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Absent Absent XIX XX

And as I walk, I see the looming long road ahead of me. Needless to say, do not even seem to have an end. If anyone should ever dare to write a definition of the horizon, I think I should keep in mind what I have right before my eyes now. But perhaps not enough. We must have trod a thousand times more, on all occasions. With the sudden snow in March. The heat stifling even at six in the evening. The rain with the sun in all seasons. The dust of April and the smell of flowering shrubs. As I did, every day of my life. I mention how much I love this place, and will continue to repeat it. Winter is coming. E 'already autumn. As the pungent air of eight in the evening, when it is already dark, as an axiom. As the cold returns under the skin, he returns into me by osmosis. Perhaps there has always been, because mine is a safe haven, however, in the end. But I can not help but think about it. Of forgetting. In every smile, every motor, every song and every cigarette. It happens to me for some winter and now, after all, is a feeling that I like it. In the dim light of lanterns high above me, but too small to get to that blue hole, not even black, which seems to be the sky. In my sandwich for dinner in a street not far from home with the car headlights that sweep into my picture. Shop signs in daylight, perhaps for a customer wandering. On my return in the evening on a bike that creaking with every inch that I leave behind. He is everywhere in winter, but at the same time, only to myself. Maybe you do not have yet spoken. You, who in reality, it's like you were here with me. Right here by my side. From the part where I have a cigarette between his fingers. And 'as if you were talking to you. Although physically not there. But I still talk to you, in my head. It 's like your presence was constant. And paradoxically, it had always been. I know that every word I hear, and I would tell my whole life. You speak definitely walking, or lying on the floor of a tavern. I will continue to tread this path with you, making your hands back into his jacket for the cold . Walk all the ways that exist and thank you for being there (in my mind, in a map?). Graffitatti climb over the walls to see what is behind you. What's inside of me. An abandoned factory, a historic ruin. Perhaps only a yard of uncut grass and grass pitches. We provide all the things I'm most jealous. I am confident. I would go Southern Hemisphere here. Where everything is reversed, the spirits of the seasons. As of now. I'm not afraid to travel the world. I'm not afraid anymore ... I know you're listening to.

the "you", maybe he'll understand.

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I write but I do not.

that will probably have this "bad" habit of not having to write when things start going your way.
will I need to savor every moment fully, and focus, even if briefly, on another it seems like you're wasting your time.
will be that until I could not be sure how things were evolving it was hard even to repeat it to myself.
But now it seems to me to live a dream. A wonderful September that I did not end more.
E 'started, for me, a new year. Fresh from school, I always filled of good intentions in September, but never in January. And I keep still. And I finally managed to fix some 'my life.
And, mind you, who do not believe it.
I expect before the apocalypse of 2012.

After two years at home depressed as ever in my life, to throw myself on the university not to think of everything that was happening around me, I finally start over to work.
Having spent months doing interviews, believing less and less in my dreams and all I could expect from the future, finally my phone rang with an offer for work.
And it's a bit 'too early to say now that everything is wonderful, I have yet to settle in well and understand carefully what is my job. Ma .. work. I repeat: LAVOR O. Signed contract. Salary this month. In short, the normal range (that time is not seen in more then a lot ...) for me is happiness.
Having solved the business problem has eliminated 80% of my crying, my hatred towards myself and step by step, my self-esteem is returning to levels in normal (of course under the MIA not some other human beings). And then there

HIM. What finally is again mine. And mine alone. And I'm crazy love in the adolescent stage, and scream and yelled for a bit jealous' justified, the rest of my Paturnie and my obsessions have the upper hand. But this time I decided to pursue a decent relationship, not to cancel and not to cancel the rest of my life. I'm ready to make sacrifices because I want to be special. Why the peace and serenity that I send to my side when it has never had a par with any other guy in the world, and I do not exist most beautiful thing.

And to complete the picture from "Cristina Model Mill-White" (please, for once concedetemelo) keep doing tests with excellent results and my much-coveted and desired degree is getting closer.
Bello.

And now ... silence. Let's pretend I have nothing to fear of the apocalypse, and this would be less suitable period for the destruction of the world.

