Love is not a slot machine

 

Love is a chaotic magmatic fire

Hot red like the colour of your lips

 that enframe your candid white exciting smile,

I would be bit from.

A fire that burns and melts the smallest particles of your molecules

Pushing you to an unavoidable transformation and evolution to your next being,

That makes you stronger,

Maybe wiser, maybe sillier…

It’s all about absurdity,

The strangest and the most pleasant accident you would live or die for and could ever happen to you.

Trusting in your feelings you can be never cheated on.

They tell us much more than words and gestures,

They master the whole complexity

And have the most clearest and comprehensive view

That catches what rationality fails to grab or snag.

You feel to have never been so alone and scared

and at the same time so complete

like in a magnetic glance we would be only a thing.

Breaking down boredom, upsetting old mindsets you’re tired to keep on  bearing

And you want to get rid of

to renew and regenerate in something else.

Love is black

Like your sexy eyes…

Dead-killing then the faded end lines of your eyebrows…

Fine like your sleek cleverness

Cunning and quick like your intuitive glances

Strong and firm like your grit

Black like the reassuring darkness of the calm seawaters of the night

Like a maternal cradle that lulls you until the end of times

The colour in which something you repel  dies to turn in something else.

I painted all my fires, along with their fireplaces, in black,

To be here. To be now.

Here you are that, from single pictures, you create the sequence

and the movie of a ballet, exclusively orchestrated by the heart,

A tango that see our legs and bodies intertwined and grasped

 in the musical alternating of the rhythms

That jots down subtle harmonies in the magic feverish space around us.

Clear, glad and sensual the vibrations of your voice in which inflections I sail and linger on…

Strong infatuations make you inexplicably lose consciousness

reasons why it’s the most amazing form of madness

In which not all shapes are congruent and always fits well one another

In which you constantly work on rounding off and soothing the corners

Searching improbable joints.

It’s hypnosis in which you’re lost in a swarm of emotions.

You hear but don’t listen…

The details vanish, like your perspective,

Focused in another dimension,

In a tantalizing luring puppeteering of parts of you

whose you pull up and down the threads in search of the perfect minuetto,

that irresistibly attracts you in a mysterious alchemic game.

When you welcome and make room to it

is like the coin you choose to insert in a  slot machine

looking for some kind of fortune                                                                                                                          

maybe at the beginning a way like another to pass your time

longing for something new and different, some kind of amusement or whatsoever…

Initially maybe distractedly bored but insanely curious,

 then more and more involved till you finish to be enthusiastically raped

Taking on all your risks for victory’s sake.

It gives you the shivers on your spine like an electric shock

 in a ride on a roller coaster in and outside the tunnels,

needing to strongly fasten your belts and from which you wouldn’t never get off.

I’m not that kind of strong in my private life…

You and I,

We are pure art forms and culture,

Impressive portraits of perfection,

The chiaroscuro of a hysterical complementarity of melancholic hilarity,

linked by the quintessence of illusion,

Enchantment from classy glamour,

 masterpiece of nature,

inside out beauty and gorgeousness,

Smile to life.

Starring at each other eyes we can move mountains

primordial spring of energy

Trying to control the blood pressure and dizziness

To not stumble in our feet

In the perplexity  if losing or not losing control.

Every new love gushing from my heart

Makes me feel experience means nothing to me.

Whatever else are even all the marriages if not a strolling around in an overcrowded Lasvegas casino’?

Love is an affair at risk of consumption

But it’s never a losing game

If you can make it on your own.

You must be enough chameleonic ,

 If you decide to invest in it

 playing on disguise, to win the match,

to conquer what so strangely, suddenly, awake your wittiness and your senses

Passing over what is flat, old and useless by the passing of time

That project you in new realities or new dangerous fantasies

You can never know

Nothing’s predictable

I want the kingdom between my legs

And one memorable night would be enough to give you all.

