The eternal dusk of the violet minds.

Our hands were looking for each other, stretched out to the infinite in falling, or flying, but they were just deadly, finite, faded blind skin extensions of blood bones and tendons slumping desperately, stubbornly, naively toward us.
Our heart was bursting, the mouth was a deformed oval with the mute screaming, the broken breath, the gaze is fixed in the sky and in the left and hostile land.
We were prosthetics toward the most extreme spectrum of ourselves,
burned in the shock wave of pain, our words overcrowded, leveled in an unmistakable harmonic of despair.
And then, we were frozen, firm, crystallized, mute.
With her hands and face stretched out towards us.

In the inner purple haze,
We stood and fired and killed …

Ladycat and Lyell, in the eternal dusk of the violet minds, where is our smile, perhaps in the twisted sepals of a twilight flower? Hiding behind indestructible petals we say “noli me tangere” to the detached hearts, we say refuge in us to the wounded hearts.
Our luminescence shifts slightly from the bottom of the sky, tracing impossible strings and sliding, irreducible and silent trajectories.


Ladycat War Zone #7. “A little caliby princess and a ronin…”

A long time ago, there was a princess. He descended into the world in the form of a cat. Of a beauty that few eyes could see.
One day she was expelled and disowned by his house.
He wandered wandering, until he caught sight of a small house, he saw a small ronin. With his eyes he realized that the home and the heart of man were
always open for pilgrims like her.
She sat at the door and looked inside.
The ronin he saw her and it was love at first sight.
He told her that he too was a stranger in the world, but it had built a small house in the garden and he would have been happy if she had accettatato as a refuge,
and if he had accepted his love, food, water and clothes shared with her.
She accepted and thanked him. It was autumn.
The ronin took his cup, his bowl, his blanket and his sweater.
He adapted the small but comfortable house, put his cup and bowl, with the blanket
and sweater made of a bed for Winter comfort her, to give her the summer coolness.
But one day, after two years, unexpectedly he disappeared.
For long seven years the ronin sought her every day at sunrise and sunset on the ridges risarsi sought it from the sun or frost.
Until one day he came to her door. As if it was not spent a single day.
He hugged her and told her that her house was clean and tidy, was waiting for her.
Then, he spent the time, the ronin was marked by the events of life, both lived another two years.
Then in winter the man began to feel chilled to the bone, but not glimpsed the horizon dark mounds, but he felt that this year had not come the winter spirit, as every year. One day, a terrible storm broke out.
The princess fell under a dark shadow, began to lose herself, she wandered under the hard rain, incessant rain that digging the skin corrodes bones and eats you inside,
trying to smother the light.
The ronin did not see her and desperately searched for her day and night,
He felt an ominous sign. He found himself in a storm. Confused, bent, without strength. The he reported gently in the house, in his refuge.
She wiped her all day, never stopped talking to her, to pray in their own way.
But the rain fell harder and harder, hard, relentless and merciless.
The man made a shield with himself, protected her, she tried to protect her, while the rain pierced his clothes and his skin, gnawed bones and heroding his spirit, making deaf and blind and empty.
In the darkest moment the man tried desperately to help.
Even though she knew it was too late.
In its total annihilation and bruised, he felt that someone was trying to give comfort
to them. A woman with an umbrella of rice paper gave temporary relief.
Thank you, the man said through tears.
Let her go, she said, do it for her.
Yes, the man said reluctantly, destroyed, then turned for a moment.
And when his gaze returned to the princess, she was gone on the terrible waves of the rain.
The man heard her whisper. He told her that he loved her.
He greeted her.
Then he remained for a long time watching her, pressed into his silence.
A silence that unites two lives.



Cats and men as an expression of kintsugi and sunyata.

kinSometimes the soul of a person under certain conditions can fracture or break.
As an object. It can not sustain the emotional impact and can rise to trauma and scars, physical and interiors. But there are also the physical scars of tears.
Accepting them and living them, fractures delimit map of lives that have crossed and perhaps clashed, never told or unknown to others, but deeply lived and fought in silence, and silent words and lives tell a story.
Not necessarily perfect, but our history.
Expressed in emptiness or Sunyata, Eastern term that implied an abandonment of oneself for a just and sincere motivation to someone else in need.
Expressed in kintsugi, Oriental art ceramics to repair broken or damaged, enhancing and characterizing the uniqueness of an artifact with its cracks and repaired fractures, voids, defects, asymmetries and dust.
Mirror themselves in the cracks and the other bumps, our accepting and loving others by living them as our strengths and treasures, jumping the fences of self and belonging sterile. Perhaps this is the meaning of the link between men and cats: a mutual and sincere act of faith, dream, struggle, despair, compassion and kintsugi.
Without limits.
As two solitary flowers born in the cracks in the asphalt that are passed between them a lone red poppy, messenger between two worlds sometimes distant, but united and born of the same substance, perhaps the same one that unites us all.



