MathMusicLiterature

She/Her; Am I a cellist? A math lover? A mad scientist? A poet? A writer? A girl who wants to know what the world is, and what are all the things in it? A girl who always wants to think, sometimes overthink, on everything, and loves philosophy? Or maybe I'm just a normal girl. But I don't want to, and I'll always try to not be like that. Why? Because nowadays what's normal is terrible. So, person who is reading this, I hope that you're not really normal. If you aren't, I'm really happy for you! And, why not, we could be friends, maybe : )

[isa-b-8]

You know...you just ARE that girl. Simply, you don't know yet. Or...you maybe do.

[isa-b-8]

That feeling...when you are asking to yourself "Why? Why the hell do you keep doing...everything?"...and you get no answer.

But keep searching

[isa-b-8]

To someone who will never read this.

That shattering feeling

Death in my soul

Which's been realizing

That I'm the foul.

The errors are mine

So are the horrors

I follow the line

Of the other traitors.

I was never thinking

Of hurting you, friend

I just was trying

The impossible to mend

The irreparable, which

Seems now flawless

But hides every stitch

And has no consciousness

Of the real truth, behind

The one that struggled so much to find.

My dear, never I

Wanted to forget

My promise. Why

Do you think I met

Their minds, their ideas?

It was only an illusion

And suffering, in confusion

Seems to be the crease

That will forever be beneath

My heart, from now, to... death.

I pay for my errors

Not complaining, it's fair

I can't stand the mirrors

In this freezing air.

In this feezing tears,

In this feezing lake,

I'm now with my fears

And I'll never be, anymore, fake.

[isa-b-8]

Love? Just an illusion, which fades away, taking your heart with all the joy and pain. Better to read some linguistic history and listen to Beethoven. Better, not?

[isa-b-8]

Here we are. May this year be beautiful, for everyone ❤️

Happy New Year!

[isa-b-8]

Carpe Diem...🥀🖤🤎

[isa-b-8]

Just some homework : )

What is poetry? A great question May I make you a suggestion? Just look around yourself On this table, on that shelf and maybe you'll notice something: That poetry is in everything In the wind that bothers you in the street, It can be in any word of any person you could meet, In a crying eye or a smiling face In the ice of winter or in spring's grace On a book, on the frieze of a church Even in a slogan, or a scientific research In life, in death, in a healing wound So, now that you spent time looking around Tell me about it, make defined its meaning: You could say that it is everything Just said in the right words Not wrong, but who concords On which are wrong and which are right? This is not clear, it's thick as night. But let me tell you a word, this truth is maybe burning But words are just a shell: the real poetry is in meaning. Not everything someone sees is ever meant to be meant But what's seen is, to the reader, the thing that's most important. Language is powerful, no doubt on this But any word, used in many ways, really is Something that can convey a message To all people, of every age And be poetry. Maybe permise Me to say that poetry is also this. Also, let me make you another suggestion: What is not poetry? If you think you can, answer this question.

[isa-b-8]

...and I know that, maybe, it doesn't make sense at all. But I wrote it. And I have no regret, nor I will. How could I?

[isa-b-8]

How old are you?

Age, like time, is an illusion of our minds, created by the necessity of explaining the flow of events that happen in the universe. It is, probably, thus. It is something that counts seasons, years, moments with a criterion that could easily be modified, or ignored. Of course, the question arises here: why should we do it, why calculate the passing of every moment so meticulously? Sure, it's convenient. So convenient, right, to give a unity to everything, to be able to use every glimmer of knowledge for everyday, and non-everyday, purposes? But time goes beyond this; the flow of events is fundamental, yet dependent on everything. What would time be without matter gravitating in space, changing and, through these actions, defining events? Without all this, nothing would flow. And, since space is inevitably destined for death and nothingness, so must time be. Because it cannot be defined as independent. In a cold and immobile universe, time is no longer anything. We cannot move forward. Not even backward. Many, many stories are about time travel. But what would these journeys be undertaken on, what would we travel through? Probably, on nothing. Time is an illusion of those who live. Another thing that could be discussed: life. But not today. No, today we're talking about how time is simply one of the many cogs that make up this intrinsically useless machine of thought, so dear to me and yet so knowingly meaningless. And age, just a unit of measurement that defines how many times the geoid we stand on has traveled its imaginary orbit since our consciousnesses took full form, and so did our bodies. So complicated, this calculation, yet relatively simple. So beautiful and useless, like everything. It flows. Time. Like a river. Before our eyes. The sea into which it flows is memory, soon forgotten. Its source is the future. But this river, like all others, is destined to eternal dryness. For time, though theoretically infinite, will no longer be the measure of anything, in a frozen and immobile universe. Even infinity is momentary, and destined to nonsense. I have so many questions. I search my mind for an answer I know I won't find. But I keep searching, attempting to unite science and philosophy, obviously with conflicting and incomplete results. I believe they're missing something. I've been asked, more than once, why I do this. Why would I seek answers, why would I do something so pointless. The fact is, I can't help it. I think, and questions arise in my mind.

