#aiureli

I find myself influenced by this feeling quite often, being sensitive to the world around me. I'm a lover, not a hater. My deep appreciation might be taken as a vulnerability and it might even be so because if you give me a person who you find ugly ("as a modern art masterpiece", full metal jacket, couldn't help it) I will find at least one thing about him that is beautiful, that is worth noticing. I just can't help it. Maybe that's why I am attracted to wounded, malfunctioning, problematic human beings. There's just something about them that makes me come closer, that provokes me to understand the source of their anguish and, most probably, to soothe them. 

Every time I see talented people perform or do whatever it is that they love, I get infatued with them, with their passion. Whether it is their voice, their body, their words or even the sparkle in their eyes that assures me there's more than the surface. Because people nowadays are so shallow it makes me sick. They have been intoxicated with bad taste, they have no values and are dug deep into a mediocrity of which they complain.

I was never the one to be given up on. 2, maybe 3 times tops. It was because of a series of small actions followed by a big mistake which made everything come to an end. But I assumed responsibility. I was never the evasive type, I always knew if the fault were mine: never to escape universival justice, I thought. Yet you might say there are many who indeed are forgotten by the terrible knock of impartial fate. Believe me, they are not. They will live their sentence in a hell which you could never imagine, as it is personal. It isn’t made of people boiling in cauldrons or scenes of the type (medieval times have taught us that there are far ‘better’ and more horrid ways of enslaving a soul to the burden of pain). Yet it is made of the possibility of reviving that one critical time when we did it wrong, kissing those lips before it were too late, giving that phone call because it MATTERED to the one receiving it, overcoming laziness for the sake of another human being. Otherwise, we are alone. And we shall be driven mad. Mad, mad, mad. Insane.

The one who is alone is cursed because he does not know how to give to others. What’s the point of living if you do it all by yourself, for your own well-being only? Consumed by ego, by the thirst for abundance, by the thirst of personal acclaim, but nothing to give. Emptiness, that’s what I would call it. Sourness. Pitifulness, even.

Get the chance to taste serendipity. You won’t if you only think of your ex who broke your heart, your friend who betrayed you, your boss who treated you wrong or the lady at the store who gave you a ugly look just because you wanted to buy 2 dollar gum and were waiting for the rest of 48 $ dollars only because you - sincerely - didn’t have change.

Bliss. Those rare-but-not-exactly-so moments when you value the time in which yoy get to be sincere. Tell your mind. Enhance your smile. Prove through gestures. Go crazy with yourself, by yourself, with friends, without friends. FUCK IT ALL. But that doesn’t mean you should be rude or mean. Respect yourself but also respect the ones around you because they are your image. They respond to how you react. To who you are. And they will run away if you are not kind and understanding, but also clever and vertical in your beliefs.

I started at one point at which I was full of sorrow. I had carried it within for years - it still visits me sometimes. Like a rider with a long silk coat who drags me underneath to keep me warm but dark. I have learned to cast him away. Throw some light and love on his face and he’ll run away, terrified by the energy he has never felt, the one that burns him down. Sorrow doesn’t stand a chance in the face of a frank smile, not to mention Happiness itself. You don’t even need much. You don’t even need grudges. I know people who keep a tight grip on their traumas and grudgy past experiences because they genuinely think that they wouldn’t be the same without them (which is positively true) and that they are given that oh-I’m-so-nonunderstandable air. It is one problem to really draw the eye through your personality and another to attach to your problematic inner world just because you think, in your silly little mind, that if you started to be ok you wouldn’t be that much of a interesting person. Screw you. You don’t need problems or tactics such as (subtle but still there) victimisation to attract.

Too many masks. They are useful, indeed, since you can’t give yourself on nothing or on poor exchange. Yet it had become an art. I want YOU. All of you. The real you that I can run away with and feel and touch and sense, the you that I can breathe through my skin. The you of all people, real people. The end of fake personas. Less fake smiles, but more real, heartfelt ones.

And the end of Facebook, that delirious crap, making you feel dependant on the opinions of people you don’t even know in real life. Fuck this shit.

Where’s home?

I want a bonsai.