Ladycat War Zone #6. “Letter to a sister twin in cats”

2 - Copia

This is an open letter to you, sister and twin in the path.
Our special way of being and living as solitary allows us to evade and jump over fences.
It ‘s so deeply rooted in us and indestructible sense of belonging, consistency and absolute respect to the our respective lives and companions that we can dream and live a community of souls.
That dream or act of faith that unites us as a man and woman free from any bias or blind stupidity,of our mental wavelength, our pilgrim and sometimes uncertain road of our common feline world.
As you know, I am often in the limbic and dark place that is the land of my soul
combat mode for cats. And it is so rare and deep that even my partner can get there.
But I was lucky, because unknowing help of others, to see you from a distance,
and then find you, you who know such a place to mine and following in your footsteps to the end the race maybe I can get out of it more or less unscathed.
Thanks for being there, for not making me lose and for giving me the strength to follow and
maintain the right direction along the flood that surprised me and my Ladycat.
And for giving voice to her in the darkest moment, my little twin.
There is nothing more sincere, unselfish and true, respectful in any way in the world of the
existence of the substance that unites the two of us who love cats most of our lives.
I in my obstinate and desperate search for salvation and peace for them and me, you in your
generous and unwavering desire to provide home, love and a new life to those who are special to them that blind eyes are disabled, or crushed in the body from ignorance and blindness of others.

Catography #6. “When the ‘heroes’ fall”


On the sunny hillocks of life, beyond the ears of corn quivering under the leaden earth, above the raging river, wedged between rows of cypress trees and restless clouds of chestnut trees, there is a narrow road that winds uphill, across pebbles and stones, marked by chariot wheels and the patched shoes of wayfarers.
On this little street impassable, the solitary of scorched grass jets from Imperishable winter frost bite here and there discreetly snaked snow melted flowing down towards the valley.
Lazily down, past the animal’s legs, over the smudged and frantic footsteps of the animals on the run course, now close to broken branches and rocks covered with moss, arriving at last, but not filthy by nature.
Farmyard, a shack thrown up with dry bricks and slate roof, now in ruins, and gnawed by time and snow. In front of the door, there was a man, a gentle giant.
He always had a smile and a kind word for everyone, him. But now, her blonde bangs fell heavily lined forehead, the blue-gray eyes screamed a silent room, while screaming, against his will, had to yell at his friends, even if he never wanted to, go, shouted.
He was found alone.
The man raises his head. For the last time.
She heard a buzz slid along the ridge.
He saw a man jump at breakneck speed down the other side.
She smiled, though the other could not see him.
He was afraid, so afraid,
and that they go on to say that there are heroes,
who are not afraid and crap like that.

“Yes of course, it takes more courage to face my disease, to face death, yes, I am really a hero, dammit. Now leave me alone, I’m busy”

He muttered to himself and to me, hiding, closing the door behind her bumpy.
His voice was like the leaves caressed by the serotine wind.

Catography #5. “La vita è una solenne corsa solitaria, verso l’infinito”


(Immagine e copyright di Marianna Zampieri, pubblicato con la gentile concessione dell’autrice).

“Sono qui, o là, o altrove.
O da nessuna parte.
Forse nel mio principio.
Perché nel mio principio c’è la mia fine”

Chi ero, prima di te? Dov’ero io, senza di te?
Dove siamo stati? In quale luogo?
Chi era con noi?
Chi eravamo, chi siamo?
Il fratello, l’amico?
Le linee di un volto gettate nelle possibilità dell’infinito?
Permettetemi di essere con voi oggi.
I miei occhi seguono il percorso che avete disegnato dentro di me, dentro di noi.
Ora, potrei tornare sulla Terra e iniziare a ripetere quei gesti inconsapevoli e familiari fino a diventare istinti.
Ho potuto sperare in un primo sonno.
Un primo sogno.
Ma potrei perdere la strada.
Sono un ronin.

(Dedicato a Romeo, Monet, Arthur, Ettore e tutti gli altri ragazzi. Al ragazzo nella foto.
E a Marianna e alle sue fotografie, in virtù di muse ispiratrici)

Catography #5. “Life is a solemn solo run, toward the infinity”



(Image and copyright of Marianna Zampieri, published with the kind permission of the author).

“I’m here, or there, or elsewhere.
Or nowhere. Maybe in my beginning.
Because in my beginning is my end”
Who I was, before you? Where was I, without you?
Where have we been? In which place?
Who were with us?
Who we were, who we are?
The brother, the friend?
The features of a face thrown in the possibility of the infinity?
Let me be with you now.
My eyes follow the path you have drawn inside me, inside us.
Now, I could come back to Earth and start to repeat those unaware and familiar gestures until they become instincts.
I could hope for a first sleep.
A first dream.
But I could lose the way.
I’m a ronin.

(Dedicated to Romeo, Monet, Arthur, Ettore and all other guys.  To the little guy in the picture.
And to Marianna and her photographs, by virtue of muses inspiring)