Monday,
20th August, 2001 - darkness filled up my "blind" eyes.
...and even this time
all is coming to an end it's all been incredible, my friend but
I think here I can't stand it is getting very near the end...
my show is coming to an end, my friend.
It's Monday the 20th August. An ordinary, a day like any other
day.
It's Monday and I'm no longer an activity leader for TLC.
I won't ever be, eventually.
So far I have broken my watch, broken my pair of glasses, missed
tens of trains and buses for ten
bloody seconds, lost my jumper, lost my sweater, lost important
addresses......and... well...... lost myself for the nth time.
It's Monday, a very ordinary Monday and I don't need anymore
to wake up with bloody accents, whether it is French or English....or
Italian... As well as you don't need anymore to pull my leg or
wind me up ............or to be that shy girl you're well known
for. And, well, I would say clever, after all. I'm meant to be
one who's able to spot clever minds miles away. Don't underrate
me, and I won't underrate you!!.....
It's Monday and you got 4As*, while I've got 4..... days left.......
the battle, my own battle, rages on. There's still fire and lightnings
to keep it on, I'm waiting for the next explosion of thunders
and rain which accompanies my killing imagination. I love falling
in love with my thoughts. They keep me awake all the time, even
when I should let everything go.
I love them. I need them. I adore them. I would like to kill
them!!..... Before they can kill me. But I cannot help it. It's
stronger than me. Stronger than my will. It's ME vs ME. A passionate,
dramatic battle within my mind. Who's gonna win?... Who's gonna
over-take the other?...
I won't let myself blow away.
It's Monday, a bloody Monday. My bedroom is as untidy as ever,
just as my fuckingly complicated brain.
I'm sinking. Definitely sinking. I'm being killed by an "imagination-overdose".
I'm being driven
slightly, slowly mad, trying to keep myself afloat, but.....
it's surrender, by now...... Maybe it is getting very near the
end.
I'm the man standing on the corner, completely isolated, while
the others joyfully have fun dancing to a deafening loud music.
I'm the nice fellow to whom no-one says hallo whenever I go to
a party.
I'm your outsider, a natural born one, bound to struggle and
trying not to get overwhelm by his own over-thinking, then his
own over-worrying.
Remember? I'm 80 early in the morning, 60 after breakfast, 40
at mid-noon, 30 in the early afternoon, 20 in the evening, from
8 to 15 late at night..... TO MAKE IT MINE!!!! MY VERY OWN NIGHT!!
I'm "Sir Sensitivity" during the day, but supposed
to be "Evil Nosferatu" at deep, very deep night, gently
entitled to "suck" blood to my victims and give myself
a "high" time, fairly "accompanied" by its
unsafe and overwhelming darkness, a dearest friend to me. Then,
to get back, when dawn rises again, to my spoiled and eerie grave.
And let my tormented soul "die" again. To re-live the
following night.
Just let me fall into my dream, a labyrinthine dream, from which
it is apparently impossible to escape. But it's too late, I've
already been trapped. No way out. And now way in, no access to
rest of the World.
Just let me go back into my Dark Side of the Moon, see you very
soon. Nowhere-bound, that "nowhere" I came from. A
place to be, a place with no people, desperately needed for me,
I need my very own island where to keep the wicked Planet far
and let myself go into a stunningly blue sea of emotions and
peaceful easy feelings.
Let me let me let me... let me over and over again sail away,
for a never come-back. A f....... bastard
getaway. I will let my corrosive doubts vanish with this annoyingly
freezing wind and maybe one day you'll find the answer.
Far from the madding crowd, I'm the little raging boy quit too
early by his mother and father, I'm crying and no-one is coming
to rescue me. Alone with my child-ish ghosts and rumours that
apparently do not exist, except within my corrupted mind. It's
like diving into an empty, dark swimming pool, sure
I won't get hurt. No, I won't.
I feel like I have to cross a very busy, chaotic road in a huge,
disturbing big town, without watching not to left nor to right.
I won't get hurt, my friend. No, I won't.
I'm sure, I won't.
SEE YA IN THE SPACE!!!
BYE
A "gorgeous" activity leader
....wearing big-girl-like-long-socks
....and having a very BAD French accent........
....or the "bloodiest and weirdest English accent
ever heard so far"..........
my VERY OWN accent!!!
.......Definitely your ultimate outsider
.........Definitely "Mr. Misunderstood"
.... Definitely...... MR. DEFINITELY!!!!!!!!!!!
Signed:
A natural born "menthally-drunk" 28-year-old-Italian-fellow
...who adores George Best and "comes" from Sgt. Pepper
(I used to live there, until a certain time ago).
A very very very good guy, INDEED!!!!!!!
Luca
TELEMACO PEPE
*: 4As equivalerebbe
al massimo risultato ottenibile attraverso i famosi A-LEVELS
inglesi, una serie di esami che permettono di individuare il
grado di preparazione degli studenti inglesi nel delicato, cruciale
passaggio tra la maturita' conseguita nelle scuole superiori
ed il successivo passaggio all'Universita' per la quale si ha
optato. Questo
testo è depositato presso www.neteditor.it e quindi coperto da diritti
d'autore. Esso non potrà essere riprodotto totalmente
o parzialmente senza il consenso dell'autore stesso, il quale,
peraltro, ha autorizzato la pubblicazione su NuovoGPR, in data
indicata in testa ed a mezzo e-mail. |