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How do I know I'm not hallucinating?

's all in my head, but perhaps a little' outside.
Outside, in an unspecified location. Maybe even in a place .

I found out I had faith, so much faith to even think of abandoning it, now, leave all my projects in a drawer and the expectations of a life full of large companies, everything, now, to remain forever closed in meditation.
Curious, because are not a believer. And I dare not disturb any God, because it is not simply a religious belief that I miss, I do not believe in anything.

I love you.

And I certainly improper use of words, but you will forgive me if I feel so small, so inadequate, they can not achieve a better definition.
have been in love: I loved with tenderness, anger, devotion, passion, patience, I loved people and ideas, I knew, so small in my experience, many meanings of this great cauldron of meanings, enough to know that this is completely new.
Will you forgive me and understand that "love" is the only concept that comes closest to what I see .

Why do I see a lot of things, my love.
Right now I'm the seeing all .
'm always here in my room and my room has not changed, my house has not changed, my city still has the same profile bored, there is a sofa, a desk, books, a balcony with green curtains, and are always these things that my senses perceive.
And 'I can not honestly say I ever seen before.

I read a book, another useless book. I was losing time, that's what I do. The fact is that I would have lost anyway, as I will continue to lose. Every grain of sand that sits quietly in the hourglass, I will lose ;, more, more, more, until I discovered how to win a bit ', or at least stop him. Tear off at least a few precious seconds to the non-life, to give it life.
do not deceive me, I'm not naive so, why not stay with you possibly help me in this endeavor.
certainly does not help me write .
But I'm wasting time, and that's what I do. For now.

I read a book (I said) And I thought


I mean I try to explain I just want to let you know

at that moment (and only at that exact moment) I made a wish

I prayed
not you, not me, not men, not gods, not an empirical order
I do not know who or what to me is facing
But I knew
Undoubtedly
None
that somewhere in my head
And as a result somewhere in the Universe
There was a picture. I

there on the bed, lying on its side, the book in one hand.
You, on the bed, lying on its side, give me back.
Both read the same sentence.
We are at that point in the story that precedes the epilogue to the point where the pace suddenly accelerates and runs to the finish line with his heart pounding fast and pages follow each other and are not thinking of anything and is completely absorbed and you can not imagine anything but the end the end the end and what what we want to happen will happen what we expect.
(I find that everything looks like damn immediately preceding orgasm - then you'll understand why I find this strange fantasy erotic , and why in Basically what I am not surprised as you are concerned.)

And then bom.

We turn, we look, we are able to transmit words without any thought.
's easy, since we tried the same thing.

For a split second I thought it would be nice -
I thought I could - or should
-


I thought maybe I will write a letter.
And I'll explain myself, explain to me in such a clear and powerful to get you to fully understand all that this image or just your image means to me. Thank you for that.


I thought just maybe I'll give you the book in question. And
One evening I'll lay on his side and I'll pretend that you are there behind me, or at any place, no matter, to read the same sentence at the same time.

My love, it is difficult to know that I will not do any of this.
hurts, sometimes more, sometimes less.
E 'difficult if the only thing I do, and I grant you, and continue to -
Boh, love you. Or whatever it is that I'm doing right now.

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I do not need to fight To Prove I'm right.

I can not sleep. What's new
.

What do I do? Listen i Matia Bazar.
Now that I think, a couple of nights ago I watched a horrible mini-series on TV, wet with tears of emotion the pillow.
Last week I put in Renato Zero mp4 player (and almost can not help myself from adding "We came in, so I put a few pieces ).
I bought moccasins. A few weeks ago.
I found myself tired for no reason. For centuries.

I feel so old.
It is a tragedy, because they are still a child.

My greatest idea of fun is a playground, invent stories, burst out laughing for no reason and I can not stop singing loudly in the street. I do not hate anyone, unless you take my toys, but then I am prepared to make us peace. I praise for everything.

