La vita media del Quarkonio

Acting like a puppet, that’s what I’ve became.
A silly puppet in her hands, that’s what I am.
But I can’t help, you know, she can lead me, you know, I can’t… well I can’t…
You know…
Just… you know… well if I think I’m waiting a phone call from her since one hour and thirty-four minutes? What do you think of me know? Am I mad, crazy?
You know I’m not, don’t know if it’s love, or better, if it’s obsession, but you know…
First time for me, eh!
Before her, just quick adventures, women as food, nothing important but me. Now it’s different, you know…
One hour and thirty-five minutes.
Point is: she told me she doesn’t want to see me today, I don’t know why, goddam I just love her.
Or maybe it’s not love, it’s just desire, obsession… fucking damned obsession… fuck!
Calm down.
Calm and breath, breath, don’t pant, just breath.
You know what? you knew this from the beginning, this was wrong, you know? completely crap, wrong as hell. And you got involved, stupid, stupid you.
That’s because you’re weak, aren’t you? One Hour and Thirty-six minutes…
Blame on me, but I lost my head for her, and just… well, you know…
Just watching and watching my damned phone, and…
Ok, need to stop, erase her from my mind, for the very last time.
No way to get stuck on this, you know… Stop it, please, look yourself at the mirror, look at you, you are not you, you’re just a silly puppet, fucker, silly, stupid, idiot…
Calm down, breath…
Ok, time to erase her…
One Hour and Thirty-seven minutes…
Well what I meant when I said just quick adventures before, well, you know…
Well, I like girls, like everybody I think, don’t know, well…
I like, well, to taste girls, I mean, to taste their flavour…
You know… it’s quite good, human meet is good, and by the way you can’t really say you love a girl if you don’t… well… try her in all her ways…
That’s what I meant… I had girls as food… literally…
Well I’m trying to control myself now, because I really love this one, I want to keep her safe from me… but she… well, you know… she’s stimulating my dark side.
Well, you know…
One Hour and Thirty-eight minutes…
I’m really trying high to control myself… damned fucker phone… calm down…
She told me she doesn’t want to see me anymore…
Impossible… impossible…
Because I love her, fucking hell… I mean…
Time to prepare my stuff and go.
Well, I know where, you know…
I need… to find her… you know…
Need to be elegant…
One Hour and Thirty-nine minutes…
Elegant because she deserves it.
Dinner is important, even if somebody doesn’t care so much about it.
But, you know…
That’s what I’m used to… and…
Well, you know…
Sorry, now I have to go: time to visit my little and pretty girl…
You know…

I just want to stop that dream.
That’s why I stacked in pile chair and table.
That’s why noose hangs from ceiling.
I’m sick of waking up at night, get it?
Everytime I close my eyes…
“Don’t go away, please…”
Slip away from me, no coming back…
“Don’t!”
One hand upon each other, slowly sleeping, her dead eyes…
Dolls dance, white faces, accordion playing round the corner shop.
Love has no age, melancholy is middle aged.
Just remember the first day I spoke to you, saying you own my heart; you looked at me like a scientist studying a monkey; and truly I was.
Elegance still kills my brain, white dress, white shoes, white handbag.
Grasp her again, now.
Few steps along the road, drizzle all around.
“What about your family? You’re a family man, behave!”
She blushed.
“Daughter is twentysix, ring has broken, my wife doesn’t love me anymore… same for me… well, this is not a business between me and you. I’m just naked, in front of view, my heart is naked as well. I just love you, hope you don’t mind.”
That was so silly.
She didn’t answer, just came close to me, lean her head for a kiss, and we were as one.
Love has no age, maybe.
I wake up, everynight the same picture shakes my tired mind.
Two hands sliping away, one from each other.
Her half-closed eyes.
First time in my life I fell in love, not even knowing her.
Just met her in that cue.
Then I decide to take my guts out and reveal myself to her.
Love exploded.
And I can surely accept she passed away, death is part of life.
But something wakes me up at night, and I don’t know how to deal with it.
“Don’t go away, please…”
They found her lying on the floor, a natural death.
Blood decided not to flow properly in her tissues.
Fine.
But I was happy with her, and she was happy with me.
It was a long long time I wasn’t so happy.
No letters, no goodbyes.
Just a natural reason: death.
I always said I hate goodbyes, but in fact I could give away whatever to say her I love her for the last time.
I’m wishing I lied in that floor with her and my blood still.
In my dreams, we walk together, then she suddenly take a walk round a dark corner, while the accordion still plays, then her hand comes out from the dark, touches my hand, slowly slips back in the dead dark.
I’m wishing I’m dead by her side.
Things have end, and that’s it.
It’s all fine and good, but then why can’t I help these days?
Does anybody of you know the answer?
Should I wait till this accordion will stop playing?
Either that or should I jump from this chair?

