I was telling how i once attended a concert at that place, i hardly said "Yeah it was convivial and fun, they served beer, it could be a nice place to play with our band!", and right away the judgement falls, "It's a shitty dirty place, small as a classroom, with no real stage", then i saw that scornful grin, that can only be interpreted by "You talk non sense, what you felt is absurd.", built under a constant avalanche of depreciating answers, it's not surprising to lose confidence in one's right to exist, but i notice it now, i'm not a fool, i'm talking sharing the emotions and they respond practical matters.

I want to get rid of what can't understand me, i'm tired of keeping shut my own self, always containing what i really want to share, the difference is simple to get in that example and those who can't pinpoint what the other is trying to share, those who don't know how to listen, i don't want to be around, if the relation must be a painful, scrambling effort i'm begining to think it's better to step away and find what is good with me.

Quest for absolute Truth

We can talk to a lot of people, the communication will be stimulating only with very few of them, very few will resound to our temper if we are true to ourselves, if we don't force ourselves to adapt to the others. The real sharing is the most rewarding and gratifying, this is what we naturally need, if we lie, to ourselves and to others, by any means, even unconsiously with our behavior, a fake smile, a lenient word, we are spoiling the relation.
I note this, in the idea to be permanently myself, permanently real, to get in touch, to draw to me the persons i will naturally flourish with, and them with me, in a constant sharing of realness and satisfaction.
That is from the start The Quest! The truth of being Me.

Here's !, The real resentment

CHARLES BUKOWSKI :
"The house of horrors. The house of agony.
The house where I was almost done in
but not quite done.
I’m still here
you see.
this is the lawn that I manicured.
I had to mow it both ways.
This way first then this way.
And I had to get all the hairs with the sheers.
If I missed one hair
I got a beating,
one hair.
It’s very hard not to miss one hair.
Try it some time.
So I always got a beating.
-
The old man had a razor strap he used to hang here
and he’d just take it off,
drop your pants and your shorts.
I would stand about here
and he would begin.
And I don’t know how many lashes he’d give me
but they’d be hard,
eight, ten, twelve,
fourteen.
Of course you can’t help screaming
especially when you’re six years old, seven years old.
As I got around to be about ten or eleven or twelve
I screamed less in fact.
last beating I got I didn’t scream at all.
I just didn’t make a sound.
And I guess that terrorized him
because
that was the last one
when I didn’t make a sound."


Too much, too little, too fat, too thin or nobody. Strangers with faces like the backs of thumb tacks. Armies running through streets of blood waving wine bottles. Bayoneting and fucking virgins. Or an old guy in a cheap room with a photograph of Marilyn Monroe. There is a loneliness in this world so great but you can see it in the slow movement in the hands of a clock. People so tired, mutilated either by love or by no love. People are just not good to each other one on one. The rich are not good to the rich. The poor are not good to the poor. We’re afraid. Our educational system tells us that we can all be big ass winners. It hasn’t told us about the gutters or the suicides or the terror of one person aching in one place alone. The beads will swing. The clouds will cloud and the killer will behead a child like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone. Too much. Too little. Too fat. Too thin. Or nobody. More haters than lovers. People are not good to each other. Perhaps if they were, our deaths would not be so sad. Meanwhile I look at young girls skin, flowers of chance. There must be a way. Surely there must be a way we’ve not yet thought of. Who put this brain inside of me? It cries. It demands. It says there’s a chance. It will not say no.

CHARLES BUKOWSKI

There's a hole at the tip of my slipper
there's a rat in my slipper
i can see his black tail
sticking out
next to my bleached
nails uncut toes
there's a friend in my head
sitting with me in the bathroom
while i'm purging my bowels
and muse away
there's a rat in my head
he casts himself where i look
he gnawed the tip of my slipper
and crammed against my crooked foot
like a part of me
i'm peaceful
i've got a rat as a friend.

I always had a lot of theories,
people criticize it sometimes,
i realize now it's a good thing,
i have theories
because i always stayed faithful to myself,
my theories are my own reasoned perceptions,
that sometimes,
often,
all the time,
people don't get at all,
and i'm proud
i never bent.

I can love other people, meet other people, be happy with other people, share with other people, and i will love you till the end of my life. period.

