for the facts
being more skilled than words.
I'll leave a lil poem over here:
With the dogs words I tried to say it.
I said it with the body, with my blood, with all my fluids.
I don't know anyone who has delivered so much for so little.
I left my skin and everything I had on those pallets.
I don't know if it worked. I don't think so.
I said it with all my life, with everything I do and play and sing:
That we are not alone.
That nothing is more serious than oblivion.
I said it with the dance, with the booze, with the drugs, with so much excess.
With all that built to combine related fabrics:
The hugs, the talks, the demonstrations, the care, the trust.
My open house in pairs.
Who knows if it worked.
I said it with sex.
I said a lot about sex, which is the best I can deliver.
Sex as medicine to cure everything,
With my pussy, with my anus open, with my healing saliva:
There's nothing to be afraid of.
That nothing is more heinous than fear.
I said it with the food. Sacred Alchemy of the sea and earth.
Who was missing and who had enough,
Who with hunger could still write poetry,
Who with gluttony could still sleep quiet
Or vomit as an act of rebellion.
I don't know if it worked.
I say it all the time, with all this, which is all I have.
Sometimes it feels like talking to a wall that is stained but does not transform,
Who suffers but does not return the ball or the blow,
Which is meant to not listen to me or come down.
And at times them won't listen to my altar,
Nor my wife,
Nor my mom,
Nor my friends,
Nor my lectors,
Not my lovers.
It seems only those who hate me listen to me.
And they hear bad, bad.
I just want to say:
That we are not alone,
What a lot of troops.
That you don't have to be afraid,
There's a cure for everything but death.
Now what am I gonna say? For What? For whom?
I feel like I've said everything and I haven't said anything.
At times everything works around me and I believe the story of it.
Then something small, almost a wink, says, " not there"
them says to me: "see how we can get to hate,
All this mad-focused anger,
How we kill ourselves,
How we end up rejoicing,
How we can't be there when it takes."
And I don't want to complain anymore, because drama is a stigma.
Even if it means that some people react.
That some of us do things to things.
That we don't shut up,
That we are not still in the face of the offense or the encouragement.
I also said it with love. So much love.
That's important. If it doesn't help me for what I want.
And I just want that. Be happy. Let's be happy.
I'm gonna shut up and laugh as an antidote.
I'll shut up and everything will be superficial,
My flight will water the water with the wings and say nothing more than a fleeting wake,
Just things that everyone wants to hear;
I'll smile when I want to cry
I'll dance when I wanna kill.
And I'll say a "I love you" with pestilence to everything that rotted away from me.
I'll throw a mountain of garbage over everything that one day was my temple.
I'm gonna shut up and you're not gonna notice.
I'm gonna shut up and everything's gonna be like everybody else is,
My submission will the absurd and I will stop being who I am,
Because who I am will not save me from who the others are.
And to whom I love, I shall give them a silence that will weigh as a lead.
Perhaps subtly listen. Or over time. Or calm down.
But they won't notice.
My head is eating my heart
and everything tearing apart
I feel so sad
I wanna scream
but you are sleeping
so I shout up.
Years ago, I found myself being a video editor for this person it's really apparently into 業philosophy.
While we were working, my mother call me, announcing my grandfather's death. Months later (I finished the editing with much delay, but I even made two versions in a zealous manner) the person showed up at my squat (my grandfather died and consequently a nervous breakdown, writing my thesis and doing two part time jobs and a weekly nightly one, I could not face the payment of a rent as before) with only half the payment, a little bit of skunk and a winning smile.
This year, he asked me for a similar work. I accepted and he pays in advance. The original material, like the previous time, is very shit. His taste non-existent. He doesn't listen to advice with will speed up the work and make it better. He continue to request changes and to re-make them. He know I do SW so he ask me to prostitute myself for a sick, sick friend, so I started to ignore him, and I write him the video has to be concluded in 3 days max, no longer I will accept his requests of changes. While he talks a lot about karma, perhaps he does not realize that he is leaning heavily on him.
"A piece of creative writing, like a day-dream, is a continuation of, and a substitute for, what was once the play of childhood."
“Some fantasies, like big pieces of furniture, won’t come through.”
Sigmund Freud (May 6, 1856 – September 23, 1939)
I found it near the trash bin, I like those kind of girlish things, also if I have never the courage to buy them. I will repair it for the new house.
is a technique used to repair broken ceramic pieces...kintsugi can be seen also as a philosophy, it has similarities to the wabi-sabi, an embracing of the flawed or imperfect.