Your long, tapered sweet hand, toward my chest; dark back and nails, if I focus I can even smell your perfume.
Don’t want to look in your eyes, right now. I want to avoid high-contact.
I will look you right in the upper point of your wonderful nose.
I can sense your heart beating.
Music is standing me up.
My left hand to your right hand, waiting together for the second beat.
Here it comes, we’re the same body, left-forward step, step back, right-behind step, step back.
You move your head, and I can’t help doing the same; heads come closer, little space between our cheeks; I feel like I’m doing very clumsy.
You don’t need words, you’re an open book, now.
God, I’m feeling your energy pushing me left and right, rithm is just an excuse.
I want to freeze this moment forever, I want to just… well… die right now.
“Ahy, permette signorina? Sono il Re della Cantina…”
Spin, back, spin, back…
A magical halo surrounds us, I sense it.
I sense your emotions… well ok, honey, I’m not the right one.
Curious, maybe? Aren’t you?
No, you are not.
You just need someone to lead you… point is I’m not the leader-like person…
Who cares? You need just to dance.
Spin, back, spin, back…
Why are you so sad? mixture of emotions overcomes me, I can feel you’re not satisfied, I can sense why, and I have no role in it.
I’m just a test animal, you shake and I shake.
Time to watch you in the eyes: you’re not watching me at all; no high contact. Lean in your head direction, looking deep into you.
Don’t lie to me, rithm is not an excuse.
I know you don’t know anything about your life, but shacking your energy and smell all around. And I’m the lucky test animal seeing your real essence.
“…vampiro nella vigna, sottrattor nella cucina…”
Feel like I’m doing not bad enough to let you slip away, well done…
Nonetheless you take a look around you, got it.
This is the right moment to smell your scent, I know it’s going to end.
I need to steal something from this moment: I’m looking for the light into your big brown eyes.
For a while, let me drift away.
Please, signorina… look straight into my eyes, I’m the re della cantina…
No, she won’t.
I don’t mind, even if my heart feels the sadness of this music, it refuses and accepts, and at the end it beats, what is suppose to be for.
Wind is taking her away, in a slow spin dance.
I can’t close a dance, that’s clumsy.
“…se questa è la miseria mi ci tuffo, con dignità da re. Para-para-para-pà!”
Music stops, a while and she has already put her arms around somebody else.
Slow steps till the edge of the dancing hall.
Thank you, signorina.
The only complaint is: you should have looked into my eyes, at least once.
But I don’t bother, I’ll transform my pain in patience, and my loneliness in a calm sea.
And I will swim in it, this night as yesterday.
This night as tomorrow.
This night as ever.
“…se questa è la miseria mi ci tuffo, con dignità da re. Para-para-para-pà!”

First aim, write anything.
Second one, forget it and forgive yourself.
Whether I’m in pain or not, it doesn’t matter, got stuff occupying my mind.
Laundry, cleaning, reading, working out some job, eating.
Eating and vomiting.
Two-face medal, powerful remedy.
It worths.
But the procedure is articulated: five big steps lead you from pain to numbness. One glass of wine each stage.
First: you must drink slowly and calmly your glass of Pinot Grigio, whilst looking for isolation and denying rejection.
Just few moments, you and the wine together.
Starting to feel a hot haziness, aren’t you?
You just realise loss has taken place, I’ll be the guy who fills your glass. One down, four to go.
Second: angry with that smiling bastard, angry with the fucking world, for letting it happen.
Or maybe, angry with yourself: what should you have done to avoid it?
You weren’t there although needed, maybe, or even you were there exactly when as unwanted.
And the wine drop down your oesophagus, sip by sip.
No point to be angry: all’s gone, all dead, all dead.
You just realise anger is useless, I’ll be the guy who fills your glass. Two down, three to go.
Third: the question slightly changes; what should you do, right now, to have it back?
You pray, nonetheless nobody is listening to your shit.
Nothing is going to give you anything back; because!
And that’s it, the simple and foolish conclusion is just under the eyes of this maudlin wanker.
You just realise no present action could ever affect the past, I’ll be the guy who fills your glass. Three down, two to go.
Fourth: feel a little bit, how to say… numb, ah? wine accelerate the process, you feel it, right?
Swollen air around, ears are buzzing, you’re smiling in sadness.
You know why, right? because despite anger and sadness, pain is touching your heart.
Deep inside you, a piece of you is lost. No way to fix it.
Drifting away, brain’s aching.
Stomach is aching, beating and contracting.
You stop smiling, smile again for the very last time… now stop again.
No tension in your body.
You just realise you made a deep step inside you, I’ll be the guy who fills your glass. Four down, one to go.
Fifth: as soon as the glass touches your lips, you feel irritated.
Smell is not nice anymore, stomach contracts, a bit of tension around your lungs.
Heavy breathing, no pussyfooting.
Drink, drink, drink, drink, drink… all in once…
Now you can barely stand up, hard attempt to stand on your feet, an amazing effort to drag your body to the bathroom.
Now it’s you and yourself.
Your body tells you what to do: you have to throw it up.
Vomit and accept.
You crash back into reality.
Now it’s cold, you vomit again; now everything is pure.
Two seconds more and you’ll be free.
One.
Two.
Now you’re ready to fuck it all.

