I've been a wanderer for most of the end of my life, or I could say a homeless person, a stray dog, as he used to call me you.
When I had the good clothes and a job, money that barely allowed us to live, then I named Luis, how strange. Now I'm just a bitch, a sewer rat.
The names change, and change the titles, the way people look at you when you no longer have a roof, when you no longer have a name, as if I were an alien from Mars or Saturn. Instead I still have a heart. A beating heart, a heart that is cold and fear, a heart like that of all. Do not try to tell of suffering that no longer have a name for yourself and others, are now only a shadowy figure who walks in the night, sleeping on dirty stairs, full of piss, the land of my own shoes, butts cigarette cartons and soaked by the rain.
what you think, moreover, as I pictures, but now it is an exaggeration.
I'm not saying that it had experienced very difficult periods, it is not so for some years, there are people who help me, I is slowly restoring dignity even if it is already late, tomorrow does not change anything.
I could tell you a million times that I still have a heart inside here somewhere hidden between my breasts. A heart like any other, just a little bit sick and stuttering.
The real difference is not having a head on the ceiling, doors to open with these hands scratched and tired, no place to call home.
When we were evicted and you came to live with your mother, I was happy in the end, I knew what would happen next, and despite everything that was fine for me, our son could still continue to hope, as I can not help myself. Do not blame you at all. Now I do not drink as before, you know? Why I no longer think about all those nasty things for which we could not live well together, for example money, damn that money always went away before the end of the month. This heart and
traitor bastard who has no intention of beating properly.
cut short, Roberto. It 's been a long time, I know, but I would like to see my son and I ask you to bring him here, at least once, how many years will now, ten? I ask only this, bring it here from me once, just once, then yes I'll be happy and at peace, happy for ever, despite the words peaceful, peace, happiness does not have a lot more sense to me now. It 'an unreasonable desire, perhaps not even so much, but are months that I live only for unreasonableness, only to discover that they live in are those of all. Even in this I feel so different from the others. We desire that this is a bit like the last cigarette to smoke in front of a firing squad. You can not negarmelo.
You never answered my constant reminders of recent times. Because times have really last this time. Spending time to count the drops that fall from the drip, I do not want pity because I really have to laugh. I have to laugh really. To what a stupid and cruel life can be, wonderful, exciting, petty, but full unfortunate, sad, sweet or resentful at the bottom is the same.
The end is the same for everyone, as the beginning, are the nuances that change.
potertelo not find other ways to say, moreover, do not ask you to understand, as I might, I have never been up to this damn world that I was violent and cowardly, a drunk without restraint. Pathetic, as my words after so many years.
This damned misery, but do not seek justification poverty creates monsters.
Now I think it's time to feel better cold, so I'm writing, because in the end we always awakens sins. Now that there are few things that count. Do not you feel a little too cold? After all these years you tried to hide. I've refused to yourself and to others, getting them, but what is the thinking of others unless we have the most ugly? The shame I felt for me is always so strong? Who knows what you tell him about me. How do you justify my absence.
Let me try to understand the shame, the one that you try. That in the eyes of all the people I saw go to Corso Trieste. The usual people who was passing by, for work, go home or somewhere else, I learned to recognize the legs and walking. Paradoxically tried to look in the eyes as little as possible, because I felt sorry for them after all. Their compassion, their indifference and their discomfort. Who changed or sidewalk he looked up. Shake the weight then you do not know what the consciousness with fifty cents. All seemed the same, the generous and intolerant to me did not make any difference. I hated the compassionate and charitable in the same way I do not know how I got to this point. I was just sure that once my body left behind in their worlds, and changed nothing in their souls. Their hearts remained undisturbed for a very simple fact, they did not understand. The discomfort can not be understood by those who have not lived, perhaps tolerated, it will. But I and others like I think we only strange creatures that you encounter along the route.
I do not want more money, why not accept your charity. Now I do not know what to do, I'd rather that people and institutions to change perspective, which began some time watching the world from our point of view, and not always to put their vision of things as a stamp on a letter, so- is why so goes the world-, one should first understand that the world is not going anywhere, it is always static, beautiful, grotesque, sad. Inclination would have to change just for one day, trying to really understand.
If you are just average, then inserted into the company and pretend that all you want listen, with the presumption that their stories and personal misadventures have a value on the scale of what matters. But if you live down the street this is not the case, then the question changes, the stories of each of us are no longer stories, but mad ravings of a lunatic, no ears cocked, no credit, no respect. Compassion maybe, but we are all able to say, Poor soul! -
be removed because you fear, because you smell, causing sickness or even worse, because they believe you are a criminal. Many facilities or public organizations, are often just another court where being judged, not to mention those who derive profit over our heads. Before I
addormentami is easy to remember all, but all confused. Faces, bodies, words, hands, glances, movements, words and lips and even screams, footsteps, walk up steps, my eyes on my feet, walking without stopping and curbs, the dog sniff you, who takes you away something while you're sleeping on the street.
