My fifty.

I'm not easy. Those who pretend to care about you and well, actually they don't. They say they like you and if they don't like you… they don't tell you.

He says he likes you, very much, when the specimens of man perform these peculiar courtship dances. At first… he must be impeccable. Convincing. He's kind and thoughtful. He fills me with all manner of attention.

He needs to be prepared to make a good impression. He and her aren't that different. 'You're not so far'. 'You are not so different from me, really'.  Then he struggle. Gets evasive. 

He devolves into banality. Such a gentleman. What a coward.

I'm not easy. I'm different. So far. 

Being in society. I can't. I don't know. I travel by camper, I eat with my hands, I lick my fingers, I sleep in the tent. I'm not a serious woman. I'm strong. I don't need care and any attention. I'm a free woman.

Or at least it looks that way.

I just can't get enough. I can't get enough of me. Is always too little. Time. Space. Life. Love. I can't delight no one. I can't. No matter how hard I try to please… to welcome… 

This is way.

What a pity. Such a waste. Of time. Of will. Of pleasure.

I'm not easy. I'm different. So far. 

Anversa. Luglio 2022. My fifty years.

Simple. I'm not easy. I'm across. I'm beyond. 

I'm inside, inside people, inside things.

🎧 Animal Instinct. The Cranberries.

her kind

Sono uscita, una strega posseduta
che caccia l’aria nera, più intrepida di notte
che sogna il male, ho fatto il mio dovere
al di sopra delle case normali, luce per luce:
creatura solitaria, con dodici dita, fuori di sè.
Una donna così non è una donna, del tutto.
Io sono stata come lei.

Ho trovato le caverne calde nei boschi,
le ho riempite di tegami, intagli, ripiani,
stanzini, sete, innumerevoli oggetti;
ho preparato cene per i vermi e gli elfi:
lamentandomi, riordinando il disallineato.
Una donna così è fraintesa.
Io sono stata come lei.

Ho viaggiato nel tuo carro, conducente,
ho salutato con le mie braccia nude i villaggi che passavano,
imparando gli ultimi luminosi tragitti, sopravvissuta
dove le tue fiamme ancora mordono la mia coscia
e le mie costole si incrinano dove turbinano le tue ruote.
Una donna così non si vergogna di morire.
Io sono stata come lei.

Anne Sexton.


Perché io scelgo chi scrive come son io.


Io. A Milano. Abito color fondente, tailor-made.
🎧 T.B. Sheets. Van Morrison.

All thoughts fly

Painting Leave a Mark.

🎧 Hammers. Nils Frahm.

His hands are like hammers. Twenty-one million times he got to swing those hammers. On my skin. And below. And it wouldn't be enough. All thoughts fly: hands rubbing against each other, hands that close, hands that open, hands caressing, strong hands that come into the mouth, hands that trace the scars on back… Any fluent perception or clear meaning is made impossible for several minutes, but eventually things come together in a gesture: the shaking of two hands. I can still remember the feelin' of his hand on my skin. But not enough for me anymore. All thoughts fly.