1- The fall implies inertia.
Emotions concentrate, often leaping like a needle touching a vinyl record; my concentration fluctuates and a void opens, that's when I fall. Here it's the gesture that traces, the mirror reflects my image, and the elevators begin their emotional dances, making the line a testament and a mark, while going up and down they make me their faithful puppet. My feast, my greatest pleasure is being a witness to the action that takes shape, it's observing how this chaos organizes itself in front of the eyes that watch, in front of the ears that listen, and for that, you obviously have to know how to listen, you have to want to see the macabre poetry that hides beneath our skin, to read between the lines, to dialogue with silence to see beyond our identity; to see beyond the socially accepted forms to which I lazily identify, believing myself to be the continuation of what I was, without allowing myself to be the beginning of what I will be. To spread my wings, it's necessary to uncover the rigidity that my identity hides, to unveil its rottenness, and thus glimpse the absence of movement that my personal story holds. Today I leap into the void with the certainty that, by letting myself fall publicly, I will feel the wind on my face and during this surrender I will either die or fly. Only in the fall can we look straight at the state of our own shadow and, by accepting it, make it an ally.
The image that arises from this gesture resembles me, not me, but the states I go through during the creative act. It's the place where my great rest materializes, and I say rest because here I can surrender to **the gravity of my madness** and set aside the monotony of my identity, which only my sane self considers important, spending the day surrounded by sane people who desperately try to maintain their composure; I also try, without much success. Don't misunderstand me by idealizing clinical madness, such states of suffering are neither a desire nor a liberation, although as I will develop later, that scream is intimately related to the visceral need for fertile creative states, a technical expression of the sensitive, essential for every body. Here I am talking about the madness of the poet. This is a place where I allow myself to assume, to shout, and to express my radical disagreement with the overused "that's life," by being the creator of my own life. This visceral fall that the poetic act represents is my place of rest, a place where I remember once more that I am the matter that alters color **like glass that is passed through**; light that is projected without image, judgment, or morality and soaks up the sensitive composition of my body to conclude by revealing the changing state of my soul.
Emotions push the engine, I laugh, I shout and I continue; melodies and sound effects mix in my mouth, the mirror delves into my matter, it alters it, my body transmutes and consequently the canvas that collects my lines also does; gestures follow one another without apparent connection in a terrifying intimacy. I welcome the chaos, the body wanders, the mind gets lost, and the gesture shows itself as a refuge; I stop, the intensity rises, vertigo.
I observe my fall, my fears take over, my mind desperately tries to find a place to identify with, doubt bothers me; incapable, I ask myself: "Why am I inflicting such torture on myself?" Forgotten is the pleasure of being a vehicle for something greater, the memory of my body and its language urgently try to find the figure that allows me to access the praise of others' judgment, and therefore here I am alone and I only manage to dodge that figure. It hurts, I enter the phase of discomfort, "what I'm doing is worthless," "what am I playing at?"; existential crisis, "I'm lost," I cry. "Trust yourself" I hear, "trust yourself" I repeat. I continue and the line makes more and more sense, I see its eyes, the first surprise; I drink its tears, the dialogue begins; it asks, I answer, I suggest, I erase, I assume, I scratch, "continue!" I hear, the surprises continue, I wait, I stop, and "continue!" I repeat...
1- The fall implies inertia.