Breathing … sand …

(poem inspired by a dream, credits to the subconscious :D)

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Breathing …
Sand …
And blue water …

Breathing …
The wind
That I can see in the small waves,
The biggest of them all,
A mountain far ahead.

Breathing … (hiccup)
With hiccups. (hiccup)
From my balcony,
I can see one building,
Which ate a slice of the sea. (hiccup)

Breathing …
It’s slowly …
Getting dark …

Breathe in, breathe out …
Dream in, dream out …

A silent noise:
The mountain turned into a wave,
To my right,
The sea falls down like a valley,
To my left.

It took away with it the sand,
The building,
And my breath.

With what air is left in my lungs,
I look out:
It’s bluetifuuul !

The sea is rumbling,
Yet somehow,
I cannot hear it.
The mountain is still far away,
To my right,
The sea is falling down like a valley,
To my left,
And I am safe,
On my balcony,
Breathing…

Salsa for people who think too much

I write because it lets me predict the future. Yet for the first time, I had no clue where this story will bring me. Maybe it’s because, when I started, I was mature enough to understand that:

I’m Perfect!
I’m Smarter than you,
I’m Faster than you,
I’m Better in every single way,
And for all I have done
Let’s be honest,
I deserve more than you!

I was somewhere in this cheerful mood, when I went to my first salsa class. Now I have to confess something: I have never, ever danced before. Not even under the shower. After I took the first beginner class 3 times, the second beginner class 3 times, the third beginner class 3 times, moved to intermediate, and then came all the way back to beginners, I realized … there must be something wrong with the teaching method. So I decided to come up with my own. Salsa … for people who think too much.

Lesson 1 – the upside down umbrella

You dance in a circle, switching partners. By the end of the class, you’ve done the full tour twice and you get a pretty complete and consistent image of yourself:

You’re frowning, you’re angry, you’re thinking too much,
you’re counting, not counting, don’t do it as such,
so wait for the next one, next time, boy oh boy,
now?
Now you’re not good enough.

Let’s skip all the blaming and get things straight – Yes, I’m the guy, Yes, I’m supposed to lead, it’s all on me. Yes, I really, really wanna do things right. Yet here I am, stopping in the middle of a move because I forget where the freaking legs are supposed to be, stuttering back and forth a bunch of times until I think I got the rhythm right (and I look into her eyes – nope, I didn’t). Here I am – hating myself for every clumsy little move, and I put in my google calendar that the next time when I go, I won’t just talk about my mistakes, I’ll make people compliments, but I can’t. I guess that was my first salsa lesson – you cannot make compliments when you’re frustrated.

One evening, at a salsa party I saw a really strange thing. In the middle of the stage, a chair, and a little kid sitting on it. Two larger, heavier kids, were pushing him from the sides, trying to see if they can fit him in smaller space. I could read on his lips, he kept saying, if only I could disappear, if only I could disappear and these two assholes would bump into each other, if only, I could disappear… I ran off to help, but the children vanished.

I looked around, and on my right, there was a girl, who I asked to dance, and for 2 minutes, I forgot all about my salsa mistakes. All I could think of was her hair. Whenever she turned around, her hair raised, weightless, like an upside down umbrella. I didn’t say anything. Back then, I feared that making compliments always has consequences. Instead, she looked at me and said, in the sweetest possible way: you think a lot, don’t you ? It might have been a compliment.

Lesson 2 – the alien

I land. I watch the dancers float on the stage and I am amazed. I make contact with the humans: unbelievable, we have the same five fingers. But what do I say? On my planet, the whole world lives inside my head, but here, your world is too big, and I cannot carry all its emotions. I am … a mirror. An emotional amplifier. You want me to be myself ? If I share the dramas that live inside me, they would crush you. So I break the loop. Instead of reflecting emotions, I transform them. I become a drunken clown, that turns fears into jokes. A colorblind poet, that paints the world with words.

