familiar with. In the end, my head keeps still, as it was to be expected: giving in to temptation has always been more difficult than resisting it.]

[cmg]

~ Small pearls ~

(These are lovely writings from a dear friend's website; the translations don't do them justice, and for that I apologize in advance. France, thank you for giving me permission to post them.)

~ Remember? ~
Emotions are sacred, and memories are altars to the emotions.
When one has the chance to share them, it’s a shared prayer.
(original here)

~ The unit of measurement of absence ~
Maybe it is true that beauty tends to perfection;
however, when contemplating beauty in things,
one appreciates what is present,
whereas by contemplating perfection,
one considers what is absent.
Therefore, one should hold perfection as model,
but not as unit of measurement.
Unless one wants to discuss absence.
(original here)

~ SMS stories #2 - Three Brothers ~
The first brother was born poor and died rich.
The second was born rich and died poor.
The third was born and died,
believing that richness and poverty only concern the living.
(original here)

~ SMS stories #4 – Absence ~
You promise and demand Eternal Love.
I look at you, but I can only offer my unavailability.
Tangible absence.
It isn’t Love, but it’s eternal,
and it’s for you, to cherish.
(original here)

~ SMS stories #11 – In transit ~
Moving train, wish you could look back,
apologizing to the grounded feet,
the disillusioned, dazed ears.
But it’s not time to stop.
Will you ever?
(original here)

~ Hypothetical Oblivion, Manifest Estrangement ~

does it ever go away? that feeling of never belonging anywhere, of not having roots long enough to build stable relationships with people? of feeling that, when absent, the world moves on almost at twice the speed, and when the time comes to jump back on to the carousel, well, it's just spinning too fast and you’re left on the ground, watching?

the uncomfortable sensation of lingering ignorance, the inability to follow apparently simple discourses for lack of knowledge of key fact that occurred at a time of absence. sitting quietly, silently trying to connect severed threads (oh red thread, where art thou?), hiding the throat-clutching feeling that wets the ‘lids, the heaviness of the brick sitting on your stomach, behind a bright smile.

it’s like feeling unneeded, unnecessary, disposable, replaceable, easily forgotten, lost in the oblivion of the memory span of a fruit-fly.

it’s like feeling
foreign

In a long-ago time, when long ago peoples
were building cathedrals and raising up steeples,
they crafted stone creatures and set them on perches
to guard and protect and watch over the churches.
So gargoyles were born, and they stood night and day,
keeping evil and terrible spirits away.

And ne'er was a creature so true and so loyal
as the watchful, courageous, and fearless gargoyle.
But the years came and went, and the people did, too,
and in time, they forgot what their ancestors knew.
And whenever they passed by the gargoyles' lairs,
they trembled in fear at the gargoyles' stares.

And as time went along, people's fear turned to spite,
and they sneered and they cursed at the guardians of night:
"demons!" they grumbled -- "grotesque!" and "horrid!"
"those beasts don't belong on the house of the Lord!"
When the gargoyles heard these words that were spoken,
their stony old hearts became crumbled and broken.
Then storms rumbled in, and their eyes filled with rain,
and in stillness they stayed, alone and in pain.

But as it so happened, some angels were near,
and heeding the grief of a gargoyle's tear,
they each fluttered down from the heavens on high
to sit with the gargoyles beneath thundering skies.
Now, angels have ways of making things right,
so they stayed with the gargoyles all through the night,
patting their heads and wiping their tears
and whispering life into gargoyle ears.
And soon all the gargoyles did magical things:

They gurgled and coughed and shook out their wings.
then together the angels and gargoyles took flight,
and they soared through the clouds on a blustery night.
And while over pastures and hills they were winging,
the voices of angels were radiantly singing
music of healing and songs of rebirth
to all of the creatures in all of the earth:

"God bless the rain, and the storm clouds that bring it.
God bless the music, and the voices that sing it.
God bless the ones who sing everything wrong.
God bless the creatures who do not belong.
God bless the hearts and the souls who are grieving
for those who have left, and for those who are leaving.
God bless each perishing body and mind,
God bless all creatures remaining behind.
God bless the dreamers whose dreams have awoken,
God bless the lovers whose hearts have been broken.
God bless each soul that is tortured and taunted,
God bless all creatures alone and unwanted."

And the gargoyles beheld wherever they roamed
that the souls of the lost weren't really alone.
Each one had an angel, each one was protected,
and each one was cherished and loved and respected.

And so it is true with the gargoyles this day,
for all of the angels who love them have stayed.
And together they wait until days become nights,
to embark on their dark and most glorious flights.
So if you see shapes in the night sky, don't fear --
for it simply means angels and gargoyles are near,
easing the earth with their gentle night call:
God bless the gargoyles. God bless us all."

