When I was a child I caught a fleeting glimpse..

Twilight enhances everything.
Dead trees turn into beautiful creatures,
an empty meadow becomes the setting of a mysterious tale.
Light and darkness dance together, the colors marry, as the French say.

Anything seems possible in that short period of time between day and night.
It appears to be a pause from actual time and space; outside of the ordinary.
Every time it comes I try to keep it, but twilight cannot be captured and preserved.
Its appeal lies in its fleetingness.

Like all other things passing, I want it precisely because it is impossible to have.

Deconstruction of self

'What do you mean?'
'What do you mean 'what do I mean'?
'I don't mean anything, if I did I would have said something else'

I believe in the power of language, not as beautiful decoration,
but in its ability of creation and expansion of meaning.
I say what I mean, even if I use a strange vocabulary and metaphors.
Because they open up new worlds. They create more dimensions to our thoughts.

So instead of saying 'I want you', I say 'there's a copper coil of desire conducting me'
When others would use 'I am scared', I choose 'if he broke her, where would the pieces fly?'

The words I use set me apart from others.
Metaphors and aphorisms tend to create their own world.
Spinning beautiful words into a thick net of imaginary stories.
Turning life into something that it might not be. Better.

The net is hard to break through.
There aren't many who find their way inside.
It is safer that way.


In the economy of the body, the limbic highway takes precedence over the neural pathways.
We were designed and built to feel and there is no thought, no state of mind, that is not also a feeling.

But what does that mean?
When we are trying to figure out how we feel, do we simply get stuck in a loop?
If every thought corresponds to a feeling, how can I think about emotions without them getting in the way?
Absurd, you must think...to be wondering about thinking about feeling.
Can't get very much else done.

But that's just me.
I complicate things for myself, because I cannot bear the simplicity that life can be.
Refusing to believe in the easy way out, I dig tunnels underneath my door to escape normalcy.
Faced with two choices I choose the third option even when it is impossible.
Self-imposed zemblanity, because it is the only way I know.

Nobody can feel too much, though many of us work very hard at feeling too little.
That's my story and I am sticking to it.

Trouble is just something that was filed in the wrong place.

Contentment is a feeling, you say?
I thought it was absence of feeling.

Actually content is just two letters and hardly a sound away from contempt.

Are we there yet?

Piu mi vorrai meno mi vedrai e meno mi vorrai e piu saro con te.

Im walking the tight rope,
One foot in the past, the other in my imagination,
I don't know what is real.
My version was safe, but now I cannot be sure of my own story.

You were here, but are you the one to remember?
Am I?

Am I so stubborn that I will not see what is real if it differs from my perception?
Has my cynicism made me blind to everything that is good?

Did I back down, leaving you there on your own?

RSS 2.0