Then I look at my peers.
I've always loved this word, contemporary It is as if the mere fact of being born both within the 365 days (possibly 366) of the same period called the Gregorian calendar year is given as a tribute to me and on the first Pinco Pallo the right to feel like, less alone. We should have common interests, share the joy of our age that runs parallel, greet with a handshake and say "Hey, you're the one who was born in my year, maybe, if we're lucky, even months and day! "
Instead, my diciannovequasivent'anni, there is so little to say.
are so inconsistent, as a teenager who has never started.
But I am waiting for you again, and maybe you will come to visit me in 40 years, along with hot flashes of menopause. The receive you excited, the Offir a cup of tea, I'll ask why all this delay (I challenge you, with your peers to keep at bay ... did everything possible, but please All was not really possible).

So, for now, I enjoy a wisdom almost annoying, and the uncontrollable desire to jump in puddles.

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Hoping somebody someday will do you like I did.

think about sex.
not think sex .... no fantasy; simple reflection.

For a person totally devoid of taboo, which considers the excitation dell'istintualità human sexual expression as normal, that does not demonize nor celebrates the sexual act, which has no inhibitions and no limits nell'assecondare the moral instinct, which, excluding emotional implications, knowingly reduce any sense a pure physiologic mechanism ... sex loses any appeal.

I think the embarrassment of the parents in front of a nude scene on television, to guilt and at the same time achieving in front of the first porn, alone or in company, in any case in secret, and much more understandable curiosity, what first attracts us is just the idea of crossing a border, to do something forbidden. Also moving forward with age, yet with the associate sex with something dirty: read double meanings everywhere, we exchange glances and laugh in front of a slip involuntary accomplices, never talk explicitly, but implying.
The whole game of seduction is essentially based on this suggests, an allusion to continue that potentially can hide behind any gesture or word, we seize this ambiguity becomes seductive.

And here's the thing: if we were to conceive of sex as just an act that creates well-being, as (though in some lesser amount) may be seen eating or sports activities, or sleep, or stodavveroperdirlo empty the bladder, sex could in the long run even bother.

Sex is not a big deal.
Really.

So shrewd completely, unable to hint, wink, seduce, but able to think about sex so often come free with fantasies that would make anyone blanch, I realize to keep a purity would envy a nun.

A nun, maybe once a year, in spite of thinking of sex known to do something wrong, it feels dirty and repent. A
sessuomane, too many times a day, think about sex knows to do something wrong, what it feels dirty and filled with irrepressible excitement.
Also I sometimes think about sex, I follow my imagination, I enjoy the euphoria of the moment, sometimes I meet, others are not, in any case, dominoes, are not dominated by the impulse.

E 'a year since I have sex, and I do not miss at all.
(But every moment without love, oh, every moment more it makes me almost breathless.)

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There's a Starman, waiting in the sky.

Dear Myself,
we arrived at a turning point, it is useless to deny it.
I do not like you, you do not like me.
But we have to find a meeting point, this is absolutely necessary.

Ergo.
Here is a short list with my requests.

- Do not leave all your junk around.
- Always remember to bring your house keys, when you go out, I'm not going to stay still shut out once.
- Get the good habit of waking up early, those books are not taught on their own (and certainly will not do it myself).
- We have some chiletto to swallow. Then a categorical no to ice cream, candy, chocolate. No muffin after lunch. The night snack is a bad idea. Of 'good-bye to whatever crap comes out of a vending machine.
- For heaven's sake, stop talking to Roberto. It appears that you have no other argument, or worse, thinking (and we both know that it is practically so). You are dull, boring, boring. I do not want to hear you talk, I have to better to do.
- Stop complaining. Attach the vacuum. Sigh. Give yourself a voice, you have no more than 5 years.
- guitar. Does it seem like time to learn to play so that at least decent?
- act without thinking, at least once. Do not get too paranoid to choose the taste of pizza, fuck.

In return, detestatissima, I offer my unconditional and eternal love. Approval.
I feel that we will agree.
Tua,

Manuela.

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And all this science I do not understand ... it's just my job five days a week. We can

I said, enough with the metaphysical.
Simply put off, thinking, doubting, take decisions that do not put it melodramatically never implemented, subject to painful events that I had not planned rationally.

