Port of Saints

I am picking flowers as I realize it’s full of giant red poppies. And I think how funny it is to find poppies in September. In italy they only blossom in May. So I pick a lot of them and will surely put them in a vase in this little but sweet countryhouse. I collect paintings from my old and lost friend Lelio, and hang them to the walls. It’s a very bright and sunny dream. I must have been heavily influenced by a movie I saw yesterday at the Tate Modern, where a woman picks up a flower and follows a mysterious caped figure with a mirror in the place of his face up to a small house , she falls asleep and then all sorts of odd things will happen.

Oh yes was at the Tate Modern, saw again Bacon’s stuff , had a sandwich sitting on the terrace. It was lovely. At night I had an ALL MEAT dinner.

I am kissing three cute young guys in a kind of amorous quartetto. Woke up with a sense of peace and maybe a smile.

Can’t even get near to describe how beautiful this place is. But what’s more striking is the handsomeness of guys. I am in distress , it may be the perfume of one’s skin, it might be their shape, their eyes , whatever. I am at a loss trying to cope with my desire. And at the same time I have to deal with memories of you, Jamie. And the sad, grieving , sore, wound in my heart that keeps on bleeding whenever I think of you. You really took it all away from me. All that I wanted to be, all things I believed in. Fuck I can’t even get into a Maplin Shop anymore without thinking of you, of the geeky things we used to say or do. And another thought is present, often enough : I am getting old. I have seen these kids , hand in hand, looking at each other with loving glances. This I recognize, I will never be able to get. The time is gone, the train has passed, I am well past my expiry date. Funnily enough the only warm social interaction I had today was this thirtyfivish/fortyish woman who passed by, at the restaurant, “Love,” she said, “you’ve left all your cake!” then she smiled and pressed her cheek on mine, sketching a kiss and said “You’re as sweet as a dessert”.

Fuck off Jamie, I hope you suffer as much as I do.

Sono in un vecchio palazzo (che potrebbe essere anche l’albergo in cui sono stasera) . Aspetto sul pianerottolo qualcuno o qualcosa. Guardo fuori dalla finestra e vedo della gente in strada.
Questi salgono le scale , e sento che arrivano fino al piano di sotto, dove so che abita Filippo. Lui li fa entrare.
Sento odore di dopobarba cheap. So che faranno sesso. Mi ritiro nella mia stanza con un senso di desolazione.

Sono a casa dei miei genitori. Hanno messo un piccolo scendiletto peloso nella mia vecchia stanza. Mi accorgo che non è uno scendiletto. E’ un animale, malamente avvolto in degli stracci. Chiedo spiegazioni a mia madre. Mi dice che è un cane che aveva portato mio fratello ma di cui mio fratello non si è mai preso cura. Mi avvicino all’animale che si ritrae con un guaito. Capisco che la bestiola è spaventatissima e deve provare dolore. Passo diverso tempo a cercare di accarezzarla per darle un po’ di conforto. Finalmente si lascia prendere in braccio. Lo libero dagli stracci e , orrore , il cagnolino sembra vittima di una terribile micosi, è tutto praticamente ammuffito e mezzo mangiato. Vado da mia madre a chiedere cosa diavolo hanno fatto a questo povero cane, mi sento oltraggiato, è inammissibile che si possa fare del male a una piccola bestiolina così. Porto la bestiolina in un altra stanza e le preparo un piccolo bagnetto. Lo poso per terra e vedo che l’animale guaisce e mugola ai miei piedi come se volesse attirare la mia attenzione. Di colpo si sposta e raggiunge un’angolo della mia stanza , quello più al buio. E sento che piange. E io lo raggiungo e cerco di capire cosa ci sia lì e gli chiedo “Che c’è lì? Che c’è li? Che c’è li?” senso di terrore e di disperazione mentre mi sveglio piagnucolando.

Unpredictable as the weather, traces of beauty flow by, in a boy’s smile, in the moon’s full face, in a star that keeps me company as I sleep. London Lone Dawn

Well anyway I’m back home after my recent trip to BCN. At first it was much like ‘I am the viewer of a giant aquarium, and I am indifferent to the fate of these fish’, but later, thanks to a person I met it became more like a real vacation. I must say thank you , Jurko , you saved my holiday and I understood that, despite the damage, my heart is still fully working and willing to live. Oh yeyè! Big Smile

I don’t know, maybe it’s that or something else, but I can’t really seem to be able to connect with people. I am spending days of silence, lost in the magma of my mind.

It’s night and I am sitting on a bench, in Plaza de Catalunya. These indian guys shoot some sort of blue thingie in the sky and it comes down slowly, like a helicopter, like a jelly fish. If that’s jelly fish then we are underwater. I’ve had some tasty and healthy dinner (compared to the fried hell I had last night which would make me turn and twist in the night, like a severed worm). Even though at times I have the impression that the ghost of James is still walking at my side, on average I am quite deep into my own thoughts, as if I am traveling within myself. I think the only words I have exchanged have been ‘ por favor / gracias’ and the like, for the whole day. I am keeping well away from other humans. I am avoiding the gay nonsense especially, but seems to be impossible here. Fuck off you, your tight shirts, your gym-made muscles and and your american accent. Stay away from me.

The indian guy comes back with something in a bag. They sell beers in the square. I look at him and say ‘ no gracias’. It’s late, if I don’t get lost in the tube again, I am bound to the hotel. No drinks tonight. Just my thoughts.

Just remembered that tonight is ‘San Lorenzo’. No shooting stars so far.

E tu, Cielo, dall’alto dei mondi
sereni, infinito, immortale,
oh! d’un pianto di stelle lo inondi
quest’atomo opaco del Male!

Stella amarissima
ordigno del male

tu sei il fuoco , tu l’inferno
in cui minutamente cucini l’amore
dove bellamente si fotte il mio cuore

tuo è il presagio tuo il disegno
che la morte alla fine viene per tutti
non solo i tipi belli , anche quelli brutti

Stella oscurissima
abbraccio spettrale

Quanto vale un addio è facile capire
Nel rogo in cui mi brucio come un lampo
Un ciocco sei, che partecipa all’avvampo

Questo addio lo vedi scampo non ha dato
Troppo cielo e troppe stelle per non avere niente da ridire
Poche stelle e troppo cielo per non avere voglia di morire

No rest, no peace, no truce, no break, no pause. You fucking world, why don’t you understand how bad I am doing? I am consumed by a reckless fever. And there’s no lie , no illusion that can keep this nightmare away. I will rot in hell, and you will too.

Yet my eyes keep on following sources of light, anywhere and no matter what. This desire I feel is tearing me apart. Oh I’ll shut up.