THAT EVENING NOTHING MADE SENSE

Dani Tringale Image - "At Dusk"

That evening nothing made sense, the wars, the stabbings, Jeff Bezos money, the existence of God, his ex who never loved him and the reason he stayed, winning a game at tennis, or loosing it, the love or the disgust he felt for himself, or the reason for waking up tomorrow, or not, the debate between natural and positive law, the meaning of acceptance, or of honesty, and of the shame he felt for asking for help and for being himself, or of the function of the mind or of writing a blog for some others he never met and probably never will: were they sharing the same feelings tonight, were they happy in their prison of fear, were they too wondering what is all about, where is the connection and how it was lost, was it real, or a delusion, what is real and/or what is an illusion, and did they really care?

That evening nothing made sense, not even turning on the light in his studio, the white light of his computer screen was enough to feel alive, or just surviving, just for another second, just enough to not think about the darkness, creeping in behind him, and about the soil opening under him, and about his bones, becoming fragile like his will, or desire to live.

That evening when nothing made sense, he sat and wrote because this is what he does, when nothing makes sense: he stamps some letters on a white page, so as they can reflect his existence, the presence of an identity behind the void, so they can resonate, like death bells, to this human experience of ours, and this shallow existence, so as to never forget the tragedies we impose on one another, we, the creatures of God.

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new - new - new - post - post - I pop to you my post post - pop me another post youuuu blogger nigger anger stranger mother fucker new - new - new - post - post - I pop to you my post post - post pop - pop corn - corn cows fields shit - meet me lousy poppy mopey crappy nappy sassy Missy gypsy traveller - hair - flight - nights - pop - right? Samsonite: Eins, Swei, Drei, Vier, Funf pop me another post you blogger nigger anger stranger bloody nothingness - pop now or never - you - dying being hissing living - crying joying resting moving - popping pills to forgive your mummy's death: Eins, Swei, Drei, Samsonite, Vier, Funf post pop post pop pop - another post pop - woman slave - work in silence - be humble - raise kids - wash trash - sex slave mother fucker - pop pop pills pop never - new - new post you ghost - you most desirable loss - strange words into cost - most worse pop post Nein? Samsonite, Eins, Swei, Drei, Vier, Funf, Eins, Swei, Drei, Samsonite, Vi...

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My morning pages. My life pages. My journal pages. My wonderful life pages. My grief pages. My losses pages. My spiritual growth pages. My Sweet Topouschetto and All The Others I have loved pages. My no one else yet pages. My who cares anyway pages. My adolescent pages. My Dani the Sweet Peco pages. My Dani Cucciolo pages. My Dani Nella pages. My Love pages. My hate pages. My God pages. My I am strong as a rock and vulnerable as a snow flake pages. My I am free as I have never been before because I love myself realisation pages. My I validate myself pages. My I allow myself to feel and act accordingly pages. My rigorous honestly pages. The miracles pages. My life pages. I still love because love never ends pages. My wishes pages. My stay in the now pages. My past pages. My father's unconditional love for me pages. My mother's desperation pages. My brother's smile pages. My grandfather who saved my life that day pages. My inconsolable inner child tears pages. My inner beauty...

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