Watch the cards in my hand, act quickly.
Call, raise or fold? And then there is always, at best, all-in.
I do not like too much of half measures, you will understood.
I love gambling, but are totally incapable of bluffing, you will understood this as well.
Provo, on the contrary, a perverse pleasure in finding out the cards one by one, slowly, looking straight into the eyes of my opponent, challenging him. Paradoxically, the best player in the world is bent when the rules are not, and the real bluff bows in front of radical honesty.

So these are my cards, what do I do?

demand, the real question is another.
What do I do with it?

Last night I dreamed that I passed the entrance exam for medicine. The test that caused me almost paralyzing anxiety over the past three years, at a minimum, and a bitter disappointment, no more than eight months ago. Well, I had spent. I had it done. I was inside.
I do not know if my feelings were due to the illusion of dreams, but I felt something completely new. I knew that I was back on track, following the star to the right direction, you have made a decisive step towards the future I wanted and I waited, while every other way was wrong. It does not matter if she reserved for me much happiness, it would be wrong.

begin to persuade me that it is unnecessary to wait to bump into my destiny, convinced of being able to recognize it, then I will have deluded means and weapons to defend him, I'll be at that time to confront him.

Sometimes fate has not arrived, other times I did not recognize, all too often I let get away. Too often I was unprepared, inadequate, not enough fighting. And more than the pain of having failed, there was enormous relief. That vertigo. "We got drunk of his own weakness, we want to be even weaker, you want to fall into the street in front of everyone, we want to be down, even lower." Fucking dizzy.

I do not want to be afraid.
I never want to rejoice in the defeat.
I do not want to believe not up to.

I want to be a doctor.

's what I want, is the sincere wish that I could express.

It depends only on me.

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live like Jack and Sally if we want.

"Keep in mind, we're Under The Same Sky, and the night's as empty for me as for you. "

still hungry, still crazy, still love.
Passion, the idea of dragging all my life, not as an engine as quiet but explosive energy, inconvenient, uncomfortable. To be hidden away, almost as if you were ashamed.
As if I had to bend the head and admit that yes, I talked , I heard ; but not only, because I really statement, I heard . I believe .

estimate, compared , trust, love are not objects that surround, place on top shelf, pull out on special occasions. Are not words, not concepts. I can feel the
their presence, at any time. They are the real thing that I have.

And maybe I should really be ashamed if I let live with me, I follow in the bathroom in the morning, a meal at a guitar lesson on Saturday evening for the center, the university, if he allows me bend, they have the better of common sense. Or the common sense of what should be considered as such.

I should convince my naivety is a terrible flaw, I would bathe in cynicism and enjoy it. It would certainly be easier lie, the easier for me and for others. Giving
.
Raise your arms in the air and surrender, wave the white flag, tell me you are not to blame if I stop trying, I did everything I could, which was simply not possible .

But I will not.

accept a real pain, that does not make you sleep, you torture and slowly eats you inside, and there will be one day, the purest joy. The joy . And I'll be happy, not satisfied, reasonably serenza not pleased.
not absence of pain, the presence of joy.

They do not allow me to rest, to have peace and be content. And the heart is running out, but that's okay.

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Take Me To The Place I love.

"He told me he thought the people live for years and years, but in reality is only a small part of those years living really , namely in the years when you can do this it has been made. So, there you happy. The rest of the time is time spent waiting or remembering. When issues or memories, he said, are neither sad nor happy. You look sad, but it's just that you're waiting or remembering. Is not it sad that people expect, and even that recalls. It is simply far . " [Baricco, this story]

~

Far.

Far in the morning, when I drag myself out of a tangle of sheets, leaving at that comforting hug ; confused fragments of dreams, when dining away, always together, always surrounded by familiar faces and ritual gestures, automatic machines are like the thoughts behind every smile, every word is as automatic of a mouthfuls, painfully similar, every day. Far as the music, by bus, which is repeated without noticing it and goes idle, until I can no longer stand it: I put it to rest, dopodicchè try to silence the silence, without results. And so on. And so on. And so on. Simply

far, neither sad nor lonely. It 's just that I'm waiting.