Love feeds by itself

but if unrequited perishes like parts of yourself

 when one day after another look at you knowing that you could never be mine.

when you’re trapped in the cage of the illusion

you ask yourself what’s wrong in you and why it’s not possible turning it into reality

Early or later you need to touch the earth

All the flights need a landing or you bet your head derailing to obsession and manic

Don’t take a joke too far!

When I realize it in my obnubilated mind

it has already taken roots in my depths

always late

hardly believing… waiting for too long makes you lose hope.

skepticism has nothing to do with dreams,

so you are at a crossroad .

Sad and void, aware that this kind of emptiness could be filled just by him,

you can really perceive to be already addicted and sometimes unnerved

in the anguish for all the efforts made in vain in the immutability of the events.

Agonizing frustration.

We are distant in any possible meaning

and maybe nothing could join us, now and never…

and you feel your life itself have no sense

even if he keeps on making you feel it flows into your pulsing veins.

It’s the magic of seduction that from the initial attraction wants  just to head towards the sea

Always this game of impossible equilibriums,

 of give and draw back, to keep alive the desire,

when you would rather like completely abandon yourself to the other

I’m tired of all this stuff…

I have frayed nerves and my temples drilled…

Apathy like the excess of adrenaline could play tricks!

Love is also the certainty that you can let you go and set you free

That sane middle way and line of continuity so wished and never known

beyond the void and the nothingness after  the scruffles and the fuss…

what is true, then, when nobody knocks at your door?

You never stop to give me all sorts of orgasms but I can’t touch you,

All is surreal and highly unlikely,

The pernicious fatal effects of virtuality…

Exaggeration is my first skill and my utmost damage!

The sad princess is a child always grown up in the lost or missing of her soul-mate

That’s why she hates games and slip away from them

That’s why she’s in a hunt of shelters.

Lover is a winning gambler…but will this fortune last forever?

Without filters in the tunnel (free thoughts) - Senza filtri nel tunnel (pensieri liberi)

 Without filters in the tunnel (free thoughts)

from "Versi da una camera oscura", Amazon editions, 2021

I don’t know how much again I should serve my guilt to have loved with no limits

Neither of the mind nor of the conscience

I recollect the fragments of what has been at the mercy of nothingness

Just by virtue of my passion and without welcoming addressers.

As ever I love who is not present

And the imperviousness of the path attracts me and shroud me without filter.

Who we gather what I sowed along the way and will succeed to stitch me up

To come back to be what I was and to evolve in something somehow better?

I have no consciousness of what I am

And the future is an unclear arcanum.

Behind the walls of the indifference often are hidden sick hearts.

I hope to have let transpire some sense of beauty and inner illumination

Even if sometimes avulsed from reality,

To have gifted a dream

In a world that is not so marvelous

And escapism

And a cradle of tenderness

In which finding shelter.                                        

I know how it feels

When you arrived stretched blown out to the limit

And you feel with no rescues, no god, no alibi, no hope. 

This is what I have given not asking nothing in return,

As I would have wished to have been done to me.

But it was like talking to a deaf

And to show to a blind man.

So much that I had to turn back to retrace my steps

Not losing out too much.

I wished a son of love to offer to life…I produced cancers…the sons of rejection…

My immunological system is fucked,

Psychological defences to seal again

But at least is left the poetry.

You’re a professional killer.

Maybe it’s just me the deaf and the blind person.

Probably it’s the strange manner to adapt oneself to the life.

And I’ve lost and an important part of me have been left.         

Mocked and repeled

Made insignificant

With you I risked the bottom of the barrel.

Maybe I have a propension for bastards…

Everyday one humiliation more.

You sucked me in a vortex

In order to see me reduced to beg for a caress or a gesture

Make me go beyond each of my abysses

To find always new resources

To be able to love you one time more

Persisting in not accepting a reality different from that I have imagined.

Let’s not turn back any more, let’s look just ahead,

Towards more natural compatibilities, out of the machine,

Searching not just by the instinct and the heart

But also by the use of mind

What helps us to build our happiness,

If we are not able to stay alone.

We would create less damages if we would learn to love more ourselves.

