Becoming authentic

Becoming authentic

Many people identify and focus their attention on famous and successful people.
The fulfillment and achievement of a project spring up and stirs up fascinating souls of such self-affirmation in society.
The emulation towards the other implies more security and willingness to turn the spotlight in the shortest possible time.
However, is everything right what there showing us?
There is a lot of work and sweat behind every success in life, but in most cases, the appearance risks inserting a trap challenging to interpret.
The projection of ourselves towards others accelerates our personality’s change but leaves a void within us that does not belong to us.
Working on ourselves involves a more significant effort, but only in this way can we become authentic.
Expression in social life unconsciously shows an inevitable part of us.
We need the other to fill our lives, but we need ourselves to make reliable what we want to be.

The emancipation that wins over Possession

There are certain days so intense that fate or something else decides to play a trick on you and let you live for a few hours what maybe you’ve never seen and felt in your existence.
That day when you feel special and what you do is unique in the same way.
That day when you decide to change yourself and what’s around you…
And maybe it fair that it won’t last forever but only that moment that makes everything more magical…
This, I think, only happens to certain people who seek and eventually find what they have always believed in…
You’ll be remembered for that moment that many people chase for a lifetime.

So, do you want to be a Writer

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.
if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.

if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.
unless the sun inside you is
burning your gut,
don’t do it.

when it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

Charles Bukowski

Advice to Young’s Poet

“And for heaven’s sake, publish nothing before you are thirty.

That, I am sure, is of very great importance. Most of the faults in the poems I have been reading can be explained, I think, by the fact that they have been exposed to the fierce light of publicity while they were still too young to stand the strain. It has shrivelled them into a skeleton austerity, both emotional and verbal, which should not be characteristic of youth. The poet writes very well; he writes for the eye of a severe and intelligent public; but how much better he would have written if for ten years he had written for no eye but his own! After all, the years from twenty to thirty are years (let me refer to your letter again) of emotional excitement. The rain dripping, a wing flashing, someone passing — the commonest sounds and sights have power to fling one, as I seem to remember, from the heights of rapture to the depths of despair. And if the actual life is thus extreme, the visionary life should be free to follow. Write then, now that you are young, nonsense by the ream. Be silly, be sentimental, imitate Shelley, imitate Samuel Smiles; give the rein to every impulse; commit every fault of style, grammar, taste, and syntax; pour out; tumble over; loose anger, love, satire, in whatever words you can catch, coerce or create, in whatever metre, prose, poetry, or gibberish that comes to hand. Thus you will learn to write. But if you publish, your freedom will be checked; you will be thinking what people will say; you will write for others when you ought only to be writing for yourself. And what point can there be in curbing the wild torrent of spontaneous nonsense which is now, for a few years only, your divine gift in order to publish prim little books of experimental verses? To make money? That, we both know, is out of the question. To get criticism? But you friends will pepper your manuscripts with far more serious and searching criticism than any you will get from the reviewers. As for fame, look I implore you at famous people; see how the waters of dullness spread around them as they enter; observe their pomposity, their prophetic airs; reflect that the greatest poets were anonymous; think how Shakespeare cared nothing for fame; how Donne tossed his poems into the waste-paper basket; write an essay giving a single instance of any modern English writer who has survived the disciples and the admirers, the autograph hunters and the interviewers, the dinners and the luncheons, the celebrations and the commemorations with which English society so effectively stops the mouths of its singers and silences their songs.”

Well, you Rowena don’t need to consider all of that. Not that I’d consider you an “old” poet but let’s just say you’re free to publish!

Virginia Woolf

Those of the moon

Those of the moon
Those that when you look at them, you would like to reach them at any time but they seem far away and almost impossible to reach …
Those who illuminate your day even when everything seems dark without blinding you or burning you…
Those who conquer them is a memorable feat…
Those who, if it’s true that you’ve gone there, you’re a hero, or if you tell a false story, you become a scoundrel…
If you look them in the eyes, you can count the craters, the sand, and the seas that flow into the charm and the ripples of life.
Those who need the company of the stars to not be alone and insignificant …
Those who, if it’s darker and brighter, you get…
Like the moon, those who are with their feet close to the earth and do not shine with their own light…
Those of the satellite as a landmark…
Those who then, if you look at them you get there by any means possible…
Despite the darkness of life, those who are always there and will be extinguished until the end of our days and the apocalypse … without disturbing but welcoming the brightest comets of our existence …

Fabio Iacobini