Sketch of Ideal ("Stop being gentle, be real ! ")

I am what i know i am, i'm not perfect, like everyone, i have humanistic values, i'm respectful, sincere and honest, i don't feel constrained to please to others, and i don't care for those who can't appreciate me, i have faith in my philosophy, i'm non violent, my mind is untainted, clear, i wish no harm, i'm peaceful, i'm respectful of myself and others, i have nothing against me, my philosophy is respectful of everything, i know what triggers good emotions in me, i know how to interpret those emotions and then i can act respectfully of others' ways and everything around to satisfy my needs, i can ask the good questions who will help me to go forward and be satisfied. The emotion defines the nature of the need.

Words are Warm

Let me walk the streets with my pal, a can of cold cheap soda fused in my hand, siping the bitterness itchy on my tongue, dressed in my neat new clothes i step in equilibrium on the crest of the curb, dodging the spurts of happy wet grass blooming between the blocks while she goes assured on the rough tarmac, slithering between the dripping parked cars we exchange our ways at every turns, both always equal, i point at a fancy housing recently painted in a shiny orange, here to be our only sun ray impersonation, she directs me along the roads she knows to show me the plants and greenery she learnt to describe, stopping, crouching each time with that same enthousiasm, all along a lively discussion endlessly ongoing, words are shared, so many, with that resonance and inner passion, that both of us now completely drenched never noticed the drilling rain who tainted that mediocre day.

Don't listen to a writer

I have the soul of a writer, all i write is emphasized, people!, don't listen to writers, they are the greatest forgers.

Today i'm low
i need affection
i feel powerless
old and unworthy
people are dull out there
no exception
and i want to give all my love
to an absent person
hope is playing hide and seek
inside me
it's leaking away
without refuel

(linked to video "absent day in greyness", i'll make it ok!)

"Sad little Heaven"

Almost nobody holds on to writing
why
isn't it satisfying for people?
I think most are lazy to think
they don't have that energy
they burn the few they have elsewhere
in effortless stimulations
open the fridge, grab a piece of cake
some here say i have three lungs
maybe that goes with two brains and two hearts
who, what will be able to keep the pace
it's a lot to stimulate.
To attain satisfaction
on my own
should i .........just
................................kill
half of me.

(now everyone can giggle, fidget, and get back to a "normal" life)

if my irony could blast

All is here, instead of living my youth, flirting, going out, experiencing... i wrote letters.

I'd like to be immortal and so develop that chance to love forever!

Is Loneliness simply the need for affection, stirred, to talk to, to be close, hold by someone who will say it is fine and that we are good, pretty, worthy.
So loneliness could have another name and to me it's...

When i was younger
i fantasized on being beaten up,
stabbed,
or involved in an accident,
hoping that people at last will see me
and pity me,
and someone will be then compelled to get close,
that was the only way i could imagine
to have a chance to prove i could be
lovable.
Unfortunately,
i never had that chance.

I don't want to lose my time with people i can't feel fine with, and i have one particular temper to match! I will always be a marginal but i'll be one oriented to self well being and goodness. I'm so much into myself now, i almost want to say i can't ever be sad. I have that will to give to some people, differently, to propose parts or all, and it's their choice to accept me, if they don't, it just means i misleaded my want and i can still grow from that, to specify the sharing that fits me and be more certain of the persons.

Sex isn't related to love! that's so obvious! (sex is a natural impulse, love is the attraction to the complexity of one person, creating a very strong bond, i feared the more i grow old i'll have less and less chances to be loved, but i know now, i'm sure, that true love doesn't stick to the norms of beauty.)

(an old writing, i wanted to share because i like how i wrote it)

I always craved for the ultimate part of intimacy, i talk, i share, my whole self communicate for that, they say sex is the icing on the cake, it's way harder to really know someone, lust is easy, love is rare, i always act to reach the difficult peak, i don't settle on easyness, i want the highest high. I let people know that i'm fucked up right away, we are all, but they hide it, i'm the most honest because i crave real intimacy that goes to the core of our fears and desires. Beyond to acceptance, at that point a naked body is just truth and natural beauty.

off switch

This has an effect on me, those sad songs, when i'm alone it only makes me melancholic, if i was with you it will make me affectionate, your presence turning experiences to positive.

