RXTTEN PORTAL

I probably won't be telling anyone about this, or at least like update anyone, because it is only for the people who came here on their own. 

I felt like writing, and of couse because of JOJI BITCH, can't wait for his new release!!! and resi9 is also coming on the 27th of february which is hot af.
I don't know, this few months have been literally pure ups and downs but too often, and I've gotten a cold again. I'm supposed to study python but it sucks shit: what do you mean I have to code a game in which the PC only picks out a number of BALLS so that the amount of remaining BALLS(BALLS-picked BALLS) is equal to a power of 2-1? and that to solve this I need logarithms? fuck off man

So in this pause of reflection I wanted to write a little letter to whoever, I like writing letters, I've been made fun of for it, I don't give a fuck anymore. It is my very last bit of romanticism holding on for its dear life and lately I've been making more music than writing, so why not? Accompanied by Last of a dying breed, let us further indulge: 

Hello past, for I can't sugar coat future yet 

How have you been? How much have I missed you? 
Little, not as much as I would like, but I am still here, stuck and needy of your presence. You're becoming less and less sharp, you're blurry but your edges are not kind. They hurt as much as a broken mirror's sliver would right between your chest and belly. Indeed you only seem to hit me there and whenever I'm not asleep. I mean, how can people be so numb to you? How is it that in one day I'm gone? How is it that at some point I am also nothing but a splinter to them? But do I hurt? What is it in me, in my presence, in what I have done, that can hurt? And is it selfish to think that? 
You are hidden in the moments that seem the least relevant: my mum sleeping, my exe's sister sharing icecream with me, reading a book with my hamster on the table, taking pictures with my whole class, a snowy day with my siblings maybe the only one where the snow could actually be used for fights. And of course I don't forget all of those things but I do forget the ones that hurt me, and hurt me bad. It's easy to forget the anxiety of staying with him, getting desperetely angry with my brother as he was just being a child but that was not allowed, telling my mum that I did not feel good in my body without being able to tell her that my eating disorders were just blooming too early. I cling to every bit of good in everything, to the point I do not see anything good anymore altogether. Right now I'm alone, feeling always very lucky and very alone. I'm dizzy. I was binging again because of a big transparent wall that seemed to just terrify me; I'm not able to express my distress loud. I just hurt myself. 
And I turned down a friend, turned down work even though it feels selfish, because I can't seem to stay afloat. Maybe it makes me angry that people look good on the outside, because I do look good too but in fact I'm crumbling down and then stepping on all the gravel to make it compact: I look solid right? trustworthy and trustable. Until I am not anymore. 
So I hung out with another one and his birthday was the same as his. Big slap. What does that mean? 
If I could talk to the universe I'd ask so many questions aware that it would hurt, just to have the whole vision. I'd ask the universe how I will be at 40, the truth, what happened that day, what will I be doing this summer? Will I fail? 
Did I fail? Apparently I did not, but even back then I felt like I was failing and I need someone to actually love me enough to remind me without words, that are so superficial, that I'm not a failure for myself. 

And anyways this is not a corny letter, and each one of the recipients will know (I hope): 
I've always wrote you stuff, that I wished for one day to be seen. For you to desire to read it. I do miss you, I miss you all so much. I probably miss something so unreal that I can't even imagine it, picture it, frame it in my mind. And in the meantime I fill it with painless shit, stuff that I don't care about. For some of you I kind of hope you're in pain, but I know you're not: my pain is only mine. For some others, 2 others, I love you so much, please don't forget anything. For others is a middle finger, for having me alone in the middle of a crowd, in the middle of so many people. 
And with a little hope, I close my eyes and see this milky white, untangible feature, in which everything is light and smeels like the soap I used in kindergarten. The door is open, but still sealed very tight. And I'm navigating the lonely boat of figuring out what the fuck to do with it, with you, with my past, with my future, with my own expectations and burn downs. 
:\

 

un abbraccio (in quei pochi attimi di lucidità che mi sono concessi), cadou. 23/1/2026