It’s been foulishness. Maybe it’s my fault.

The end of a love story is not the end of life,

Even if I live each of them as it was the only one,

Even if I always fight with my first of them, the only unforgettable,

And it’s hard to find new equilibriums

Because every story transforms you    

And you can’t be always equal to yourselves.

We drag ourselves, we combat to find us again unnerved, not knowing what to do

Sometimes for the wish to put ourselves at stake

To find a sense where sometimes there isn’t one

To look then the sky and find again the serenity,

a sky that shows us that this is all.

I don’t know if it exists the perfect alchemy or it’s just a bullshit that we tell us

But I have learned by experience that the most important thing is to not lose oneself of sight,

To preserve us from useless devastations and self-harm,

In search of wisdom within an emotion.

 Love is communion, not annulment for the other

Even if maybe I won’t never be capable of not giving myself completely without conditions

And I will live forever somehow the conflict.

Arrived to forty, you come to terms with it

With the fact that nobody won’t be able to fill up that void

But maybe I’m just wasting my time with no point

For who has never deserved it and has never cherished my happiness.

I try naturally to open myself to life, with its joys and sorrows,

to who wants me to reflourish and smiles at me,

rather than dredging up an inclement past

to shake off the cross of pain. 

Senza filtri nel tunnel (pensieri liberi)

Non so quanto ancora dovrò scontare la colpa di aver amato senza limiti

Né della mente né della coscienza

Raccolgo i frammenti di ciò che è stato sparsi in balia del nulla

Forti solo della mia passione  e senza destinatario di recapito.

Come sempre amo chi non c’è

E l’impervietà del percorso mi attrae e coinvolge senza filtro.

Chi raccoglierà ciò che ho seminato per la via e riuscirà a ricucirmi

Per tornare a essere quel che ero o evolvere in qualcosa comunque migliore?

Di quel che sono non ho coscienza

E il futuro è un arcano incerto.

Dietro muri d’indifferenza spesso si celano cuori malati.

Spero di aver fatto traspirare qualche senso di bellezza e illuminazione interiore

Sebbene talvolta  astrusi  dalla realtà,

di aver regalato un sogno

In un mondo che tanto meraviglioso non è

Ed evasione

E una culla di tenerezza

                                               In cui trovare rifugio.                                              

So cosa si prova

Quando si arriva scoppiati al limite

E ci si sente  senza scampo, senza dio, senza alibi, né speranze. 

Questo è quel che ho dato senza chiedere nulla in cambio,

come avrei voluto fosse stato fatto a me.

Ma era come parlare a un sordo

e mostrare a un cieco.

Tanto da dovermi ritirare sui miei passi

senza rimetterci troppo.

Volevo un figlio dell’amore da offrire alla vita…ho prodotto tumori…i figli del rifiuto…

Il mio sistema immunitario va a puttane,

Difese psicologiche da ricucire

Ma almeno è rimasta la poesia.

Sei un killer professionista.

Forse la sorda e la cieca ero proprio io.

Probabilmente è lo strano modo di adattarsi alla vita.

Ed io ho perso e ci ho lasciato una parte importante di me.       

Irrisa e repulsa

Resa insignificante

Con te ho raschiato il fondo del barile.

Forse ho una propensione per i bastardi…

Ogni giorno un’umiliazione di troppo,

mi hai risucchiata in un vortice

per poi vedermi ridotta ad elemosinarti una carezza o un gesto

facendomi andare oltre ogni mio abisso

per trovare risorse sempre nuove

per riuscire ad amarti una volta in più

ostinandomi a non accettare una realtà diversa da come l’avevo immaginata.

Non volgiamoci più indietro, guardiamo solo avanti,

verso compatibilità più naturali, fuori dalla macchina,

cercando non solo con l’istinto e il cuore

ma anche con la mente,

ciò che ci aiuta a costruire la nostra felicità,

se non sappiamo stare soli.

Faremmo meno danno a imparare ad amare più noi stessi.

E’ stata una follia. Forse è colpa mia.

