Filed under: Uncategorized
I had a bad, bad exam today. So, I left university quite nervous; I jumped on my car and I entered Rome’s circular highway.
With a depressed expression painted on my face I watched out the window and I started to think about future, career, travels, women. And all those kinds of painful needles that make a man’s life so wonderful.
The twilight, the imminent autumn, the desert street. It looked so fascinating desolate.
Then the music started.
Irregular beats, stronger, lower, longer, shorter. My stereo was turned off, and as soon as I realized it I started to panic: the music (well… the rhytm) was coming from inside. I instantly stopped my car and watched to the right. Then to the left. Then to the right… and I saw him.
A man, coming from nowhere, seated in the passenger’s place, and wearing the safety belt as well. At least, he looked like a man.
Well, a man usually doesn’t appear from anything. Not in a car driven at 80 mph, for instance. My vision had to blur for a second or two, before my eyes could accept his existence.
The music continued its beats in irregular roundups. Accelerations, variations, alterations. Until I clearly realized that the crazy musician was my heart.
“How are you, my friend?” – his voice was metallic, and… no, he had no eyes and no nose. Just a little black mouth.
I guess I cried. There is nothing I fear as dealing with things completely out my mind’s control. I just couldn’t scream, I just couldn’t close my eyes. And maybe I couldn’t breath, as well.
“Autumn is coming. Nice, isn’t it?” continued him.
I realized that my car was on the road again, driving itself quietly. I tried to free my mind from absurdity, trying to build something rational to oppose my self-control to the vision.
Death? Angel? Alien? Who is this faceless figure *staring* at me and playing with my heart as a crazy trumpet?
“Be the one drawing my face”, said him with a warmer – almost human - voice; and I calmed down, magically. He immediately looked familiar. I found out he was wearing the same cyan shirt, the same blue jeans, the same black shoes as me. But he was smaller, hairless and quite fat.
Then I can’t remember, believe me, I really can’t. It ended as it started, not expected, without reason.
I found out myself driving alone in the last, brave lights of the sunset. And while the -dream- vanishes in the sleep of my inconscious, I feel like I want to study Algorhytms and Math.
Filed under: My Tales
I’ve had an ethiopic dinner today.
I’ve had an ethiopic dinner
I’ve had an
I’ve had a norwegian girl
I’ve had a norwegian girl and
I’ve had a zighinì
I’ve seen her.
I’ve seen her smiling and
I’ve seen her smiling and holding
and holding the rose.
I’ve seen her smiling and holding the rose I bought her
I’ve seen her
For the last time.
Filed under: My Tales
“You were dreaming” – said my mother, waking me up.
In facts, I was dreaming.
I was a man – well, still not a man, but not a child as well. I was using a strange, misterious machine that made it possible for me to talk with people from all over the world. I was tickling a keyboard, and the letters i typed appeared on a big, shiny, incredible screen. I had a chinese friend, Yu Han was her name. It means “she that’s like the rain”.
As her image appeared on the screen, I tried to caress her. She was so beautiful.
But the colored, glass barrier stopped my hand, and I could just look at her like a picture.
“I see” – said my mother, with a big smile. “Milk and cookies are waiting for you in the kitchen“.
I watched the other way and looked at my books. The Jungle Book, Donald Duck, and all the sweeties that use to fill a childish room. One book, anyway, always caught my attention: “Un Mondo Di Vetro”, meaning “A World of Glass”, by Morris West. I liked the tag on the book, it looked like this:
un mondo morris
di vetro west
but I always felt like I was too young to read it. I closed my eyes, still thinking to that glass world.
Than I woke up again, this morning. I found my very-personal wordpress invitation. To dream about dreaming reality is quite uncommon; enough to make of it my first article.