Rider on the storm


Jim-Morrison


I've always been a chronic immature, in the balance between the gears of passing time, a body which inexorable fades and the surrounding environment which judges my movements.

 

Who am I really?

What I let shine through and what do I hide?

How do other people see me?

Who would I be?

 

Dilemmas. In my life, the most onerous case is to live my life and the lack of some practicality. You can ask me to paint the finest imaginary painting (actually I can't do it) depict the whole humanity, but not to plant a nail to hang that painting.

Sometimes I felt like an unfit stubborn and a failed of good hopes, and I was getting irritated by the fact it was pointed out because it was like putting a knife in my sores.

Judgment of others is an intimate violation you don't remember having granted, even if it often is reasonable and weighty. It's not comforting to be fooled because It's like making fun of the sufferings and problems of another person; Moreover, it's a useful game for not focusing on your own life.


My real me never appears, my ego swaggers and beds down, my unconscious drives the car.

I'd like to conquer other dimensions and new possibilities, if only I could raise from the ground. The body, the ambient and the time, continue to dominate me, keeping me in survival mode.

I'll be sitting on the seashore waiting for the wave to ride, or you'll find me lying on this bare ground to feel a breath of wind and grab it.

The clear sky will come and I can do it, like a knight who has crossed a storm.



© ENRICO MATTIOLI 2017





© Enrico Mattioli 2017