Sweet Boy

A stepping stone rather than a destination, this is what my life is made of. Small choices that, at the end, make up a huge path filled with sorrow leaves. Sorrow? Not quite. Let me labour on that, for it is not really precise. There are times in which every each one of us feel that there must be something more, something more powerful than the sneer through which people stare at us. This is what came to happen to me the other day, when I was on the brink of losing all my single hopes in humanity and accepting my fait accompli of disillsioment, I looked back, not in anger, and found a gentle smile, a soft touch and a pair of sparkling brown eyes. Yes, I agree with you my friend, Heaven lacks, sometimes, the beautiful light that stems from a pair of brown eyes: they are not deceiving, do not have the debauchery glimmer, they do not say that you are wonderful and simply look the other way in search for a bigger bottom to satisfy its incestuous desire. They are pure, like the heavenly angel who was eager to announce the crack of a new down, a new lease of life. They have cured me, indeed. However, there's more to that: a soft touch and a passionate kiss. If only any lonsome lips could be touched as mine were, believe me, the world would be a better place. I was loved, even though it was not real, it was just to kiss the night away, but, the way he touched me made me feel important again. This is what I feel when I'm with him, how couldn't I have noticed such truthfulness in that sweet boy: you are, indeed, my sweet boy, my miracle I was waiting to happen. Sweet dreams, my dream, I may see you again...

Wisdom

Happy Birthday to me, happy birthday to me, you are such a good fellow! Thank you very much, all your polite words, combined with a sour taste of loneliness fits you so well. Thank you, this is indeed kind of you. I feel special. What do I wish? Let me see, apart from that cake that is still waiting for my bite and the coke that I've yet to sip, I quite believe I wish everything. There was once a poet who affirmed, who had the wits to affirm that, in spite of being no one, he had the greatest dreams on Earth. Go on, read, his name is Fernando Pessoa, but this was written under the name of Álvaro de Campos. True, very much true for me, someone born in the rotten core of Italian immigrant, working family, covered with dust and tar, adorned with the blood form those who have died on wars for independence and extravagance, hatred and exuberance. True, very much true for someone who is waiting for a Godot that does not arrive. Is he going to arrive? I don't really care anymore, I am free, as a bird, the next best thing to be, as the other English poet, Paul Mccartney sung. This one you probably won't have to read because you know "Yesterday" or "Hey Jude" by heart, or any other song. As I was saying, or telling, or talking. Anyhow, I was going on about the insufferabe life of a low class woman whose dream was finding someone. No, not a dream anymore, I have learned to be on my feet and love me. I am the center of my universe, my Alpha and Omega, so blokes, off you go and I am the centre of everthing: my culture, the interminable books I've read, the insane philosophical grab that fulfills pubs and empties stomach. Are you hungry? Yes, I am. I want more: I want a successfull life, cutting edge technologies, infinite knowledge and the blessing of God. I want to be a fraction of the divine power and emanate light to the edge of the world. I want to be your friend, your lover, your confident and, who knows what else. The beginning and the end, a new start, going back to square on... changes. Always for better, always for more, always for power. Fill me, oh great Lord, I believe you believe in me and give me all I ask of you: wisdom, beyond everything, beyond all power: PURE AND DIVINE WISDOM.