That night, I left early, exhausted from too much thinking. I reached the entrance, and there I saw a man, sitting down, his legs closed, flipping one coin over, and over again, never happy with the outcome. After he flipped the coin a thousand times, I found my courage, and went back to the dancing floor.

Lesson 3 – What did you wanna become as a grown up?

When I was a kid my dream was to become Michael Jordan. My plan was to sit in the sun, all day, until I would turn black. I was pretty sure that if I’m black, I’d play basketball like there’s no tomorrow. So, if right now I am just one shade of brown darker than the average white guy it’s because, well, I gave up too early. But now, for serious, when I was a little kid, what I wanted to become was an extrovert. Many years ago, I used to go to parties, I wouldn’t talk much, but I would say bye – to people I knew, to people I didn’t know. It was the easiest thing to do – I didn’t have to have a half-an-hour conversation after that goodbye (although that seems to happen all the time lately and I love it). Somehow, doing that has become a sort of tradition for me. Because for me, goodbye, is when people get to know me: I am … the child who didn’t disappear. I am the man who flipped the coin a thousand times, the coin that every single time showed, in reflection, his face, to realize that I am … you!

Epilogue

If to be broken,
Is to live in a world,
where only the satisfied are fed,
and you,
you’re so hungry,
that you learn to pretend.

If to be broken is to live life,
like it’s a Mario game,
never making it past the first level,
always falling down into that first pit,
because for some odd freaking reason,
in the those twenty something years of your life,
I had no idea,
that THERE’S A JUMP BUTTON!
that I can skip over pain,
jump over yesterday,
live like a child,
never right,
never wrong,
too small to make sense of any of this,
but still taking the jump,
the bold leap of faith,
and hoping
that one day
I will learn to fly.

Thinking that maybe, maybe the happiest moment of my life
Is right now,
And right now, I am split, spread out,
between the lines,
Between you,
Letting go,
With so many walls torn off,
With nothing to fear,
And nothing to defend,

If that…
if that…
if that is what it means to be broken,
Then broken is what I want to be!

Descartes didn’t think enough

There is one downside to being a superaware cameleon,
I have no energy left for joy,
When every drip of blood that flows under my skin
Goes into asking:
What’s wrong with me this time around?

Oh shit,
my hands are dangling awkwardly
as if in an out of the body experience,
I guess I’ve always looked like an astronaut on fast forward
navigating the void space between my mind and others,
without the gravity of confirmation.

And look,
the socks I picked in a rush
don’t match my clothes and I wonder,
before the whole pants below the waist thing was fashion,
did people wear them low to hide the socks out of shame ?

You see, the great Descartes said
I think, therefore I am,
But for all the 50 layers
Of hierarchical meta-thinking,
Self-fulfilling, self-deprecating loops,
I’d hardly say I am,
At best, I’m a bit lost.

To my grandlove

The last time when I fell in love,
I was counting in the wrinkles on your belly,
The ages of hunger, and of overweight…

It was lunchtime,
when I proposed.
But you…
You were too old,
and too slow
to respond.

The rest … is haze.

I think,
I just stood there,
Petrified,
Waiting for the first lightning,
To bestow on me the shape of time.

Carried down by winds to your beginning,
I could see all the future,
Which has already been.

Or maybe,
Maybe I just left,
Moved on, away.
And now I’m falling down with other raindrops…

I’m getting closer, close, to understanding…
nothing,
Reciting,
to a selfie stick,
and 7 billion cameras,
the timeless poem,
the hope of joy,
the breath of life:

Je
Roo
Nii
Mooo!!!!….

When I am done, my love, must promise you will hide me,
At dinner time:
I’ll be another wrinkle on your belly.

Chicago rain

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Be fruitful and ye
Multiply a dozen bridges o’er the river,
Build towers up into the sky,
One thousand floors of shining silver.

And whilst the rain fills up your hollow,
One million droplets of the same,
Thy shadows run, I try to follow,
A zillion people, with no name.

Until thou stop…
Against all odds…
Thy ghost forsaken to the now,
And then I learn,
Thy name,
Thy why,
From whence thou came,
And where thou run.