The Hours

Time.
Flowing like a river,
it gushes and spits,
it slows and steadies.

These, though,
these are THE hours.

Alone, me, myself and I,
Reasoning on the what ifs,
on the what if nots.

Thinking, hard, on the next move.

Guessing, no certainty in there,
what might be next to come,
if anything at all.

What to do?
What not to?
Where will i be in ten years' time,
if i chose this?
And what if i chose that?

It's way too easy to choose for the immediate.
It's the ripples through time
that scare me to no end.

No presumption of control,
And still (hence?) the fear.


Like throwing a rock down a mountain slope.
Irresponsible.
Still, what choice is ever left?

Blame me for my wakefulness.

L.

Light, Pt. II

Why are things colored?
There are three causes.
Repeated over and over,
in innumerable variety,
they create our colorful world.
Light is made in the yellow glow of a candle.
Light is lost when sunlight filters through stained glass.
Light is moved when the sky turns into a crimson sunset.

The king - P. II

Wish I may
Wish I might
Have this I wish tonight
Are you satisfied?
Dig for gold
Dig for fame
You dig to make your name
Are you pacified?

All the wants you waste
All the things you've chased

Then it all crashes down
And you break your crown
And you point your finger
But there's no one around

Just want one more thing
Just to play the king
But the castle's crumbled
And you're left with just a name

Where's your crown, King Nothing?

I wish I may
I wish I might
Have this wish I wish tonight
I want that star
I want it now
I want it all and I don't care how

Careful what you wish
Careful what you say
Careful what you wish
You may regret it
Careful what you wish
You just might get it

Then it all crashes down
And you break your crown
And you point your finger
But there's no one around

Just want one more thing
Just to play the king
But the castle's crumbled
And you're left with just a name

Where's your crown, King Nothing?

The king

What makes one?

The richnesses?
A kingdom?
Winning wars?
Neither.

The disposable postulants!

Hence the continuous, discomposed, scraping for more.

So, so, so sad.

Silly me, thinking it might have been anything but.

Let there be Light!

Lights,
small,
cute,
bendable,
twistable,
strong,
weak,
directional,
diffuse,
and whatevernot.


Not a fart of one
that may light
my way.

Bloody hell.

manichèo

"agg., s.m.
1 agg. TS st.relig., relativo al manicheismo: dualismo m., scrittura manichea | agg., s.m., seguace del manicheismo
2 agg., s.m. CO estens., che, chi considera la realtà come dipendente dall'azione di due principi o enti opposti, tra cui esiste un contrasto insanabile."

Now, now, come now.
Is it really all in here?
Or is it just a comfortable simplification?
How could someone like this be ever curious,
enjoy anything but himself,
appreciate life, its flavours,
its colourful differences?

Me, I've got me shitloads of limits,
but for the love of peace,
don't ever fucking dare
belittle me so.

I viali della vita

Londra, tarda sera, anno duemilaquattro.

Una donna parla con un'altra al telefono.
"Lei? Quella al matrimonio? La tettona? Ma certo che la ricordo!"
Si gira verso di me ed il mio amico, lui un pelo piu' stranito di quanto non lo sia io. La chiamata la sta effettuando dal suo telefono. "Eh oh, ha davvero delle tette ENORMI, come volete che la chiami?" Un battito di ciglia, ed e' di nuovo impegnata al telefono. "Oooooh si! Quel tipo. Matrimonio, anche lui. Quello fico, si?" Ora tocca al marito d'infilare la testa, appena preoccupato, nella camera da letto dove siamo seduti. "Tranquillo, caro, Mi sta raccontando del matrimonio", gli fa, con la manina flaccida a segnalare scampato pericolo. Gli occhi di lui si alzano al cielo, in finta disperazione."Ah, le donne e la cazzo di Coronation Street", per poi tornare alla gravissima discussione tenuta appena al di fuori della porta. "Insomma" chiede la donna all'altra "Se lo scopa? Ma dai? Ma no! Aaaah. Beh, allora va bene!" per poi girarsi verso di noi, mezza mano sulla cornetta "Beh, lui ha avuto bisogno di un pochino di pratiche persuasive. Non molte, non preoccupatevi. E' che e' giovane...".
Ma certo, noi proprio preoccupati non eravamo.
O meglio, IO non lo ero.
Non era il mio telefono quello da cui stava chiamando Baghdad.
Era il suo.

La speranza

"La speranza e' aver fiducia nelle curve."

Don Ciotti