Some children have never known peace. They have such an enormous capacity for survival, and the instinct to take care of one another. I once read: “Friendship multiplies the good in life, but also divides the evil”.
Somehow do they reckon her as friend? Was she ever loved by them?
Emilia had a sister. She died by anorexia.
She felt so useless when it happened. She was her one sister, her beautiful sister.
The little sister of hers just started to turn into this monster. Her bones, they just started to jut out. It was like someone had just stuck daggers under her skin. And her hair, she started growing hair all over her body. It was like a sort of dense fur, like a werewolf.
Emilia stopped to smile, she just stopped living.
As the years goes by, Emilia was delighted with the presence of Mona. She started thinking someway that little girl, with such beautiful blue eyes, could replace the empty left by Sadie, her loved sister, the one she adored most of all the things.
It is not funny how the universe, through a strange movement, makes us revival the things, and exactly the same things? That was the feeling Emilia has had when she first saw Mona, when she first saw anger on her face, a strange blue on her eyes.
Have you ever read Nietzsche, asked Emilia, with agony and a pure uncomfortable freezing sneaking under her skin.
No, said Mona.
He was this great philosopher. He just believed that there are some people put on this planet who are made to succeed, who are made to blossom. And it doesn´t matter how many lesser mortals suffer, and get fucked over, and it doesn´t matter, as long as they succeed.
God is dead, says Nietzsche.
Mona stared at her eyes, and with a dedicated expression over her face, it was like she already knew it, she had this instinct about religions, this feeling we have to murder God, then everything is blossom, perfection can be discovered.
Edith Piaf. The voice of the little Parisian had brought madness and spiritual guidance’s to the old house. I just adore her, said Emilia.
Piaf was this marvelous Parisian woman, who had a wonderfully tragic life. She was married three times, and each husband died in mysterious circumstances. The last one was a boxer champion. She killed him with a fork. By the way, she didn´t even go to prison, because in France, crimes of passion are forgiven.
Emilia had a sister. She died by anorexia.
She felt so useless when it happened. She was her one sister, her beautiful sister.
The little sister of hers just started to turn into this monster. Her bones, they just started to jut out. It was like someone had just stuck daggers under her skin. And her hair, she started growing hair all over her body. It was like a sort of dense fur, like a werewolf.
Emilia stopped to smile, she just stopped living.
As the years goes by, Emilia was delighted with the presence of Mona. She started thinking someway that little girl, with such beautiful blue eyes, could replace the empty left by Sadie, her loved sister, the one she adored most of all the things.
It is not funny how the universe, through a strange movement, makes us revival the things, and exactly the same things? That was the feeling Emilia has had when she first saw Mona, when she first saw anger on her face, a strange blue on her eyes.
Have you ever read Nietzsche, asked Emilia, with agony and a pure uncomfortable freezing sneaking under her skin.
No, said Mona.
He was this great philosopher. He just believed that there are some people put on this planet who are made to succeed, who are made to blossom. And it doesn´t matter how many lesser mortals suffer, and get fucked over, and it doesn´t matter, as long as they succeed.
God is dead, says Nietzsche.
Mona stared at her eyes, and with a dedicated expression over her face, it was like she already knew it, she had this instinct about religions, this feeling we have to murder God, then everything is blossom, perfection can be discovered.
Edith Piaf. The voice of the little Parisian had brought madness and spiritual guidance’s to the old house. I just adore her, said Emilia.
Piaf was this marvelous Parisian woman, who had a wonderfully tragic life. She was married three times, and each husband died in mysterious circumstances. The last one was a boxer champion. She killed him with a fork. By the way, she didn´t even go to prison, because in France, crimes of passion are forgiven.
It was like a strange cathedral, all the house like a glorious cathedral. The furniture creaked all the time. The house was old. Spiritual guidance’s, sounds of despair could be heard in every corner, every door.
Is it a crime to fancy life? Was already life in straight connection to reality? Is there a reason for us to believe all of it is a dream? Can we mask life without the feeling we will be punished for moral issues?
Emilia was a fantasist. At the end, we cannot accept one tragic destiny. Once I thought we were all food to feed the worms.
Can you all see it as a poetic license?
