How To Clean Semen Off Chair

SOAP BUBBLES OVER


Ode to the life of Pablo Neruda

He or she who becomes the slave of,
repeating every day the same itineraries, who does not change the brand,
who does not risk and change the color of his clothes,
does not talk to those who do not know.

He or she who makes of television his guru.
He or she who shuns passion,
who prefers black on white, dotting the "i"
rather than a set of emotions,
the kind that make your eyes sparkle,
that turn a yawn a smile, those
that make the heart beat before error and feelings.

Slowly dies who does not overthrow the table
who is unhappy at work, who does not risk certainty for uncertainty,
to chase a dream, who would not allow, at least once in their lives, die
sensible advice.

He or she who does not travel, does not read,
who does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself.
Dies slowly he who destroys self-esteem, who does not accept
help. Dies slowly he who passes his days complaining
of his bad luck or the incessant rain.

Dies slowly he who abandons a project before starting it,
who does not ask questions on subjects he does not know who
non risponde quando gli chiedono qualcosa che conosce.

Evitiamo la morte a piccole dosi, ricordando sempre che essere vivo
richiede uno sforzo di gran lunga maggiore del semplice fatto di
respirare. Soltanto l’ardente pazienza porterà al raggiungimento
di una splendida felicità.



Tanto tempo fa lessi questa poesia su di un giornale, chissà perché ne strappai la pagina. Da quel giorno la porto sempre con me, forse a ricordarmi di non morire, forse a sbandierami il fatto di esserlo ormai da tempo.. ma chi può dirsi vivo oggi? Nell’era del già detto o fatto, mi chiedo se ci sia ancora spazio per il delirio.
Io sono morta da tempo.