Grazie a Luca per l’editing della foto.

Gruesome, indeed.
That’s the main difference between reality and films, you know.
I mean, you first slap the arse of a bloody cat, pushing it the way to hell, then you act like a bitch during the Holy Christmas.
Then again, you kick the arse of the only normal guy caring about you, and that’s because you cunt want to sell you pussy to some randomy penis around you.
Then again, rather than fucking you out, he talk to you like a Big Moral God, reading your mind, freaking out your problems.
He throw that marvellous Tiffany ring, you grasp it.
Then you realise your life is stupid shit.
Rubbish.
So you get off the taxi, because you bitchy mind can’t even organize what’s supposed to be priority.
Get off, look for you pussy-pussy cat. No name for it, no name for you but bitch.
“Cat! Where are you?”
Hope you’ll go scratching this whore face, pussy-pussy cat.
Horrible, isn’t it?
Man came back, kissed her.
That’s not reality: reality is not so fine, so happy, so rainy.
So… mushy.
So… romantic.
Very shit from hell.
Life is… a bitch.
And the difference between film and my heart beating lies in that last ten minutes; she comes back, the femme fatale, she changes, she…
A kiss, not the last.
Not the last sad goodbye, not the cold, last goodbye indeed.
Anguish, neurotic behaviour.
My fantastic Audrey.
I’m not George, at all.
I can’t say “I love you”, “would you marry me?”, I simply can’t.
You know why, because I don’t think people belong to people.
That’s what she said, and I believe it.
People love people, this is also true. Indeed.
So what?
Things have end.
Expecially if we’re not brave enough to keep them alive.
If you’ve an emotional handicap, that’s given.
Autism is a greedy beast: it just eats mood. That’s why she will not stop that freaking taxi, she will not give me the last kiss, she will not whisper to me any last goodbye.
I’m a good person, she is aswell.
And life is plain.
I know what’s messy: people don’t accept that happiness must be outside us.
And the effort is to put ourselves apart, and put ourselves in other and warmer hands.
That’s the only way to be children again: the happiness in admitting our impotence.
But she will not lean her head in my chest again.
She will not sleep in my arms anymore.
She won’t, I reckon.
Because it’s easier saying things have end, and let sadness play with our life.
Rather than face it all.
Getting off that bloody taxi.
Looking for that bloody cat.
Giving me that last kiss.
You’re just leaving me in loneliness, feeling like I’m the half of me.

“Two drifters off to see the world.
There’s such a lot of world to see.
We’re after the same rainbow’s end,
waiting ’round the bend…”

Moonriver, from “Breakfast at Tiffany’s“ 

Oggi mi sono fatto male
Per vedere se provo ancora qualcosa
Mi sono concentrato sul dolore
L’unica cosa reale
L’ago ha aperto un buco
La vecchia e familiare puntura
Prova a cancellare tutto
Ma io ricordo ogni cosa

Cosa sono diventato?
Mia dolcissima amica
Tutti quelli che conosco
Alla fine vanno via
Potresti avere tutto
Il mio impero di fango
Io ti deluderò
Io ti farò del male

Indosso questa corona di sterco
sul mio trono di bugiardo
Pieno di pensieri rotti
che non riesco ad aggiustare
Tra le macchie del tempo
Il sentimento sparisce
Tu sei qualcun altro
Io sono sempre qui

Cosa sono diventato?
Mia dolcissima amica
Tutti quelli che conosco
Alla fine vanno via
Potresti avere tutto
Il mio impero di fango
Io ti deluderò
Io ti farò del male

Se potessi cominciare da capo
Lontano un milione di miglia
Conserverei me stesso
E troverei una via