love again and again and again

perhaps literature surrounds solitude and finitude…the only one theme of a writer practice…my writings are somehow boring…it seems like I write the same thing…this look is narrow…today is the tomorrow of yesterday…what I write today is fresh…unique…not a version of the same thing but some new one…today is unique…time passes…life passes…tic /tac…never / forever…a day / a life…one day / one life…and again and again and again…no shy…love is my way…love is a brand-new world…I could tell a story…but the story is longer than today…on my books I tell stories…but love is wonderful cause is useless…the human being is useless cause is love…a human being is love…I perceive this…the silent voice not written and not listened…if I can not speak I write…writing admits many languages…like music…human voice is an universal voice of love…I don’t what is love…I just feel…my dear child…my dear who gives me life…I love you…the nowaday world needs loving the human being…human being is not useful…human being loves

blogging

as a writer I find in blogging a special way to stay close to persons…not is a subtitution of personal encounter or date, but as writing and publishing I feel one of the rare interests of internet: share love…any story I read…any post I read from other bloggers and from comments…and it is wonderful…no compettion…no awards…recognition that the things are not so bad…blogging is a good new…love is a brand-new news: love does exist…requires innocence…requires some effort…love is a wonderful experience…somehow strange…so different of what I see in ordinary life…love is greater than life…and blogging is an invitation for loving…when the impossible comes…just love

toghether

I write cause I need but I write for you…from you…I write from my solitude…I am my solitude…my solitude is love…love is a personal one…so close to body and soul…love is a solitary thing…you are with me…I am with you…on instants of writing and reading…reading is a form of writing…my dear child, you are going well…the hair falled…the needed treatment…we are toghether…through life…your innocence touchs my bodysoul…your innocence is hope…hope never dies…I do the impossible for help you…being toghether is far than a help…is share love…love is innocent…my dear child…I play another berceuse for you…I am always with you…in opposition to the law of time and distance…our toghetherness. I wish may relieve your suffering and when we sing toghether there is no time nor distance…a time out…a time in…a time out…a time in…love is a kind of soul beat…my dear child, your courage remembers me of what is worthy…love

writing is innocence

literature is a love relationship…writing is innocence…the act of writing…no purpose…no goal…no intention…just write is what I need…not all writing is innocence…innocence is love…but even in a daily traditional journal it is possible to see good things…especially when people manifest love…the world can be better although imperfet…any human being is love…what occurs is that this is negated…human being needs food and love expression…human being need to love and be beloved…but love is decisive…help is decisive…my daily bread: loving…human voice…literature is the written voice of love…to read…to write…as a writer I feel the human being like I feel myself…fragile…strong…living is a form of art…writing is a way of living lovely…love: the unique crucible for transforming all pain and sorrow and sadness and joy in innocence cause love is innocent

human voice

as a writer I have nothing to say…I read a lot…at this time of my life…I write more than I read…I have some interest in reading cause I like to read…reading is a dialogue, but I need to write more than to read…a great book is a book that reads the reader…what the reader did not writes…nor publish…to turn publish a writing is a big writer task…I feel difficult to publish nowadays…there is less readers…in fact I am a reader of what I write, but I do not know what I write…who reads me helps me a lot for keep writing…writing is innocence…is a lovely work…hard…but not to write I can not…I am not famous…I will never win the Nobel prize…what is important?…write, write, write…words, words and words…as a love expression with innocence and confidence…as a writer I am not diplomatic…as a person too…as a writer I am useless too unless someone reads my writings…the human being must perceive the own voice…and speak…and listen… and dialogue….literature is a love relationship

innocence

writing is innocence…not no sense…a kind of an inner sense…of value…innocence…a fragrance of a love heart…the task for rescue innocence…love is innocence…a second innocence…the rescue of my first innocence: childhood…the rescue of my second innocence: the time since childhood…the sustaining perception of the choice…choose joy…choose love…the needed confidence in love…all of us are love…I love, just…I love you, just…I  am beloved, just…and it is so much!…love is my uselles value…out of time…out of space…love is an experience of innocence…no doubts…no thinking…no yesterday…no tomorrow…time…a day / a life…a life in a day…innocence…the realm of the human being…today. forever

time

what is time…time is not on the clock…perhaps in rock…rolling…singing…playing my blues…compass…rhythm…melody…harmony…facing silence…facing empty…for dancing…body…soul…toghether through life…dancing…a party…time out…no time…untouchable moments…instants of an inner party…a celebration…time out…so…love…as a possible perception…of a flowing thing out of time…out of space…body and soul…the touchable and the untouchable…perceptions of love…such a strange thing…the time…how measure life?…seizing the time?…time of the equal hours…quantity, but love is an almost imperceptible quality of the human being…useles…no time…the place is body and soul…where is today…the time fot love

today

between yesterday and tomorrow…today…reveries…will of tomorrow…this impossible pick up of the now…today…all I can live…today…all I can pray…today…a piece of time and space…today…yesterday a sunny day…today a rainy day…tomorrow no one knows…invention…reinvention…tomorrow seems illusion, but tomorrow is not reverie…tomorrow exists on my mind…time passes…life passes…here…where is here I don’t know…time…distance…the fragrance of love is real…against the law of time and distance…I feel you are with me…here…now…today…I have love somehow, but I feel love…love is not a word…love is not an object…what is today?…a piece of hope and hope is help…the daily bread

a life, a day

in my solitude I feel a day as a life….one day…one life…some counting beat…the day of today remembers me a poem piece…from an english poet…’never, forever / forever, never /never, forever /forever, nerver /never, forever /forever, never’…tic /tac…tic /tac…tic /tac…tic /tac… a day / a life…a life / a day…a day / a life…a life / a day…one day / one life…one day / living…one day / loving…one day: love /today / love, love, love

a day, a life

as a writer I could tell a story, but a story is longer than a day…longer than a life, my life…my life so short!…the art so long!…as a writer I have nothing to say. so I write…as a need…my love is useless…an airplane can tracks bombs or food…a car may track bombs or remedies…the human being is useless….the human being is love…far away from conscious perception and from commom sense…I sate this…a slave…a slave is still human being but useful…and such a miracle!… a slave may run away and feel free being free to choice…free will and destiny: a double movement…a human being is not useful…a human being is useless because of love…a slave is a human being turned an object…a human being is not an object…a human being is not a property…the human being is like an angel of one wing…I need you for flying…with me…with my useless love …with my solitude…a sweet flying…free for cry…free for smile…love and freedom roads toghether…I invite you…let’s go toghether through life…we are not slaves…we are human beings, plenty of love…love in the air…today is always…a day…a life…a day is a life…thank so much for your reading…I write for you..I write from you…freedom is not an abstraction…freedom exists in consciousness…free will and destiny: the  point…not freedom nor destination, but a human being is a love movement spinining round a flying free and a destiny pair dance…loving is dancing…toghether…me and you…we…not only you…not only me…us…we go dancing and dancing and joy push us till flying confident to the last goodbye…life may be a good way to perceive love…not freedom…not destiny….the useless love…like a flying randomly with the winds paths