Here, the Hell

Here we are, as a part of a gear
that is pain made by pain
girls and women we were and now fear

     Winter days give us shivers
     in this wasteland which quivers
     in this ourselves made hell
     where no one can breathe well

Frozen chains bound the hearts and cold rain
like old blood wets the buds
of black plants on the ground to a drain

     Winter ways and the figures
     of this wasteland which quivers
     lead us to this foul hell
     where I hear that death knell

Life to death again: that is the flood.
Sisters moan among whispers
that strike our ears as can do a stud

     Winter boys give us shivers
     in this wasteland which quivers
     in this themselves made hell
     where they grow rude and swell
 

Now the life changed and it's a whipper:
red wounds filled my skin and my soul
and my tears grow so much… as a river

September, 16th 2017

Italian version

Copts

The new

From the sixth hour until the ninth hour darkness came over all the land. About the ninth hour, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken Me?”

(Matthew, 27: 45-46)

The word “Copt” is indirectly derived from the Greek Αἰγύπτιος Aigýptios meaning simply “Egyptian” (from Wikipedia).
How many times I go to the Sunday Mass only because I always do so? Only because I must do so?
How many times the Mass is boring to me?
The same Mass, in the same day, for other Christians is an important and precise choice.
The same Mass, in the same day, for other Christians can be pain and martyrdom.
And death.
As the first Mass was.
As the Mass of Christ himself was.
… and I go there without thinking.
Or, better: and I go there thinking to some most important matter!
…and I go there and the mess often annoys me.
Well.
I think that if I’ll go to the Hell, it will be so not for an excess of life, but for my omissions.
Not for my luxury, but for my accidie.
Yes: for my sloth.
Now I pray for all you, dear sisters and brothers.
Now I ask also to all you, sisters, brothers: “Forgive me, please!”

Assassin bug

On my table an assassin bug
goes around, takes a look:
surely a prey it is looking for, now.
It’s so nice yet a thin little monster
that kills

 
Warmer winters let it come here to me
from the south, as the sin
when it enters my mind like a shiver
coming from dark and bad earths of mist

 
when I kill every good in myself

 

November, 22nd 2016

 

This my love

I got it there

 

(from Chiaroscuro)

 

I °

This my love

Is a tomb

And my hands

Destroying torture

II °

My heart

Is a tomb,

And my love

Corroding desire

 

Italian version

 

Dark and light – part one

 

As I am, none will ever see me.
Maybe shy, I am slutness that whispers
curses yet sighing God: yes, I’m bad.
I’m my flesh and my shivers. I’m my cry.

Sometimes I am my beast, all my beasts,
or my breast seeking cuddles the nights
and my wrinkles which hope to be smooth.
But I’m a devoted bride, I’m a wife

I’m my skin, I’m my dark shadow, sad,
even if I can be true good light.
I’m alone among crowds. I am crowd
inside corrupt fool mind. Into me.

As I am, none will ever see me.
I am tough and impervious to the others.
To avoid any abuse, I’m my mask:
no one walks nude at night in the streets

Please, now take me, breathe me and my mind
even if I can choke who sighs so
close to me. You take me, here, now, just!
I’m poor thing, nothing else, without love

 

September,11th 2016

 

Italian version

Only a breath

 

Photo by J.B., 2009

 

 

Four pins sew upon me some, few excuses
usual and obsolete, anyway
when my cold skin begs you for affection
while it is parched by a fierce frenzy

The love always burns down: only a breath
that the modest sweet night can preserve
such as flashes of light at the sunset.
I steal from you the love I pretend

 

May, 26th 2016

 

Italian version

Francesca da Rimini

painting by Gabriele Dell’Otto

 

(From Dante’s Inferno, Canto V)

Grey and pale now she’s ghost of the shadow
that she was when she lost any control
and her instinct defeated them both
in a such full of love and bad moment

Thus she entered down in the hell
just still living till she melted her
in the blood; then the death and the doom:
she is desperate sweetness. No hope

Now Francesca turns; also I turn
led around by the same and old malice.
In the snake there’s a dichotomous pulse:
mind and skin cut off out from my heart

February, 9th 2016

Italian version

In memoriam

Written after a year from your death.

Photo by J.B., 2009

 

Never. Never I knew you. You
too, you did not see me. I
do not show myself never to friends.
Hidden life.
this, my life
has no sense, has no salt.
It doesn’t serve.
I don’t serve
because I serve no one.

Once you were.
You still are.
You are better.

We were neighbours for years.
Now you are made by another light.
Architect.

I am like eyelid closed in the shadow,
black veil that hides the sky all around.
I am like
a wisp of
my own smoke.
On my worms
I sustain myself: I
who refuse everything else.

Please now you
pray to God for me
you
ask Him that I have again my substance

 

January, 24th 2016

 

The reference for the second part of the 4th stanza is Dante’s Inferno, Canto III.

Thank you Lemonodo Oh for suggestions and correctins of my bad English!