I see them all: the girl in miniskirt and high heels with her purse and paid three hundred euro not worth a quarter, which is manufactured by Chinese in the garage of shit. The student with the dreadlocks and Che Guevara T-shirt Adidas shoes, the woman with the shopping bags and the disaster in the eyes,
the hippies, the ones with the ridges, the man in tie and briefcase to drift to nowhere, those with the cracks, the father who departs the child, the mother that blasphemy against her children, the elderly who go to church and die alone, the Indian who sells fruit, the Pakistanis at the pump, and shops in an eastern euro, fake Punkabbestia with two dogs at the ATM, the 'anorexic and loosening, maniacs and frustrated. I can recognize and tell them all at first glance.
Then I see myself from outside, in this hospital room, in my turn bad and intolerant to those faces desperate and hypocritical, desperate and lonely just like me, not so different.
become enormous distances, we begin to live on different planets, galaxies, unreachable, walking, walking without ever improving, such as salmon swimming in a river with no mouth.
All words I heard that they rape my ears, also come to visit me before bed every night longing for a rest precarious. All these words and phrases that start to spin confused in my head: "They are parasites drunkards", "Do not do no evil", "I have no problem leaving him a €" "They stink and shit where they sleep," "I'm sick "" Be careful where you go son, "" Go to work! "," ruin the neighborhood, "" But the town can not find him housing out of town? "," Decoration "," What do I pay the taxes? "," Order, "" should burn! "," Security, "" They did well to send them away, I have two young children. " Then I
fall asleep when the concert ends, for a few hours with no dreams.
You should also see how I look incredulous when the nurses surprise me to write a letter, as if to say, "Wow, this one also knows how to write," and believing that crazy laugh. Not to mention their surprise to learn that I have finished school and I had started college. I ask you to think about what I wrote. Today
passed the doctor, is a good man, always tells me not to worry, but I know myself that the situation is serious, I do not need nor ask questions to get answers and I think he has understood. He traveled a lot, you know? The last time was in Egypt, my dream as a child. I ask him always stories of his travels, for me that I have never traveled is wonderful to hear his stories. He always stops as good ten minutes to speak to me of the places we visited.
I ventured to say that ultimately does not matter neither the beginning nor the end of a trip, nor the destination or disposition, I do not know why I said, I came naturally to philosophize about this argument, perhaps the road can also teach you something, as we see in the movies, maybe not. After all the time I spent alone the only thing that remained was the thought, above all, try not to poison him, not mad.
Well I told him that the important thing is to go head-to nothing, for all that we've never seen, never tested on our small, annoying reflections and points of view, to what we have never known. I think this is the point. For a real trip there is no need to go that far. She smiled at me with a consent, then closed the door behind him.
When I had the good clothes and a job, money that barely allowed us to live, then I named Luis, how strange. Now I'm just a bitch, a sewer rat.
The names change, and change the titles, the way people look at you when you no longer have a roof, when you no longer have a name, as if I were an alien from Mars or Saturn. Instead I still have a heart. A beating heart, a heart that is cold and fear, a heart like that of all. Do not try to tell of suffering that no longer have a name for yourself and others, are now only a shadowy figure who walks in the night, sleeping on dirty stairs, full of piss, the land of my own shoes, butts cigarette cartons and soaked by the rain.
what you think, moreover, as I pictures, but now it is an exaggeration.
I'm not saying that it had experienced very difficult periods, it is not so for some years, there are people who help me, I is slowly restoring dignity even if it is already late, tomorrow does not change anything.
I could tell you a million times that I still have a heart inside here somewhere hidden between my breasts. A heart like any other, just a little bit sick and stuttering.
The real difference is not having a head on the ceiling, doors to open with these hands scratched and tired, no place to call home.
When we were evicted and you came to live with your mother, I was happy in the end, I knew what would happen next, and despite everything that was fine for me, our son could still continue to hope, as I can not help myself. Do not blame you at all. Now I do not drink as before, you know? Why I no longer think about all those nasty things for which we could not live well together, for example money, damn that money always went away before the end of the month. This heart and
traitor bastard who has no intention of beating properly.
cut short, Roberto. It 's been a long time, I know, but I would like to see my son and I ask you to bring him here, at least once, how many years will now, ten? I ask only this, bring it here from me once, just once, then yes I'll be happy and at peace, happy for ever, despite the words peaceful, peace, happiness does not have a lot more sense to me now. It 'an unreasonable desire, perhaps not even so much, but are months that I live only for unreasonableness, only to discover that they live in are those of all. Even in this I feel so different from the others. We desire that this is a bit like the last cigarette to smoke in front of a firing squad. You can not negarmelo.
You never answered my constant reminders of recent times. Because times have really last this time. Spending time to count the drops that fall from the drip, I do not want pity because I really have to laugh. I have to laugh really. To what a stupid and cruel life can be, wonderful, exciting, petty, but full unfortunate, sad, sweet or resentful at the bottom is the same.
The end is the same for everyone, as the beginning, are the nuances that change.
potertelo not find other ways to say, moreover, do not ask you to understand, as I might, I have never been up to this damn world that I was violent and cowardly, a drunk without restraint. Pathetic, as my words after so many years.
