What is lost. And the past. And I remember.
One love, suffering acute, dull, loud, full, stuffy, terribly necessary. Impotence. Distance. The wear out every word or thought. I left in 2010 suffered a love, true love, real hatred towards those who I had in my whole essence and all my make-believe. In all my contempt for the jealousy that I could not fight, in all perseverance and passion that I put in those dreams of perfection. In 2010 I left again and drag the possessiveness. I hate it. But it is a trail that continues, I wanted to cut off a bridge. I left una persona, quella persona, ed ho preso in mano la mia vita più di quanto pensavo che avrei potuto fare. Il 2009 è stato il sogno. Il 2010 la fine del sogno. E tutto ciò che ne consegue. Inerzia. Apatia , totale mancanza di desiderio. Silenzio. Eppure tante, tante parole. E' finita la poesia, in questo blog, da quando ho smesso di amare. C'è solo una prosa banale e poco ricercata. C'è stata la speranza, l'indignazione, la rassegnazione. Il litigio con i miei. Un vaffanculo di cui no, non sono affatto pentita. Il bisogno di essere ascoltata. La psicologa. Il bisogno di cantare. Il gruppo. Il bisogno di Gaia. Lei, ed un amore nuovo, ambiguo, confuso, verso tutto ciò che è source of this feel good, you. I do not like to be alone, now I understand. You saved me, helped, ignored. There was. And that is enough to make a mess in my head. There's that red, and my new blue. That's what started the end of 2010. E 'away, the Claudia that go along with, he understood, smiled. I've been told too often that the second half of this year, have become less smiling, even if I do not noticed. I was alive. I was independent. I started college. I knew what could be my future. And they are reborn, in blue, and Yael was born. Earlier this year, Andre was reflected in me useless, he just needs attention. Now Yael desperately to convince you not need it, and maybe not really. He just color, it's enough to skate, I bought the wool hat, and perhaps his sister, with all the misfortunes that door. Yael is a new part of me. The party has decided to be different . Tired of being 'the one with the glasses', like a thousand others. In 2010, an exciting concert, and a less exciting, to be mentioned. The Placebo , in all the splendor of reverence and expectation, with the sound of drums when he was still the stage began to appear. That voice announcing with a simplicity that disturbing him, a dream, an ambition, a symbol, a god, for me, was there, terribly real, terribly close. Casino. T-shirts. Lack. The gay pride, a lot of people, lots of color, happiness. Some kisses unimportant, but something to think about, and wait. And then I realized that was not what I wanted. The decline . The knowledge that I was missing because I have not been fulfilled in independence. A different Christmas, Christmas more than most. And the colors right, those gifts, the strange desire to study, the last days. The examination was forgetting. In 2010, I turned nineteen and I got the maturity. Tears. Panico. Suicide, which was a recurring thought in his own way and so fascinating. Smoking. Cigarettes, more and more, too. Too many. The stomach ache. La vicina, che è andata via, e non torna più. Nuovi amici. Nuovo ambiente. Glò . Per qualche motivo, nella mia testa, sempre prensente. Per qualche motivo, la vedevo spesso, nella gente. E tutto quell'allontanare le persone. Piacevo a tutti. E li allontanavo. Un bel disegno, e numerosi acquisti su internet. Un letto nuovo, ed il coraggio di farmi ascoltare cantando. Ho imparato una canzone, intera, la so suonare e l'ho cantata e suonata in pubblico, una sera. Sono stata felice. Un momento. E poi il raduno, altre persone, un'idea interessante, una ragazza interessante, eppure questo silenzio, dentro. E il poeta maledetto, falso, ipocrita, bugiardo, e così costante, nelle sue apparizioni. Angelo, poeta. Pagine and pages written and forgotten. Are no longer part of me, but they are so intense, so beautiful, I had to show them. A trip to the city more alive, Berlin, and these murals, the wall destroyed, the metro, people, gays, and that sense of belonging, of life. The Melancholy of Prague, and the precision of Monaco. The hotel, chats, irritation and love for that way of life is a journey. Indian food. Evenings at the Chinese, with the neighbor. Mery. The decision to stop sending mail. Pierrot the clown, and Chris Corner, so intense, so tragically little themselves. The disappointment. I cosplay. The role-playing game. Important. Important. And then. New Year's Eve. Velvet Goldimine. Brian Slade.
What will come. In what I believe. In what I hope.
is not the year to change, but people. And good intentions do not seem to be well regarded, by luck. I can not give love, for the moment. But I would like something that shook me from this state of inertia and selfishness. I became a little 'bitch, and I would go back to listening to people without asking anything in return. And the university, I will, maybe, but I would do it. One day I will return to Berlin. One day I shall see Brian, and love him still with his eyes. I will sing with him again. I want to live Andre, bring back alive a part of me, her life, change it, make them smile. And I want to see Yael happy because I am Yael, at least in part. And the color will come back to me. I am 'the one with blue hair' and only 'I'. I would like to take this color, with no problems whatsoever. And learning to skate, to commit to something, to live this group and try and do concerts and I want to say that these people have changed. Find new friends. I will keep the old ones. I'm afraid to make new resolutions. Do not ever come true. The stop here.
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