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The clouds are lighter than the sky as soon as I set foot outside the house. The sun is almost completely down and the moon shines its light. I drank? Do not touch alcohol for weeks. Maybe I no longer needed. It is not a hallucination, though. The white circle stands in front of me and I feel close, very close. Around an arch of light was too old to be common. Right next door, a cross in the sky. Perhaps the wakes aereii that two have met, maybe two clouds thinned. At ground level, my neighborhood, where I'm away. An old woman quickly turns the corner with two shopping bags, one in each hand. It seems to escape from something bigger and stronger than she. One time, a shadow, a row of cars parked on the sidewalk in front of his house. Everything is so common for me, I do not fear anything here. Probably, if I were a foreign land, these places do not feel as safe, and act like the lady who is just out of my field of vision. I have no fear even death, here, if I keep on walking. And the night I went adelante, a knight-errant pitch with my elephant. I turn a cigarette that I just bought. Not the best time to enjoy it, though. Is not yet cold enough and do not suffer from the hands to keep it between your fingers to the icy air that goes to mingle with the smoke clear what happens in winter. But it gives me quite the same satisfaction. I'm no longer alone, I found my friends. I agree with some cigarettes, a bar and some comments on our lives. And in the street whenever it renews the agreement. They walk along with me. We move away from the center, all together. you seek, to find the connection that binds you to all the other people. I'm talking, talking nonstop. We find ourselves, without even having time to think out of the city. Open before me endless stretches of wheat fields, wild grass and legume plants. Behind us are the hills. I can see everything very well although it is already night. Every so often the houses perched on a hillside hide behind the smoke of my cigarette. But then reappear, as if to reassure me. I lent my blue scarf to someone but I'm not cold. The smoke coming inside me warm and keeps me awake in front of this marvel in about ten minutes from my house. It 's wonderful and makes me feel even closer to him. I lie on the deserted bike path and let others go ahead without me. Try to stay in the group, the calm is important but freedom is all about. I grant me only a few minutes in the company of myself and the end of my cigarette. Which is the least favorite part and that always makes me more ideas. But this time is different, the cross is still in the sky but the moon has ceased to illuminate it. Instead it gives light to all that surrounds me and makes me so happy. The world. And I'm in love. not stand between the people distracted I tell myself. I get up, I reach my friends. I embrace them one by one. I again also my scarf. It has a good fragrance that mixes with that of tobacco and the night air of autumn. I'm in love, although I do not know what. From what I have around him, of my life, this evening. The world. I know that without these minutes I would not have ever realized. And I would have lost too much of this. I fragrances and beautiful landscapes on him. Amo.




Laura

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Chronicles of an Italian mad - III

(COGITO?) ERGO SUM!

In search of the need to philosophize too long ago forgotten by the Italians

" think is one of the greatest pleasures of being human," wrote Bertolt Brecht . Along the same lines, the inventor Thomas Alva Edison, who said " The man who does not cultivate the habit of thinking loses the greatest pleasure of life." more imperative the philosopher Averroes "Who thinks it is immortal, who does not think he dies. " But we all feel this need to think so hard? Apparently yes, but we were not taught how to cultivate it. By now most of us are accustomed to content rsi an anonymous aphorism card chocolates, or the happy ending of a love story of dubious taste. In our society, space for philosophy are increasingly tight. And the philosophy is meant in a general context, not speculation or meditation on reality and the origins of the world. To do philosophy is the use of brains, or have studied, as it often is made to believe by those who lack the courage to express their ideas. In an interview, the same philosopher Giorgio Giorello defines philosophy as "the free exercise of thought, which is not subject to any strict rule or definition." Perhaps no longer feel the need to philosophize, to think with our heads? No, a little 'a bit of laziness' by inertia on the habit of always having everything ready and at hand, the majority of us do not even go to his head to stop a second to think. Some people write on the increase in popularity of philosophy in our country, and this trend even gives the name "filosofomania" but, actually, is more and more towards the oblivion of the true meaning of this term, not speak of the exercise of critical thought itself. The rubbish that has been shaped by philosophy of Socrates or Plato would have been the symbol of the stalemate of the human intellect, the hand of a man, more important, even more than the heart. In fact, more than ever we need to philosophize in the true sense of the word. The television must be turned off more often, the computer too. We must capitalize on our ability to think, and stop believing everything that catches the eye and is incorrectly called "philosophy". The truth, happiness, and everything to which man longs for nature, must be sought by everyone, even very deeply: I have never as evident as people try to make them appear, and, of course, you can not find already spoken through the cathode ray tube or pre-written text in a song, like an Easter egg surprises called stereotype.

