Puzzo. A smell sour, bitter, pungent.
Buffo. Because in these days of apathy and boredom, the only activity that seems to distract and capture the stopping time is just wash my hands. Spending hours to soak in the tub full of water up to rim. A stomach, holding their breath, sometimes with open eyes, closed more often, not doing anything, just lose track of any size, even gravity, skin and mind until all become one with the water. As if I had gills, if we were born. And a little 'I think it's right, a vague memory but strangely pleasant and comforting amniotic fluid, in which the perception of weight you lose, you remember, is unnecessary. That's where I find my essential, I get rid of matter and of all that binds me through it the rest of the world and remain dormant in the contemplation of the senses and relieved, the nerve impulses that lose power and is designed to make small discharges slowly running out, fireflies of water dispersed, floating, light, they scatter to a stop, the balance achieved the intended purpose. Thing out there is to be granted to the gravity that crushes everything to the ground, which means that everything, every single element has an 'origin and purpose, a jealous father-master, to which we attach morbid. A 'unique attraction that brings down all the creatures to stretch out and run out skyward, toward the light, toward the unknown and the state of grace of which seem to be equipped with the stars, that we can never touch, but only dream of, and even think you have already consumed in the moment of their reality.
I feel so, a supernova, in water as in the sky. I wish I could stay a long time immersed in the absence of breath, were it not for the lungs of mice that I find myself. And sometimes I try to resist, pushing me beyond my ability, forcing life and death to brush her .. the gap is short, yet it seems so far away and unthinkable, inconceivable.
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