Illuminated boldness

Sometimes i pause, imersing in that frame, following the soft curves, drawing under my forehead and my cheeks the more prominent bones, i blend on the walls, and i crawl, getting closer for a surprise, caressing that cloth, rubbing, the cold line of a thin essential metal pressed against a mellow flesh to end behind a lob and the little hair i dream to comb, i'm a pattern made to tatoo the skin, expressive affection, i separate the strands and play it like a guitare, bare, a teasing melody, tickling the wide sensitive expanse, i come from the ceiling, to dive into the bliss of two pearls of displaced loveness, there's a rolling passion raising this chest straight, heaving face to face, rising, twirling with the embodiment of desire, i squeeze gently, run along the precious silhouette, lend those strong features, the biceps that respire, for enjoyment, for the always coming presence, the entangled fingers that swing to one way, i slip into the warmth of a coat made for one, a rainbow to be born, kiss, kiss, high, down, all around, the rosy smile, the hidden, the giggling embarrassement, a body rooted as a protective tower, a body mild and supple to play with, clasping in his pleadings, murmuring the appeals, to the generous charms i see, oh the gloss, the shine of what was supposed to displease, the gloss i'm mesmerized to touch blindly, to land my exhilarated lips to the sure conquering of shine.

No more clueless party

What's here to think about, everything was so much simpler when we were young, we were getting drunk, massively drunk, and use music as a catalyst, the one with the weakest complexion was succumbing first to the rave, bringing all the others in his wake, plainly one purpose : get drunk... and whatever, but we had that link, we were all boys with a passion for rock music, now we are boring adults, dreadful to be the pinpoint of gossips for the next day, so reserved, leering at each others, suspicious, what is to say, is simplicity lost forever, we don't know each others, let alcohol do the talking, if you want to gather unfamiliar people you have to help them to drop their stiffness and fake playfulness, i loathe that taste, when we are all victims in sight, keeping our distance and never saying what we really think, i'm still drunk, i wanted to use the trick of alcohol, but that doesn't work alone, without a link, i wanted to go in the center of the room and shout "damn, people get moving", tool - parabola, that's my sound, follow me, that easiness is lost in an adult atmosphere, so it's pointless to reunite strangers, they are locked in their ideas, those type of gathering aren't for me, anymore, cigarettes make me want to puke, and alcohol only gives me a hangover.

I felt grieved for my brother, he didn't want of that solemn annoyance, i supported him this whole sunday, he put so much pressure on himself and concealed it to everyone, he took the responsibility of people's fun, he's a sensitive guy, like me, i'm sure.

Learn to fly

I point out the dense woods under the big sky, and say how i used to scramble in the vegetation nearby my parents' house when i was short and fearless, dirtying my clothes walking through streams in the lost, wild areas; she follows me on that path; the holly, spurting everywhere on a mat of chiseled rotten leaves, scratches our jeans at the height of our calves; here comes a deeply channeled ditch with, for me, coming back from my memories, the so familiar trunk tilted over it, ivy and moss running along like veins and hair; swift, and free again, i rush, tiptoe on that half bridge, surfing it, reliving the thrill of the void, i watch afar from my perch, proud, dominant, sure of my long time exercized abilities, emulating a nimble and smooth feline; she stays on the bank, "you make me feel dizzy, she says", i turn to her and she really looks sick, "but, i reply, you're not on that tree, i am, you are taking my feeling, you are out of yourself, losing yourself, because to say the truth, i'm feeling very fine!", hanging, in mid air.

You should search for your own feelings, and don't copy others', that's how you let yourself used by them, and abuse yourself. If someone expresses a feeling towards you, be sure it's his own only, and probe yourself, know yourself, to be sure about what are your own feelings.

"You hid all your life but at least you lived in yourself, my actions were never really mine as i transposed and let myself controlled by others' feelings, and that is worst!", that's what she said.

It's time for us to get down and act truly for ourselves. All of us.

Nude the back on the floor
twitching on a curly white moquette
the back of the hands filling the eyes sockets
as to impede any tears
frowing, moaning, begging
"i want to touch you, please, touch me"

shards of positivism

I won't get back all those years, what can be done now, i want to love, ...me ...others ...someone

I'm not the most beautiful man on the planet, not the richest, not the most righteous but i have my qualities and at least i'm learning to be myself, i know myself
more than most.





















I know why i feel so good with you, it's because with you i feel i can put all my imagination in my communication freely and safely.

... and maybe in the end you'll discover that it's with me you feel the more yourself, the more happy.

or not

i wish at least you'll be sure.

and choose clearly.