The Other

"It's complicated to find yourself and for this reason, isolation and loneliness are unbearable for many of those who today are nobody. Or better, they are like everyone. Just, they are the likes and followers of the past, the trials to show how interesting it is possible to be like everyone who pretending. But it is not the time to pretensions or dreams, may be for some memories... to assume this present. And thinking in the reality: the worst and the awful. It is not religious or immaculate: this is passion without the decoration of the words or the explanation of the deepest feelings. Naked bodies found in the darkness of the nights when the land is stolen by all the fears of the humans. Why, we need to explain the beats and movements, contorsions and excitations in a night of whispers. A darkness night without wine and stars, just water and sweat, just dance. 

Some people said that one day will meet again. Perhaps, are humans not really meeting each the other? And more, everyone exposed to ponder the "real" life left behind. Slaves of a day to day survival searching the fifteen seconds of a look of the own claim to have recognized as part of the world, at least for a booth of witness to its existence.  There is not all the time in the world to create. And the personal creation, same if I want to share and to impact the others, this creation is imperfect and intimate. One day, I hope to be judged for it. The forgettable loner human being is noticed by the others, too late. Unfortunately, it was not given at the time necessary to feed the ego.

Now, people have time to think and personal thinking frightens those who direct all that. And more, when the fear is insufficient to lower frustration levels. Because frustration has shown that it generates violence but not mistrust. So, the question is, how kind of violence? The necessary to reach a revolution (real) or the enough violence to bring fear back to the necessary levels for the establishment? Language is dangerous and the social pact known to some and defended by others it is actually a promise, but not a reality. For this reason is inapprehensible.  Seeing the calm city with the lights on due to the insomnio of the citizens, I understand, too late, the importance of the cloistral to understand the freedom. I thought the possibility to be free in couple, by two. And I want to think that it is possible in my romantic way to see and live in this world, however, the same words sung during the personal ritual and the same traces are repeated in the canvas to deny it. I try, and same if trying is not enough, almost it is part of a poem to the others. May be, "the other" could be to write a good song. 

So, after the first weeks to think in itself, the other appears not as the competitor, but the necessary being to survive and to transcend together. It is not a question of synergy or parasitism, the situation is the evidence of the fragility of the human loneliness. And in a certain way, the return of the hope in the life. In a general manner and how the conversation is in calm. Lingering. Without the impatience of the time, however, the expectation of the result is important. So, the other exists and the other is recognized in the silence of the days. Because the silence is not more a privilege of the nights. Nights were years and now, the nights return in hours. I write the oldest poems and feeling, from the times before her woman life, I write to her, waiting for a response signal. A line to tell me that I was not forgiven, but never forgotten, and always beloved. For me, in these nights of the necessary end of this civilization is sufficient, same if I want to be inside her. She's my angry singing to me every morning.

Oneself is the other.  Today, only recognized after years to see oneself through the eyes of others. In a wrong way of course, following a script suitable for inconvenient system. The voice (not the supposed inner voice) is heard when the ideas need to scape outside without the shame of talking with the recovered words. Nude, the morning of the Saturday occurs in hours discovering simple humanity: naked citizens inside houses bound with the possibility to be in corporal freedom, and in mind liberty too. A time to find the other outside and inside of everyone. Write me, find me. I think that the time of all stories converge in these days, and time will run out slowly but I will be sad because you will find me too late. You can't find me wanting to do it because the pain is the only company and pleasure for the cruel lovers. But not, you are not cruel. Times may be but it is possible to escape and travel through time. Close your eyes. I'm there, I'm next to you, sleeping despite your other lover."