Tag Archives: time

Made up wars

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Take up arms. A new made up war that was planned long time ago by a bunch of brain cells.

Take up arms. In defense of liberty. In defense of profit. In defense of peace. What is real?

Take up arms. The location was unknown until the day that beheld a  revelation had come.

Take up arms. Face the unknown that makes you worry and rant; and calls for teary eyes.

Take up arms. Make plans. Make distances insignificant. Make time spread, as ductile steel.

Take up arms. You bear the unbearable. Wicked pain. You might faint, but strong you remain.

Take up arms. Today, tonight. Tomorrow. I share with you my soul if yours gets stumbled upon.

Only real wars are worth the fight. The only real wars are those from the heart.

Clock

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Life is very good right now. Life could be better though.

New experiences and new hopes have been born. But also some of the old; the secondary clock in my computer is still set on Amsterdam’s time.

The alarm goes off in the mornings, waking up is as difficult as ever, but there is so much to look forward during a working day.

Yet… I’m in love with love. Feelings imitate chameleons. What’s up? Move on, walk on, fight, grow. Keep hoping for the best, prepare for the worst.

Dearest ally and enemy, oh clock.

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The bus stop

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Her mind was racing. She used to see him there, sitting down calmly while talking on his cellphone; always wearing a brown fedora and occasionally caressing its side as if the tactile connection was necessary to keep him in this world, at this moment.

A pair of tired feet guided her to the familiar bus stop, a three button blue coat keeping her warm, and her heart beating slightly faster than normal… He was there, and again, they shared a glance. One throat swallowed making an audible sound, and it echoed to the place and time the writer of the story is currently at.

It was a cold late afternoon, one of those who remind you of recycled paper instead of orange and pink cotton candy. The tiny roof was leaking rain drops that accumulated up there not too long ago, and as they fell down they were serving as part of the soundtrack of silence clashing against the carved concrete tiles, along with the noisy engines kept inside the multicolored passenger vehicles.

One minute, seven months, or an eternity went by. Making her way through the crowd, a last bus of the line 27 was taken by her. He left right after that.

And it was not because he waited for her every day, it was not to see her come and to watch her go. It was not because he was struggling for courage to start a conversation with her. It was not for a certainty, that was only building inside her… No. The trip back home took him there every day, at the same hour as hers, and he had a bus to take.

And time, eventually, said it best.

Starts with the 12th and the 15th

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Put on a brave face now, hustle your step

Sing not in the frequency matching my soul

Pack up your bags and come downstairs

It has arrived with dawn, the time to go

Forget it all: truths, lies, facts and acts

Weep not one more time, miss the glow

The treasured memories were overrated

Dreams did not have the chance to grow

What it may have been and what it really is

Do not fool your eyes covering what is known

Unfold your wings, sail tempestuous skies

Listen to the wind whisper, this was not home

Girly?

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Someone I didn’t know, with whom I had been talking to for around twenty minutes, asked me to write articles for a website, in exchange for a certain amount of money (or apples? …no specific currency was ever mentioned). I didn’t accept, for multiple reasons: The whole thing was suspicious, I’m not a professional writer, it had to be written in italian, and most importantly, the subject was -literally as the person said it- Girly (fashion, relationships, makeup, and other given definitions I don’t remember). Laughter.

I don’t even know where to start…

Perhaps I could start saying that reading the violent book passages in American Psycho was equally dreadful for me as reading the passages where the author engages on extremely detailed descriptions of clothing and designers. The first, disturbing; the second, boring. (This is not my analysis of the book, just a comparison that simply came to my mind at this moment).

Or maybe I can comment that high heels are big enemies of mine; in them, I look like Bambi learning to walk. And I can’t help to wonder why and why would women (and possibly certain men too) want to pursue a nearly tip-toe standing position that unbalances the evolutionary achieved equilibrium of the skeleton? Not to mention the fact that, while walking, you -or I- have to skillfully maintain that position and avoid ending up with your -or my- knees touching the ground while at it.

Also in the same subject, in case someone might think “oh, she must be tall, if she wasn’t, she’d love high heels”, I’ll say that I’m as tall as 1.62 m.

The fact that I will only mention the word relationships talks by itself.

Now let’s address makeup. I’ve worn makeup like three times in my life, two of those times because I was forced talked into it by my sister. What if it is a little shadowy under your eyes, or why if the sun has been a little unkind with your skin, or what if your eyelashes are not 5 cm long, or what if you have a little scar somewhere? I know some people, women exactly, that look like a completely different person when seen without makeup. Why would you want to cover yourself so much that you end up not looking like yourself? …I don’t know if nail polish is included inside the makeup category, but I don’t do that either, I like my natural pink and white looking nails.

Nevertheless, I feel compelled to clarify that I don’t look like Chewbacca. I’m pro-white teeth and pro-peelings, I have a minor obsession with plucking my eyebrows, I do like pretty cloth (dresses included) and shoes, I brush my hair sometimes… I like looking nice; but not at expenses of what a given society thinks is beautiful. Anytime, I will choose natural freckles over a fake flawless skin look, and comfortable shoes over death traps.

Beauty is subjective, and along with fashion, they both change with time, location, and the observer. And even if resistance to certain beauty practices is growing with the new generations, I will give some examples… Look at the long neck women of the Kayan tribes in Burma and Thailand, the XVIII century’s white wigs fashion in European influenced countries, the teeth blackening of traditional Vietnamese tribes, the foot binding custom in China, the plastic surgery boom worldwide (artificially smaller or bigger anti-gravity, anti-genes and/or anti-age body parts), the Japanese Geishas, etc.

Modesty apart, I may not be Girly, but I’m a beautiful woman nonetheless.

Oh, and no offense was intended… I bet Chewie is handsome for someone out there, and for himself.