 

Italian version

Cologne and Regensburg

Now the beasts want mass rapes

also here,

while we silly

celebrate foolish rituals,

and we dance

within Europe

that is faltering, sleeping

that is missing.

They said "Use them anyway you want"

Anybody but women

and not muslim:

we.

Me.

It must not be said,

however,

in a war,

it is normal. It is regular, usual

and expected.

They did do their test.

Benedict

asked them at least clarity.

How did they want treat him?

And us, how?

Those who has no more face

those who lost their honour

and their faith,

those who buried their ideas

as the shit in the fields,

those who go on anyway

- and are only an illusion -

those who no more exist

have no voice and are waiting for death.

I'm so pissed for this

nasty state of affairs!

and for us and me too.

Where are you, girls and sisters?

So I prey, I hope so:

Our Lady, Holy Virgin, help us.




Italian version here

Your ghost

John Henry Fuseli, The Nightmare, from wikipedia

 

My friend Glitter asked me to whrite something for an SL Halloween expo; after two glass of good strong Italian red wine my mind did this:

I am trapped.
I am trapped in a nowhere-everywhere universe of nonsense and lies.
Alone.
In a empty darkness.
Do you remember when you touched the mirror?
Your silly attitude created me when you entered the silver film,
when you went behind the mirror, into the other site of it.
When you entered your stupid and perverted second life.
What the evil did you think to find there?
You made me.
You made me as a cute-little-black-long tailed kitty.
Maybe, instead of making me, you found me here, you found here my idea, my beginning.
Anyway, you evoked me and now I am here, trapped.

But … what else is going on now?
I’m actually part of you.
If I’m here, then you are also here. You are bound to me. So …

I can change. I see I can change, I can grow. I know it, I see it.
What’s now the other side of the reality?
Is that one the reality or this one? Or both them?
Of coarse, your side is the only one made by heavy things, but we know we are not here to weigh the objects, isn’t it? We are here for words and thoughts. We are here for the mind, for the emotions: for the jokes of the mind.
Really, I am a joke of your mind: it is completely so.
Thus…
I know that you are wondering what is the true side of the world. You wonder into which side of  your mirror you are.
Oh… that’s enough! I can see that you are here with me, trapped in this nonsense joke.
Look at me: I destroy your silly kitty and all her blandishments. I delete the body you like so much. Now I’m your ghost, your perverted evil made as a girl.
Oh, I know how much you liked your silly puppet. I know, I remember how many times you stayed there watching at me, a young kitty-like girl, maybe the girl you wanted to be.
Be sure that I know very well with what eyes full of desire and lust you watched at my body, more beautiful, suppler and more swollen and younger than your one. I know well that you thought about have built a your alter ego better than you, kinder, positive, cordial.
But you created me and now we both know you was wrong.

Watch at me now, you, silly woman!
I’m only a ghost.
Not your ghost: I’m my ghost now.
I am trapped in my side of the mirror yet I can hunt you like a foolish quail. I’ll take you. I can take your own life. I could kill you to my pleasure, because you have put too much of you in myself.
Now I’m sure that you can see very well what I’m saying: in fact, you shiver.
What can you do now with me? Nothing.
Every morning I see you in your world, from the mirror, in the bathroom, when the cold water cuts off any dream from your face, from your mind, from you: I’m with you, I’m together with you every morning, when you begin your days.
I’m there with my strength, the strength of your perverted little demon who lives into your deep: the black night deep inside in the mirror. Deep inside beyond your old grey-green eyes.

Oh, no! I am quite not an incubus. I’m stronger and worse. I’m sure that you too can see me very well. Now I’m sure that also you can see beyond the mirror, in this side of the silver film, into this black puddle of frost. You are watching at my night, at my mist, at my fog that deleted the silly body you made for me. You are watching quite at my cup of nothing, at my emptiness that really is also yours.
I am your succubus, your torture. I rope your dream, your good intentions. I rape you, your mind. And now you belong to me, you are subdued to me as a slave.
Yes, you are right.
You are right when you worry about me. You must do quite so, sweety. And die.
I am trapped here, but you are here with me. Into me. Trapped too.
But this is my world.
You are trapped into myself, because I am into your deepest yourself: the yourself that you could not know before I was alive.
At first I was dominated by you and perhaps I liked it: no matter. But now the play changes and you’ll be my slave. Uhmm… maybe you’ll like it: I do not know this but also it does no matter. I am sure that I’ll enjoy a lot your total submission and this is the only interesting argument.
You will lose yourself and you will be my property.
Yes, you are right: worry and shiver and whisper your better pray, because I come to take your life in your world.
I am weird, I am kinky, I am your nothing. Close your eyes and wait for me there, behind your skin.
I am Judy and now I am alive even without you, poor foolish quail.
You are no more necessary to me.
I am you, now, and you are trapped with me.
I take your life now.

 

Ahahahahahahahahahah.

SL, Helvete Norge Fjord, October, 18th  2015

Italian translation here