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Author. Editor⁣. Copywriter. ⁣⁣Semantic Architect⁣ & Behavioral Writer. ⁣
photo: fwed

A tiny burden,
the heaviest one,
is complicated.

Dysfunctional happiness,
the daily one,
is complicated.

Trusting a process,
while getting lost,
is complicated.

Being myself,
even for an hour,
is complicated.

Protons and quarks
are at ease
with themselves.

We are bosons and fermions
searching for

but it’s complicated.

Finally dozing off, half-heartedly.

I can still see you still,
underneath your bewilderment,
pages ripped off their meaning
lying between us,
lying to us.

The stray cat
inside of your mouth
keeps on crying and
meowing up at my heart.

I am still myself
for you
and I don’t know how long
this will last.

You’re the one
not even time can tame.

Pic by courtesy of Kenny Luo via unsplash

I saw dust dancing around my fingers
suspended gold,
absence mirroring absence.

I listened to dust dancing around my fingers
mute and talkative,
spoons full of ancient wars
now replaced by silence.

I sliced time and space into
thick coordinates,
to be here
and somewhere else,
to dip my feet into the mud of now
and somewhen else.

I am something different
than the sum of my arts.

Creativivian 2019

I forgot
what you forgot
to be.

Time is stealing us,
time is robbing us.

what an afternoon gave me: a vintage book, die-cuts, and butterflies — footage by @Creativivian

Prayers climb upwards
as paper butterflies
glide across the moment.

Butter flying in the air
and my arteries,
clogged by the wait,
remind me we’re both stuck

This pond is an ocean
for non-believers

impostor syndrome approaching existence
from behind

in this ankle-deep mud
I may drown
in this false green
I may drown
upset beneath that stillness

nervously devouring
die cuts and bleeds that were meant
to define space
and the border
between life and life

so blank in moments
shoulder to shoulder
— this isn’t courage

I’m looking at the window
your steps reaching my ears
we’ll order pizza
and pretend we’re alive.

© Creativivian 2020

Rain knows no battles. Pic Liv Bruce via unsplash

Week one

I’m in charge, coated with delicacy,
petals swirling mid-air,
the Sun is my medium,
my rays reach you in less than 8 minutes.

I stand beside you like a fridge
packed with pink attentions and popsicles,
no fever detected,
we’re dancing
in your living room.

You believe in God
and I believe in you,
such a weird triangle,
and I also believe
there’s a tiny altar
arched between your eyes
when you frown.

No need to pray.

Week two

A racing rage across my loops,
a mouth of lava,
I burn everything while everything burns me.

This aloof…

Heart of words, Creativivian 2021

There used to be a pixelated duty
of mental images I couldn’t fix.

I don’t need a distraction, I need this traction
— the force of motion
between your thoughts
and a tangential surface
(yes, that’s me)

I need everything and more,
the horrifying beauty that permeates this skin of ours,
your presence of hyaluronic acid, shock-absorbing,
emotionally hydrating.

You need everything and more,
a source emanating from a side of life,
some details falling into shadow,
some shadows surrending to luminescence
—Rembrandt lighting
and all the coordinating conjunctions available
and all those rules
to keep wisdom safe.

Looking at…

As an atheist, I must admit this incipit is quite powerful.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God”. Hm-hm, I agree, the feeling is mutual. This is not an article, nor a poem itself. It’s the celebration of a world the very moment it was generated from a single intention.

When an Indie Dutch Magazine asked me to contribute with a different poem.

When I decided to make a reverse-black-out poem with color particles covering all but the words I needed to pop out.

Or when I asked Carlo Rovelli’s…

Tutti gli incontri cambiano la vita, ma alcuni lo fanno più di altri.

Ravenna, qualche settimana fa.

“Solitudine e storia” di Pascal ci sembrava un’ottima idea, quando l’ha visto. Cosa ne pensi? Fra le braccia teneva già diversi libri e un po’ di stanchezza, a strati, un sandwich di carta e dai andiamo. Di Pascal conoscevo solo qualche aforisma che non mi dispiaceva affatto.

La librerella è una rella posizionata in soggiorno sulla quale trovano posto beni stagionali di prima necessità. Qui è in versione invernale: maglioni coccolosi, sciarpine e, ovviamente, libri.

Trento, qualche settimana più tardi.

Il lunedì è sempre un giorno importante per la librerella. Sostituisco i libri della settimana precedente e dispongo la varietà per quella successiva. Si trova in una posizione tattica, vicina alla porta d’entrata. In caso di ripensamenti, posso sostituire il…

You’ve got the distance
attached to your soles
— wipe it off
while you’re standing on my doormat.

Enter my home,
my phantom limbs
are growing again.

Give me your soul,
you can just put it right in there
between the couch and my independence.

It seems yesterday
it’s been months
and now it’s mouths.

© Creativivian 2020


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