sabato 23 aprile 2011

Mi sommergono troppi pensieri invadenti. Il nostro silenzio è così rumoroso, non credi? E se parliamo continuamo a dirci cazzate per paura di rivelarci. L'unica cosa che ci rivela sono gli occhi, sarà meglio bendarli: nasconderemo la realtà. Ogni giorno mi tradisco, dico falsità a me stessa e agli altri, se sai di conoscermi,Avvertirai la realtà.

L'ho annusato nella speranza che avesse ancora il suo odore. C'era. Quanto mi sarebbe piaciuto trovare il modo di conservare quell'odore per sempre. Annusare una persona vale più di mille foto.

Ultima lettera

Ti ho scritto quest'ultima lettera perché so che non ti avrò mai.
Sono rimasta in un angolo a guardarti, mentre te ne andavi con lei. È così indegna di te. Probabilmente l'hai fatto per farmi del male. Sai, ha funzionato. Sto molto male e credo non ci sia più niente da fare.
Non troverai mai più lettere scritte da me.

Citazioni

La gente vive per anni e anni. Ma in realtà è solo in una piccola parte di quegli anni che vive davvero, e cioè negli anni in cui riesce a fare ciò per cui è nata. Il resto del tempo è tempo che passa ad aspettare o a ricordare.
O subisci, o cambi le cose

Quando lottiamo per cambiare le cose, molte volte dimentichiamo che ciò include pure cambiare noi stessi.
Crescere vuol dire rinunciare a tutto quello che ti rende felice.
Non so perché ma quando pensavo a lei i miei pensieri non avevano mai il punto. Solo virgole. Erano una valanga di immagini e parole senza punteggiatura.
Il problema non è quanto aspetti, ma chi aspetti.
È come se tutto si muovesse talmente in fretta che il tempo sembra fermarsi.

martedì 19 aprile 2011

La Bellezza delle donne stà nello sguardo, nei movimenti, nel dolce fremito del respiro quando sono nervose,nel accellerarsi del battito del cuore trovandosi tra le braccia del loro amore, nella fragilità magistralmente nascosta da un'apparente forza e sfrontataggine, la bellezza delle donne alberga nel loro cuore sincero, per sempre bambino, quel cuore che non si rassegna a non trovare il suo principe azzurro mille volte sognato tra centinaia di favole narrategli tra il tepore delle coperte nella passata infanzia, quel cuore che mille volte verrà spezzato nel frastagliato percorso della vita e che altrettante volte si riaggiusterà tra lacrime e amori ritrovati, la bellezza delle donne la si trova nel profondo dei loro sguardi sognanti, che nel fissarli ci si perde tra migliardi di stelle, tra i sogni che le fanno vivere e la caparbietà che le rende uniche, la bellezza delle donne stà in ogni centimetro della loro pelle, che non c'è velluto o seta egualmente morbida e delicata ne leccornia che merita d'essere assaggiata riscoprendone sempre sapori nuovi, perchè dalle punte dei piedi all'ultima ciocca dei capelli non vi sia angolo che non abbia ricevuto almeno un bacio. La Bellezza delle donne sta in tutto questo e molto altro ancora ma, sopra ogni cosa, la bellezza delle donne sta negli occhi dell'uomo innamorato e solo in quegli occhi le donne potranno vedere quanto realmente siano belle, perchè solo gli occhi di chi ama parlano in maniera chiara e trasparente come nessun altro specchio saprebbe fare mai.

Mermaids

 Il canto delle Sirene è udible sino a 200 metri; tutti gli uomini entro questo raggio ne restano incantati.
Abbandonano qualunque azione e si gettano a nuoto per raggiungerle. Se non annegano prima, si lasciano poi uccidere senza opporre resistenza.  Le Sirene continuano a cantare finché la nave si trova a portata d'orecchie ma, appena smettono di cantare, tutti coloro che ne erano stati stregati tornano normali.Coloro che si tappano in tempo le orecchie con della cera, o che vengono protetti con qualche incantesimo, restano totalmente insensibili alla magia del canto. Le donne, naturalmente, sono immuni dall'incantamento delle sirene.

Nello sterminato silenzio del mare, non discosto dalle rive della Sicilia, i marinai languenti di nostalgia udivano talvolta un canto divino. Era un coro di voci di donne, d'una dolcezza che inteneriva il cuore. Aveva qualche cosa delle ninnananne dell'infanzia ed era, al tempo stesso, un canto di ebbrezza, Gli uomini abbandonavano le funi e il timone, ed ascoltavano, La fame li trovava inscnsibili e le Kere, spaventose dee della morte, venivano a prendere i loro corpi esanimi.