La fine di un amore non è la fine della vita,

anche se vivo ogni storia come se fosse unica,

anche se combatto sempre col mio unico primo,

ed è dura riequilibrarsi

perché ogni storia ti cambia        

e non si riesce più ad essere sempre uguali a se stessi.

Ci si trascina, si combatte per ritrovarsi sfiniti e non saper che fare

Talvolta per la voglia di rimettersi in gioco

Per trovare un senso dove talvolta non c’è

Per poi guardare il cielo e ritrovare una serenità che ci mostra che è tutto qui.

Non so se esiste  l’alchimia perfetta o è solo una balla che ci raccontiamo

ma  ho capito con’esperienza che l’importante è cercare di non perdersi di vista,

di preservarci da devastazioni inutili e autolesionismi,

 cercando saggezza  dentro l’emozione.

 L’amore è comunione, non annullamento per l’altro

Anche se forse non riuscirò mai completamente a darmi senza riserve

e vivrò sempre in qualche modo il conflitto.

Giunti a quarant’anni te ne fai una ragione

Che quel vuoto non lo potrà mai colmare nessuno

Ma forse spreco solo tempo inutilmente

Per chi non l’ha mai meritato e non ha avuto mai a cuore la mia felicità.

Cerco di aprirmi naturalmente alla vita, con le sue gioie e i suoi dolori,

a chi ti vuol fare rifiorire e ti sorride,

piuttosto che rivangare un passato inclemente

per scrollarmi di dosso la croce del dolore.

 

Attaccata a uno stelo - Attached to a stem

 

Attaccata a uno stelo

Una tuba di falloppio in sfacelo coi suoi bitorzoluti ammassi e fibromi

Un cancro che arriva a intaccare le ovaie ponendo fine a un sogno di maternità rincorso per anni.

Una donna a metà forse,

Forse non ho mai voluto esserlo fino in fondo,

probabilmente destinata a vivere come un’eterna bambina,

Una bambina mai nata,

In balia della precarietà e del non senso

Tra l’hustle and bustle e il tam tam rumoroso dei giorni morti

Le voci confuse e sovrapposte di dittatori spietati e caustiche maldicenze

Giudizi non richiesti, opinioni soggettive, relative, frammentarie

Che dalla superficie in cui nascono si annidano a fondo nei meandri della psiche intossicandola

E di cui neanche l’eco aveva l’alibi né l’invito ad interferire indebitamente

Voci che tacciano il fluire libero del pensiero e appesantiscono la fluidità dell’esistenza

Sospingendosi distruttive,

seppur repulse o fatte scivolate via in un’indifferenza di facciata o ragionata

E in cui ti perdi in un baccano malsano che nulla dice,nulla ascolta…

E ti trovi a voler essere un soffione

Che vorrebbe dissolversi  libero nell’aria,

Con gli occhi rivolti verso il cielo,

Estatica, leggiadra, senza peso, spogliandosi dei suoi ornamenti

basta cosi poco, il soffio di un attimo…

Ma che si ritrova ancorato giù al suo stelo

Sotto il peso dell’angoscia e del suo tormento

Che reclama le sue radici

gelando all’alito travolgente del vento

Che purifica, disincaglia e porta via con sè le scorie dei veleni

Ma che non riesce, non vuole, più lasciarsi andare…

Eppure sa che, nonostante speri in ripari d’occasione,  è l’inevitabile, liberatorio destino di una parte di sè …

Le uniche vibrazioni che sento ormai

Sono solo i rintocchi delle campane a morto

Che hanno dato il saluto ai miei affetti più grandi

E mi ritrovo a riporli in un cassetto, insieme alle loro foto,

in un angolo di un cuore che scoppia e che è stanco di battere ancora

avvolto in un manto di oscura solitudine e depressione,

che ha perso le ali invece di volare alto

nel rompersi delle uniche catene che lo legavano all’amore

e rimasta incastrata solo in quelle dell’odio e dell’oppressione.