This damned misery, but do not seek justification poverty creates monsters.
Now I think it's time to feel better cold, so I'm writing, because in the end we always awakens sins. Now that there are few things that count. Do not you feel a little too cold? After all these years you tried to hide. I've refused to yourself and to others, getting them, but what is the thinking of others unless we have the most ugly? The shame I felt for me is always so strong? Who knows what you tell him about me. How do you justify my absence.
Let me try to understand the shame, the one that you try. That in the eyes of all the people I saw go to Corso Trieste. The usual people who was passing by, for work, go home or somewhere else, I learned to recognize the legs and walking. Paradoxically tried to look in the eyes as little as possible, because I felt sorry for them after all. Their compassion, their indifference and their discomfort. Who changed or sidewalk he looked up. Shake the weight then you do not know what the consciousness with fifty cents. All seemed the same, the generous and intolerant to me did not make any difference. I hated the compassionate and charitable in the same way I do not know how I got to this point. I was just sure that once my body left behind in their worlds, and changed nothing in their souls. Their hearts remained undisturbed for a very simple fact, they did not understand. The discomfort can not be understood by those who have not lived, perhaps tolerated, it will. But I and others like I think we only strange creatures that you encounter along the route.
I do not want more money, why not accept your charity. Now I do not know what to do, I'd rather that people and institutions to change perspective, which began some time watching the world from our point of view, and not always to put their vision of things as a stamp on a letter, so- is why so goes the world-, one should first understand that the world is not going anywhere, it is always static, beautiful, grotesque, sad. Inclination would have to change just for one day, trying to really understand.
If you are just average, then inserted into the company and pretend that all you want listen, with the presumption that their stories and personal misadventures have a value on the scale of what matters. But if you live down the street this is not the case, then the question changes, the stories of each of us are no longer stories, but mad ravings of a lunatic, no ears cocked, no credit, no respect. Compassion maybe, but we are all able to say, Poor soul! -
be removed because you fear, because you smell, causing sickness or even worse, because they believe you are a criminal. Many facilities or public organizations, are often just another court where being judged, not to mention those who derive profit over our heads. Before I
addormentami is easy to remember all, but all confused. Faces, bodies, words, hands, glances, movements, words and lips and even screams, footsteps, walk up steps, my eyes on my feet, walking without stopping and curbs, the dog sniff you, who takes you away something while you're sleeping on the street.
I see them all: the girl in miniskirt and high heels with her purse and paid three hundred euro not worth a quarter, which is manufactured by Chinese in the garage of shit. The student with the dreadlocks and Che Guevara T-shirt Adidas shoes, the woman with the shopping bags and the disaster in the eyes,
the hippies, the ones with the ridges, the man in tie and briefcase to drift to nowhere, those with the cracks, the father who departs the child, the mother that blasphemy against her children, the elderly who go to church and die alone, the Indian who sells fruit, the Pakistanis at the pump, and shops in an eastern euro, fake Punkabbestia with two dogs at the ATM, the 'anorexic and loosening, maniacs and frustrated. I can recognize and tell them all at first glance.
Then I see myself from outside, in this hospital room, in my turn bad and intolerant to those faces desperate and hypocritical, desperate and lonely just like me, not so different.
become enormous distances, we begin to live on different planets, galaxies, unreachable, walking, walking without ever improving, such as salmon swimming in a river with no mouth.
All words I heard that they rape my ears, also come to visit me before bed every night longing for a rest precarious. All these words and phrases that start to spin confused in my head: "They are parasites drunkards", "Do not do no evil", "I have no problem leaving him a €" "They stink and shit where they sleep," "I'm sick "" Be careful where you go son, "" Go to work! "," ruin the neighborhood, "" But the town can not find him housing out of town? "," Decoration "," What do I pay the taxes? "," Order, "" should burn! "," Security, "" They did well to send them away, I have two young children. " Then I
fall asleep when the concert ends, for a few hours with no dreams.
You should also see how I look incredulous when the nurses surprise me to write a letter, as if to say, "Wow, this one also knows how to write," and believing that crazy laugh. Not to mention their surprise to learn that I have finished school and I had started college. I ask you to think about what I wrote. Today
passed the doctor, is a good man, always tells me not to worry, but I know myself that the situation is serious, I do not need nor ask questions to get answers and I think he has understood. He traveled a lot, you know? The last time was in Egypt, my dream as a child. I ask him always stories of his travels, for me that I have never traveled is wonderful to hear his stories. He always stops as good ten minutes to speak to me of the places we visited.
I ventured to say that ultimately does not matter neither the beginning nor the end of a trip, nor the destination or disposition, I do not know why I said, I came naturally to philosophize about this argument, perhaps the road can also teach you something, as we see in the movies, maybe not. After all the time I spent alone the only thing that remained was the thought, above all, try not to poison him, not mad.
Well I told him that the important thing is to go head-to nothing, for all that we've never seen, never tested on our small, annoying reflections and points of view, to what we have never known. I think this is the point. For a real trip there is no need to go that far. She smiled at me with a consent, then closed the door behind him.
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