FALL, 1985

FALL, 1985
And it's a story that might bore you but you don't have to listen, she told me, because she always knew it was going to be like that, and it was, she thinks, her first year, or, actually weekend, really a Friday, in September, at Cam-den, and this was three or four years ago, and she got so drunk that she ended up in bed, lost her virginity (late, she was eighteen) in Lorna Slavin's room, because she was a Freshman and had a roommate and Lorna was, she remembers, a Senior or a Junior and usually sometimes at her boyfriend's place off-campus, to who she thought was a Sophomore Ceramics major but who was actually either some guy from N.Y.U., a film student, and up in New Hampshire just for The Dressed To Get Screwed party, or a townie. She actually had her eye on someone else that night: Daniel Miller, a Senior, a Drama major, only a little gay, with blond hair, a great body and these amazing gray eyes, but he was seeing this beautiful French girl from Ohio, and he eventually got mono and went to Europe and never finished his Senior year. So this guy (she doesn't even remember his name now - Rudolph? Bobo?) from N.Y.U. and her were talking under, she remembers this, a big poster of Reagan that someone had drawn a moustache and sunglasses on, and he was talking about all these movies, and she kept telling him that she'd seen all these movies even though she hadn't, and she kept agreeing with him, with his likes, with his dislikes, all the time thinking that he might not be a Daniel Miller (this guy had spiky blueblack hair, paisley tie, and, unfortunately, the beginnings of a goatee) but was still cute enough, and she i sure she was mispronouncing all these filmmakers' names, remembering the wrong actors, naming the wrong cinematographers, but she wanted him and she could see that he was looking over at Kathy Kotcheff, and she was looking back at him and she was getting incredibly smashed and kept nodding and he went over to the keg to get them some more beer and Kathy Kotcheff, who was wearing a black bra and black panties complete with garter belt, started talking to him and she was getting desperate. She was going to go over and drop some names, mention Salle or Longo, but felt it would be too pretentious, so she walked up behind him and simply whispered that she had some pot in her room, even though she didn't but hoped that Lorna did and so he smiled and said that seemed like a good idea. On the way up the stairs she bummed a cigarette that she was never going to smoke from someone and they went to Lorna's room. He closed the door and locked it. She turned the light on. He turned it off. She thinks she said she didn't have any pot. He said that was okay and brought out a silver flask that he'd filled with the grain alcohol punch before it had run out downstairs and she was already so drunk on that plus beer that she drank more of it anyway and before she knew it they were on Lorna's bed making out and she was too drunk to be nervous. Dire Straits or maybe it was Talking Heads were playing downstairs and she was blind drunk and even though she knew this was like sheer madness she couldn't stop it or do anything else. She passed out and when she came to, she tried to take off her bra but was still too drunk and he had already started fucking her but he didn't know she was a virgin and it hurt (not that badly, only a little bit of a sharp pain, but not as bad as she had been taught to expect, but not exactly pleasant either) and that's when she heard another voice in the room, moaning, and she remembers the weight on the bed shifting and realizing that this person on top of her was not the N.Y.U. film student guy but someone else. It was pitch dark in the room and she could feel two pairs of knees on either side of her and she didn't even want to know what was going on above her. All she knew, all that seemed certain, was that she felt nauseous and her head kept banging against the wall. The door she thought he locked flew open and shadows came in saying that they had to put the keg somewhere and the keg was rolled in, knocking against the bed and the door closed. And she was thinking that this wouldn't have happened with Daniel Miller, that he would have taken her gently in his big strong Drama major arms and undressed her quietly, expertly, taken the bra off with grace and ease, kissed her deeply, tenderly, and it probably wouldn't have hurt, but she wasn't with Daniel Miller. She was there with some guy from New York whose name she didn't know and God only knows who else, and the two bodies above her continued moving and then she was on top and even though she was too drunk to stay on top, there was another person holding her up, propping her up, while another touched her breasts through the bra and kept fucking her and she could hear the couple next door arguing loudly and then she passed out again, then woke up when one of the guys hit his head against the wall, slipping off the bed taking her with him and both of them hitting their heads against the She heard one of the guys throwing up in what she hoped was Lorna's wastebasket. She passed out again and when she woke up, maybe thirty seconds later, maybe a half-hour, still being fucked, still moaning in pain (they probably thought she was turned on, which was definitely not the case) she heard someone knocking on the door She said, 'Answer it, answer it,' or at least that's what she thinks she said. They were still on the floor when she passed out again... . She woke up the next morning, early, on the bed for some reason, and the room was cold and reeked of vomit, the half-empty keg leaking onto the floor. I Her head was throbbing, due partly to the hangover and partly because it had been banged against the wall for she didn't even know how long. The film student from N.Y.U. was lying next to her on Lorna's bed, which during the night had been relocated to the center of the room, and he looked a lot shorter and with longer hair than she remembered, his spiked cut wilted now. And in the light coming through the window she saw the other guy lying next to the film student - she wasn't a virgin, she thought to herself -the boy lying next to the N.Y.U. guy opened his eyes and he still was drunk and she'd never seen him before. He was probably a townie. She had actually gone to bed with a townie. I'm not a virgin anymore, she thought again. The townie winked at her, didn't bother to introduce himself, and then told her this joke he had heard last night about this elephant who was wandering through the jungle and who stepped on a thorn and it hurt a lot and the elephant was having trouble pulling it out so the elephant asked a rat who was passing by to 'Please pull the thorn out from my foot' and the rat made a request: 'Only if you let me fuck you.' Without hesitation the elephant said okay and the rat quickly pulled the thorn from the elephant's foot and then scrambled up behind the elephant and began fucking. A hunter passed by and shot the elephant, who started to moan in pain. The rat, oblivious to the elephant's wounds, said, 'Suffer baby, suffer,' and kept on fucking. The townie started laughing and it was a joke she wished she would forget, but it has stayed with her ever since. It was beginning to dawn on her then that she didn't know which one she had (technically) lost her virginity to (though odds were good that it was the film student from N.Y.U. and not the townie), even though that seemed to be beside the point for some reason on this post-virginal morning. She was vaguely aware that she was bleeding, but only a little. The guy from N.Y.U. burped in his sleep. There was vomit (whose?) all over Lorna's trashcan. The townie was still laughing, doubled up naked with laughter. Her bra was still on. And she said to no one, though she had wanted to say it to Daniel Miller, 'I always knew it would be like this.'