real self / virtual self

so many times i've heard or read people speaking about how false our virtual identity could be: they all say that the personality we have on chatlines, blogs, forums - in a word: on the internet - is very different from the one we have in real life. By this assumption, they argue that our internet-identity is a false one.

i don't agree. this is not always true, at least it absolutely is not for me.
my virtual self is very similar to the real one. the difference lays in this: my virtual self has no social conventions to respect, often it has no "historic memory" of me - by which i mean that i don't have to follow the trace of what i've been or said or wrote or done in the past, i don't have to be coherent with the "character" i'm in people's head

the internet is a chance for all of us to be more coherent to ourselves
but still it is a good chance to fake, too. but then, isn't our personality also revealed by the lies we say?

i can't eat anything by sara b.

inspiring girl

world's inspiring, always
people r inspiring, sometimes

my lil sister told me about this girl who puts up some pics on flickr, sara b.
so i go and c her pics there
and then i go and c her pics on the mirror project
and i suddenly think this eye of hers on the world and on the self just inspires me

everyone has his own perfect communicating instrument, his talent
i think this girl can communicate by the photographs she takes
i can bet she cannot talk in the same deep&direct way she talks with her shots

but which is mine? which is my perfect communicating instrument?
"the smile", A.R. said so many years ago, "but still your secret is that u do not communicate yourself at all, beneath it all" - and yes she was: she was right.

far away, so close

sometimes no matters how far from u a person is, u just feel so close that u could say u two can touch

then, writing on your notebook feels like writing on this person's skin and in this person's head - there's just this direct connection, this souls' telepathy

true life

Just yesterday i finished reading a book that i really loved: True Tales of American Life(British edition; American one is entitled "I Thought My Father Was God"), edited by Paul Auster.
Some years ago, Auster was conducting a radio programme in which he asked the audience to send him true stories of real life, in which were involved the more mysterious aspects of life. Stories about small, turning-points in one's life. That was called "The National Story Project". The goal of the project was to collect stories from all over the country, all social classes, all ages, and about every aspect of life.
Auster received more than 4 thousands stories, 180 of which are published in this great book. The goal was hit.
The only work done by Auster was chosing 180 stories, giving each a title and dividing them in chapters, by argument (Dreams, Death, Love, Meditations, Slapstick, Animals, Strangers, etc). All the rest is pure distillation of the moments which make our lives more charming and intense than fiction, sometimes - all the rest is just writing at his very best.

"Sometimes it is good fortune to be abandoned. While we are looking after our losses, our selves may slip back inside" [Ameni Rozsa, An average sadness, which is the last story of the book

multinationals

and the mighty multinationals
have monopolized the oxygen
so it's as easy as breathing
for us all to participate
yes they're buying and selling
off shares of air
and you know it's all around you
but it's hard to point and say "there"
[Ani di Franco, Your Next Bold Move

it's a sad thing to admit, but it's just the truth
and that's why the more and more
i am torn between the life i'm living
and another one -
in a place in which they are not arrived still,
in a place where i can really enjoy simple things in life,
living in harmony with mother earth and my brothers and sisters
- which are every single human being on earth.
what's this run for richness and progress for?
what's this trampling on environment, human rights, traditions?
THEY are killikng the beauty in the world
WE can do little to stop this
but still there's something we can do:
never stop thinking
never stop fighting
never stop being smart consumers
never stop telling the others
never stop loving earth
never stop loving people
never stop loving.

scatolina

lil box with lucky lil objects

a bullet from the first round i shot with a gun

an egitptian beetle

a wild chestnut

a surrealist box (sirene's singing..)

a ladybug

and some other lil stuffs

days

days keep fading away, like scarvy scars drying on the skin, like oil stains vanishing on the asphalt

"..and these days i feel like i'm fading away" [Adam Duritz