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I listen to Italian singer of the last century. Poetry. Tomorrow back to the winter, or at least in the minds of Most of the people. And there is no better way to get it, do not listen to these melancholy melodies. Colossal mistake. Sale undeciphered a melancholy to me, everything for a moment. I can hardly hold back tears. Why? I think I can also control certain feelings, certain emotions. But apparently not. I lay long in bed, the body expands. And in a lightning are shot out of the house. I do not even have time to notice. Ipod, legs, and maybe some cigarettes hidden in the bottom of a pocket. In the deserted streets near my house I make an appointment. It 'Sunday, late afternoon. A complete family returns home after a dinner at the home of grandparents, or uncles. Who knows. It makes me feel home, but at the same time out of place. It takes me just to meet the world today seems to move. Precisely in the opposite direction to mine. Who did the calculations wrong? Those who leave and those who return, between the two parties? I am the only one, apparently, that opposes this current. They come to be so many that I can not even discern all their faces. Burn my eyes, maybe this, maybe not. Anyway, after walking. I have to let me go where I lead the legs. That does not stop. But in the end I know the way I'm going. Even if it seems random. The more I get closer to the center to meet more people. I try always to break away from the block which are all those people together, even if in my journey I run into a disproportionate amount of them anyway. Some stare at me until it overwhelms them. Others do not move to let me pass. The two things I normally would on your nerves, now I care very little. I am unable to stop the legs, I swear. I pass a house that reminds me of a past love. 'S great, and dreamed of going to live in two. I stop for just a second. To print the form in memory and return a few years ago. But there is no time, I have to keep walking. There is no reason why I should stop the perpetual motion that seem to have geared my legs. Like, it makes me feel better. The melancholy runs off with the sky, my head and that house. Leave space in my eyes, you look around in the streets, dragging their pediments of neoclassical buildings, the facades of Gothic churches, inns and restaurants remain closed. Porphyry seems to dissolve under my feet and I happen to find myself jumping up to shoot in the streets of my small town. The soil can move fast, but I tied my boots to a broken mast. And so maybe I decide to go home with a sun of the seven in the evening which is just before sunset. I've always said is the worst, what kills more, though it seems. It starts to hurt the hip but it's the last thing I could think of. I continue to move forward, and although I do not understand now, searching. dissolve if you'd ignore me. But what is really happening? I recover, but I continue to seek his face for all roads that pass. A sign, a color, music. I have the feeling that he is doing the same thing. I'll keep your dreams, and you take me into consideration, although it seems strange. I could not feel better. Really? Really. I'm almost home and the streets were deserted redone. But it is as if he were here. I just need to know that I am the guardian of her dreams. I will lay on a blanket in the grass, will extend his arms and say congratulations.

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Absent Absent XVIII XVII XVI

veiled sun in a sky that does not exist, impalpable. A thick blanket over me. Too thick. Perhaps because of my condition today. Last night, night excesses. As often happens in these times. I remember maybe half the things I've done. I drank, I smoked. This is certain. Is there anyone around me who wakes up with cuts or deadly blows and has no recollection of how he can get esserseli. Who moans turning over in his sleep on the cold marble floor. Who sets the ceiling above it, hoping to find the strength to rise. Around a house that I barely remember who he is. There had never been before and this morning I do not think even the same as last night. It 'a very large window that can to see the sky from the blinding light gray. It seems that the sun has forgotten to exist lately. It 's a more mass in the middle of all that white pearl. But no one ever sees it completely. I prefer it this way, although I must say that the light so clear, though not sharp, it kills me the same. E 'early, too soon, I think. But I have to go home. I'll pretend to be back yesterday early evening. I try to convince me to be able to recognize well the streets of my province in these conditions, and with little strength in my body that I still wash my face and go out. And in a very short-lived glory, I'm in the car. 'S cold, and nobody knows that I have taken last night. We are in September, would be technically still summer. But it is not. Not for nothing. I strive to keep our eyes open as I can, take the road that goes towards home. It 'a bypass, and there is hardly anyone around. Only trucks of all colors and lettering on the trailers in the strangest language in the world. I am certain that being the smallest, silly, and perhaps even useless in this Filamar of colors, albeit distorted by the unnatural light, which at this hour of the morning I feel infinite. Smell of petrol comes from outside, and enters by my window like a slap in the face with the air created by the fast motion of the car. I have indeed noticed that more than one hundred per hour, and perhaps not the healthiest choice to do given my conditions this morning. The road is long and colorless and it seems not to end up over the skyline. I turn on the radio to wake up, but little used. I still turn my head and after-effects are felt more than ever. It seems to me that the road that stands before me is parallel in all respects to the sky. Not only for the position but also for consistency. I seem to be compressed between two worlds colliding. Perhaps the only way for me to be able to save and hold on to the sun. But it hides a contract of indefinite duration. I try to fix it as long and as often as possible, but there's no way. Maybe ... I think it would be enough. Believe that it is released for real. Inside of me. The blanket then it is not too thick. Not turn off the sun if the shooting on ...

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A Vevy, and do not ask why.

Photo Credit: Alex "Grey" Gargiulo