[Dav Pilkey]

~random fragment~

... estamos repentinamente al otro lado ‑mucho más allá‑ del miedo y la vergüenza, y es evidente y claro que en cualquier instante yo tendré que morir, porque la ternura me ha traspasado como cien alfileres de diamante, la ternura me ha pisoteado y arrollado a su paso como el más terrible de los ejércitos en marcha, y me voy deshaciendo, disolviendo, desangrando en palabras...

[esther tusquets]

~ feed the birds ~

In her own special way to the people she calls,
"Come, buy my bags full of crumbs.
Come feed the little birds, show them you care
And you'll be glad if you do.
Their young ones are hungry,
Their nests are so bare;
All it takes is tuppence from you."
Feed the birds, tuppence a bag,
Tuppence, tuppence, tuppence a bag.
"Feed the birds," that's what she cries,
While overhead, her birds fill the skies.

amen

Sanctus Espiritus
redeem us from our solemn hour
Sanctus Espiritus
insanity is all around us
Sanctus Espiritus
is this what we deserve
can we break free
from chains of never-ending agony?

[w.t.]

it's like being...

... disposable...

Roses

Ti regalerò una rosa
Una rosa rossa per dipingere ogni cosa
Una rosa per ogni tua lacrima da consolare
E una rosa per poterti amare

Ti regalerò una rosa

Una rosa bianca come fossi la mia sposa
Una rosa bianca che ti serva per dimenticare
Ogni piccolo dolore

[s.c.]

just wondering

If I asked you, straightforwardly: "DO YOU BELIEVE IN SIGNS?"
What would you say?

I'd tell you that I didn't. I stubbornly avoided it. I consistently tried not to see. I called it random. I called it coincidences. I called it serendipity.

Now I'm not too sure anymore. Maybe they are there for us to see. Supernatural hint? Or maybe a not-too-intrusive way of telling us "hello? can't you see? it's right in front of you!"

There are signs everywhere...
[f.r.i.]

Open your eyes...

Find me...

i see my memories in black and white
they are neglected by space and time
i stored all my days in boxes
i left my wishes so far behind
i find my only salvation
in playin' hide and seek in this labyrinth
and my sense of connection
is lost like the sound of my steps

[elisa]

Paths

"There are as many paths to love as there are people to love.
Barriers to understanding melt when you receive someone in this light."

I’d love to be one of those colorful early summer days
When everybody is happy that you came
Everybody smiles back at you as soon as your eyes cross their eyes

But something has to happen first
I know winter has to come before it blossoms

[elisa]

Home, bittersweet home...

Flying home has its good and bad parts. It reminds me of how much I used to love airports, the only place (I always thought) where people of all nationalities come in contact without conflict, without the need to eliminate each other. If only the outside world could be as civilized as the airport terminals... It reminded me of how nice it is to walk to the windows at the very back of the aircraft, and enjoy the sight of approaching land, after flying over Greenland and that patch of Atlantic Ocean that separates it from the British Isles. Today, passing over Wales, I could see the sea below, flat and apparently still, gently rippled by the wind even if it seem carved in bluish stone. There were tiny white stripes on it, where small boats were passing. and again white lines at the coast, where the waves crash on the sand. A bit more inland, the sun reflected on the lakes and rivers, transforming them into a gently shimmering silver web of lines and puddles decorating the green surface. And what about the sight of the clouds below, looking a vast display of chunks of whip cream? (unfortunately I did not have my camera, and regretted it). It was a bit past 9 pm local time when we approached the airport in Italy (MIL) and the sunset was leaving its last strands of orange/pinkish sky, drawing gorgeous colorful borders on the few clouds.

But being at home also carries a bittersweet taste. Don't get me wrong, I love to see my family, but the poetry of the trip is best left for the flight and the magical sights it unveils. Every time I come home, I can't help but feel out of place. I spend 10 months out of 12 living somewhere else, and I think (fear) that after a while I started becoming someone else as well, at least as far as part of my "italianness" is concerned. I can't quite put my finger on the reason, but as a special person once told me, every time I come here I feel like a foreigner in my own country.

I'll just make the best of it for the next two months. I'll have the chance to see friends I haven't seen in a while, meet friends coming from overseas, visit relatives, bike through town (yes, I will take pics, I promised I would!), and eat lots of mommy-food. It will be good, I know it will. But all it's positiveness will not erase that tingling feeling of not belonging anymore.

Of not belonging anywhere.

Κύριε ἐλέησον

C'est pas que j'ai le cœur à rire
Je l'aurais plutôt à mourir
De les voir si joyeux
De les voir si heureux
Moi qu'aucune homme ne regardera jamais dans les yeux
De les voir convoler
De les voir s'envoler
Au milieu des étoiles sous la voûte des cieux
Toutes les cloches que je sonne
Kyrie Eleison
Hosanna alléluia dies irae dies illa
Toutes ces cloches de malheur
Toutes ces cloches de bonheur
Toutes ces cloches qui n'ont jamais encore sonné pour moi