Why am I always dreaming, head in the clouds, imagining. Wondering. Thinking too much, mind drifting, contemplating possibilities far from the mundane. Running from the real. Why dwell in such a place? Reality is well enough, good enough and yet, my mind takes me beyond, to peel away the layers revealing a life for myself that is brighter, more alive, more everything. I’m an idealist. I’m romantic, dwelling in the spaces forbidden by this fast paced existence of convenience. I treasure ritual. I treasure quills and inkwells. Sealing wax, top hats and corsets, walking through ancient places. I like leaf tea, real chocolate shavings instead of cocoa powder for my hot chocolate. I enjoy prints and well crafted typography. Deckled edges. Situations that take me outside myself. Deep down a thrill seeker. Doing 120 on the highway. It’s just an ordinary Monday for everyone else. Me, I’m somewhere else. Lost in my own little world. Dreaming. Writing poems, placing my wishes on the wind. Letting them fly and get away from me.
Like calligraphy, watching my spacing, slant and stems. Keeping strokes even against my best judgement. Too many swells and the balance is thrown off. The uncials need their fellow letters nice and even to shine. It’s time I set my book hand.
All over the place. Looking up at reflections of the sunlight from the ocean floor. Majestic. Scintillating. Mesmerizing. My hair swirling in the current.
– – –
Io voglio regalarti la mia vita.
Chiedo tu cambi tutta la mia vita, ora.
Ti do questa notizia in conclusione.
Notizia è l’anagramma del mio nome, vedi.
E so che serve tempo, non lo nego.
Anche se in fondo tempo non ce n’è, ma se.
-Tiziano Ferro “Indietro”