what is this?

what is this, this link between two people, this direct connection which brings so much joy, so much pain, so much confusion, so much happiness?
is this love? can we call it that way? this fountain of neverending tranformations, this fluid stream of emotions?

my pain, my brother

sometimes we just feel we need to go into deep, to reach the very limit of the pain we can feel - sometimes we just chose to feel a pain, to face it, to be totally penetrated by it - sometimes we meet a pain we just cannot resist: its charm captures us, catches our hand and brings us to the very back of its black cavern

i faced my pain today: it had the stiff flavor of a dirty body, it had red eyes like the devil and an empty gaze which told me: "Here we are again, me and you, you against yourself, my strenght against your belly, and you know there's no winning at all"

and yes, here we are - my pain has a face, it has a past, and some stories to tell
its eyes saw many more things than i saw, its hands have been dirty of many dusts,
its heart has felt the desert, but
it has lost it, too.

and you know, it's not a matter of comparison nor there's any prize to win: it's just a matter of bad timing, of possession, of memories from the past carved deep into the skin, of the way certain feelings stay stuck on the objects and the furniture, just a matter of the things we'd like to have done some years ago..
and it's a matter of sharing, too: me and my pain, well, we share the same touching hand, the same voice, the same way to be loved, the same under-the-roof-bed, the same intimate gaze caressing us, just like brothers share their mum

time divides us, and space, now, cause i'm locked in a room without a door while it's out catching the whole world with its eyes, and showing it to people

that's what i was thinking i would have done as an adult, when i was a little boy, that's what i thought i was cut for
but my eyesight is poor, my legs shake, my heart's weak, my passport
b l a n k

and there's nothing i can do now
my private revenge, my shiny little objects, my tidy little room are all
b l a c k
my palette has no colors but one

i've been raped once again, i've been slapped and beaten, i've been injured fatally, and you know what? i liked it, i wanted it, i just didn't lay a finger

but now my heart has no will but one: to go deep into this pain, search for the traces it has left everywhere, get dirty with its dirt, familiarize with its voice, spit on its face all the words i learned since i am born
then finally catch its neck and murmur to its ear
"i'm done with you, asshole, i'm done with your rabid reactions, i'm done with your evil habits, i'm done with your flak jacket, i'm done with your stiff presence"

and still it is my brother, somehow.

Your limbs

Come posso dire se la tua voce è bella.
So soltanto che mi penetra
e mi fa tremare come una foglia
e mi lacera e mi dirompe.

Cosa so della tua pelle e delle tue membra.
Mi scuote soltanto che sono tue,
così che per me non c’è sonno né riposo,
finché non saranno mie.

How can I say if your voice is beautiful
I just know that it penetrates me
and makes me tremble like a leave
and it tears me and it shatters me.

What do I know of your skin and limbs.
It just shakes me they are yours,
so that for me there's no more sleep nor rest,
until they will be mine.


Karin Boye (1900 – 1941)

november, 2004 - bittersweet memories of you.

Poem on the back

Poem on the back
Originally uploaded by **Aba**.

Tu tentenni, ed io
ti assalto, ti assedio
e quando finalmente inizio
ti spoglio.
Ma non c'e'
vestito che regga:
io ti vedo nuda
sempre, e non c'e'
vestito
che regga.

Ascoli, 1.I.2005