Alberto. Enjoying the ride. Even if it hurts.

Kumi Yamashita

Constellations: Mana (a single thread wrapped around thousands of nails)
Light & Shadow: Veil (fabric and light source)

pietroneri:

va bene, il sonno divora la mia vista.
ho rinunciato a comprendere. comunque sia.
guardo i miei palmi: sono sopravvissuto
un altro anno. sono sopravvissuto morendo
ancora una volta.
la pelle del serpente giace in qualche luogo,
in braccio a chissà qual vento
mentre qui, le parole si assottigliano
fino a scomparire, fino a diventar coriandoli,
ombre, gomitoli di filo, passi incerti al di là
d’un orizzonte curvo e sereno.
a queste parole canto un addio breve,
che è già finito.

- 13/10/2014

(Reblogged from pietroneri)

"have you ever seen a bluer sky?"

ok, let’s start like this:
mountains.
now, where do you look to?
it’s like a sign, pointing either way.
inward or outward;
for both are eligible.
I found those ruthless heights,
those merry abysses within my
lap too, purring like lions
and stirring the very nerves.
hiking and climbing your way
you will find many a smiling hug
many a firm handshake with
   a glass of milk
still not knowing a dusty particle
of life
or of night
or of the defenceless space between your fingers
   (for they are all the same)
I put those faces in the mortar
and season my dishes with that fairy dust
- but I never swallow them -
I leave it to the cats and manticores
who cross my path
while I peacefully sleep
under tall trees and shorter shadows.
for there is something so wicked and perverse
in being a migrant bird
  and never straying from a place
never becoming bound to somewhere
   but never leaving -
thy feet might stop dancing.

I’ve been grinding and grinding
till noone’s left
nor in my pen, nor in my towels
nor in the spaces between
my days and my nevers
so, looking up and going up too
towards some lonesome blows
of swirling times & of gorgeous
uncertainty,
I still seem to swim
uncomfortable though
through all these mists.
mists and masts against storms.
but may this revolving sun
be as colorful as a revolving door,
for the desires I have long felt
are but burning embers left to dry
but here are some words and swords
and maybe maybe
this time it all comes along
as morning follows sleep
and the dreadful days is but another dream
apart. I dance. clouds unroll.
I grab the suitcase full of nothings
and leave it under the do’s or don’ts.
all is all and nothing’s new,
but how do you tell a blue sky?

The writer’s song

Désir parisienne

The gift unseen

spirits of urban woods

İstanbul by night