Ultima delle romantiche ho sempre sognato una reale congiunzione di anime affini,

 il rapporto perfetto,

per concludere poi che l’idillio non esiste,

un’emozione placida e intensa come le onde del mare

che mi trascinasse con se anche in un putrido rigagnolo

 che riportasse al mare questo mio grembo sterile

che vorrebbe accogliere il seme di una benedizione che lo facesse rifiorire e riportasse a creare.

non l’ho mai trovato, non può essere altrove

e alla fine di quest’esistenza

vincitrice o perdente di qualcosa in questa corsa a ostacoli

vorrei che le mie ceneri riposassero per sempre nel fondo di quelle acque che, immaginarie o reali, non ci hanno mai diviso,

per non essere più pasto per i vermi anche dopo la morte

e non affrontare il degrado di ulteriori marcescenti putrefazioni.

 

Attached to a stem

A Fallopian tube in decay with its knobby masses and fibromas

A cancer that arrives to affect the ovaries sealing an end to my dream of motherhood I ran after for years.  

A half woman maybe,

perhaps I’ve never wanted to be one all the way,

probably destined to live as a forever child,

a never born child,

at the mercy of the precariousness and the non sense

among the hustle- and- bustle and the noisy tam-tam of the dead days

The slurred and overlapped of ruthless dictators and caustic slanders

Not asked judgments, subjective, relative, fragmentary opinions

That from the surface in which they are born nestle themselves to the bottom of the meanders of the psyche intoxicating it

And of which even the echo had neither the alibi nor the invitation to unduly interfere,

Voices that fling the free flow of the thought and burden the fluidity of the existence,

Destructive impelling,

even if repeled or let slip away in an apparent or reasoned indifference

and in which you lose yourself in an insane mayhem that nothing says, nothing listens…

and you find yourself to wanna be a dandelion

that would dissolve itself free in the air,

with the eyes turned up to the sky,

ecstatic, graceful, weightless, undressing all its ornaments

it’s so easy, the blow  of an instant…

but that is again anchored to its stem

under the burden of the anguish and of its torment

that claims its roots

freezing to the overwhelming puff of the wind

that purifies, refloates and drifts astray the excoriations of the poisons

but that is not able, doesn’t even want let itself go no more…

Anyhow it knows that, although it hopes for occasional refuges, is the unavoidable, liberating destiny of a part of itself….

The only vibrations I feel by now

Are just the tolling of the death knell

That have given the final goodbye to my greatest and dearest affections

and I find myself to store them in a closet, along with their pictures,

in a corner of a heart that is exploding and is weary to beat again

shrouded in a mantle of dark solitude and depression,

that has lost its wings instead of flying high

in the breaking down of the unique chains that bound it to love

and remaining trapped just in those of  hate and oppression.

Last hopeless romantic, I’ve always dreamt a real conjunction of elected souls,

The perfect relationship,

arriving to conclude that the idyll doesn’t exist,

a placid and intense emotion like the waves of the sea

that drags me with it even if in a putrid rivulet

that bring back to the sea this sterile womb of mine

 that would welcome the seed of a blessing that would make it reflourish and bring it back to create.

I have never found it, it can not be elsewhere,

And at the end of this existence,

Winner or loser of something in this obstacle course,

I’d like that my ashes would rest forever in the depths of those waters that, imaginary or reals, have never detached us,

To not feed anymore other worms even after my death

And not having to face the degradation of further rotting putrefaction.

 

 

 

 

 

Route to nothingness

 Your kisses, like bunches of white grapes,

insinuated themselves into the brooklets of my heart

to soothe its hurting sorrow,

sliping deeply down into my womb

to dampen my hot fragile intimacy

untouched for so long.

What has been done of this strange sort of unexpected excitement,

that left me behind in full surprise? 

What about the unspoken words and unexpressed feelings?

Another astonishing childish pleasure,

broken off suspended in between,

another unanswered question,

another spike of madness

that let me dizzy and uncertain,

wobbling in my trembling footsteps

into the dark route to nothingness. 

Lastricate geometrie di sangue - Paved blood geometries

 

Lastricate geometrie di sangue

 

Vorrei sentire le tue dita, anziché le mie,

bagnarsi nel sangue mestruale,

risalire e imbrattarmi tutto il corpo

lastricandomi con strane geometrie il mio ventre sterile,

per arrivare a sfiorarmi i capezzoli

che trovano la tua bocca e la tua lingua

fino a infilarmelo tre le vermiglie labbra di fragola,

per farmene gustare il sapore amaro e salmastro,

per sentirti respirare e sospirare all’orecchio

erotismi arditi,

tra saliva e battiti,

tra pulsioni di amore e morte

che sospingono finalmente il tuo fallo nel mio antro

per scassarlo ripetutamente

con tutto l’impeto che possiedi

nelle vene e nelle viscere

e lasciare il marchio di una fugace appartenenza.

Paved blood geometries

 

I’d like to feel the touch of yourfingers, instead of mine,

dipping into my menstrual blood,

going up and dirtying all my body

paving with strange geometries my sterile womb,

until arriving to graze my nipples

that find your mouth and your tongue

until slipping it through my vermilion strawberry lips ,

to make me taste the bitter and saltish flavour ,

to hear you breathing and whispering to my ear

bold erotic words 

between saliva and heart-beats,

between pulsions of love and death

that finally push your phallus into my den

to reputedly break it up

by all the impetus you’ve got in your veins and in your guts

and to leave the mark of an ephimeral belonging.

Innocence....My new tattoo!!!

"P-P" - "Innocence"

Finished the 19th of November, 2021..."Tattoo's Way", Reggio Calabria, Italy

Pungenti piercings selvaggi - Stinging wild piercings

Stinging wild piercings

 

 Who knows if in this absurd sleepless night

I dwell again in your dreams....

If I flutter over your queer thoughts, and how...

I’d like to be able to give you away a handful of tenderness,

That could keep your heart warm,

in a numb’s embrace

delicate and sweet

as the perfume of our skins

intermingled with the harsh smoke of our challenges

and the rock of our contradictory wild perplexities

on which linger dreams of freedom,

stinging as piercing to nostrils,

sparkling as a multi-faceted diamond,

a little softly, with low voice, on the sly

a little shouted at the top at full lungs to the four winds

in a scream that explodes or implode yourself,

Ravaging and yearning,

that can kill you or kill...

I don’t know if will be left just a remembering

To get weird an inattentive memory

Or if we’ll have better occasions, more and more true and intense,

To keep on possessing each other

until the extreme consumptions of the soul and of the bodies,

to keep on quivering once again

of overwhelming and phagocytating emotions,

in which we lose ourselves, one in the other,

in which we sweep away everything, even ourselves,

to sow, spill out and spread around just and merely love...

 

Pungenti  piercings selvaggi

 

 Chissà se in questa assurda notte insonne

abito ancora i tuoi sogni....

se aleggio nei tuoi strampalati pensieri, e come...

Vorrei riuscire a regalarti una manciata di tenerezza,

che possa scaldarti il cuore,

in un abbraccio di nuvola

delicato e dolce

come il profumo delle nostre pelli

frammisto all'aspro fumo delle nostre sfide

e al rock delle nostre contraddittorie perplessità selvagge

in cui si adagiano sogni di libertà,

pungenti come un piercing alle narici,

brillanti come un diamante dai mille volti,

un pò sommessamente in sordina

un pò proclamate a squarciagola ai quattro venti

in un grido che esplode o che ti implode,

devastante e struggente,

che può ucciderti o uccidere...

Non so se resterà solo un ricordo

a stranirci una svagata memoria

o avremo occasioni migliori, sempre più vere e intense,

per continuare a possederci fino all'estrema consunzione

dell'anima e dei corpi,

per continuare ancora a vibrare

di emozioni fagocitanti e travolgenti,

in cui ci perdiamo l'uno nell'altro,

in cui spazziamo via tutto, persino noi stessi,

per seminare e spargere intorno solo e solamente amore...