Oh.

Maybe I dwelled a bit.

Well.

However, I am 15.

Thanks for asking : )

[isa-b-8]

Never I ever

Never I ever tought

That you could say that words

But now that they sound in my ears

I feel that, sadly, there was no doubt.

Never I ever done

All that,

The birthday cards,

My smiles towards you,

The jokes,

The words,

For your attention

But just because

You were (actually, are) important.

Never I ever laughed

With just a glance

As I used to do when I saw you.

Never I ever cried

With just some words

As when, now, I hear you.

Never I ever felt

That you didn't care

But when you held me

In that robotic embrace

All my feelings were freezed

In your fleeting eyes.

Never I ever wrote

About these feelings,

But now I need to

And I am doing so.

Never I ever stared

At a lighten candle

With so much disorientation

But now I know

What path to walk in

And, even though they are parallel

I won't go in yours

If you won't walk in mine.

Never I ever changed

My direction

As I did for you.

And I won't anymore

But you'll have to do it

To meet me again.

If you really want.

Never I ever dreamt

Weirder dreams

Than the ones in which you were

But now I hope

To never dream of you again

Because that would make me suffer.

Never I ever loved

As I did for you

And still I do

But this is too much.

Maybe it's patethic. But I don't really care now. I needed to write this, and I'm even not really posting for some reason, but just because I can't keep this for me.

[isa-b-8]

On this grid that our world is

I would really love to know

How to walk on the sharp lines

Not falling infinite in a row.

I mean, is it that difficult

To find a way trough this endless maze?

Is it so madly built

To have no borders and be seen in just a gaze?

Or is it in our mind

That it seems so intricate

But being really, behind

All this, just a checkmate?

It's impossible to move

Try, and you'll be erased

It's impossible to love

Try, and your heart will be creased

Also impossible to live

As you've ever really wanted

Surely also to believe

Because every hope is haunted

By the other pieces there:

So, you know, no matter where

You ever are, where you feet drove.

You'll stay there: it's the last move.

Well, you could have done, before

To save yourself a little more.

But that's the last step, which contains

Do you hear them? Your first complains.

"Beautiful to be the King", they say.

But they don't see you on your Death's way

Thinking you could have been anyone

Knowing that you've been just no one

And hoping for a future, no, a past

Where you wouldn't mind this one step to be the last.

Always wondered how a chess king would have felt aout his life. So precious, it's the most important thing to keep safe. But also made of nothing, a few little steps of a fleeing run, and then nothing but death. Or also doing nothing more forever, because the danger wasn't there more. Just being a king, freezed in his little precious spot. I thought that he wouldn't want to be like that - that he would have liked to be anyone else on the board, even the last, sleeping, pawn. But his life is always a checkmate, no matter what. I'll tell you the truth, I didn't really know where this was going before almost finishing it. But I have understood that it was the story of someone who didn't really have lived. As soon as I got it, I also thought that I would never live as him, that I could never not live to just be protected and, whaen the final moves arrive, thinking that I could have done more, and dying anyway. The target of chess is to protect the king and killing the other one. What a boring life, if we define it as life.

Would you live like this?

[isa-b-8]

Well... could not be one of that sooo aesthetic images that I always see there, but I tried : )

It's raining and I'm currently trying to write another chapter of my book, already thinking about the ending plot twist and not knowing exactly what to write right now. But, you know, that's life. Or existence. Or whatever it is. Well, that's not that type of post, so I'll talk about that later : )

[isa-b-8]

Sometimes I think "Yes, I have these thoughts. But - when I will die, who will think them? I believe that they're worthy to be thought, but I will not live forever. Nor I want that. I mean, who will bring along these words, who will take the baton of my life? And then I comprend that it's the reason because I write, and everyday I am more awarethat writing is necessary, because even tough I know that all this will, one day, not exist anymore, before of that I want to live. And to be remembered, and to make people understand that they have to live, and seize every fleeting moment, and write, so that their thoughts won't be lost. I will die, you will die, we will die, but now I want to live every second. And I will.

CARPE DIEM!

"Answer: That you are here – that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. THAT THE POWERFUL PLAY GOES ON, AND YOU MAY CONTRIBUTE A VERSE. What will your verse be?"

...so obvious that I just finished watching it for the 7th time this month? It's finally available in my country on Netflix, so... this is definitely not the last time. This film... it donates me the joy of living. Yes, I still think about all that existential words that were the only which I wrote here so far. But I will live, and happily, I will live deliberately, I will live deep, and suck out all the marrow of life! Because life is the most beautiful thing that we could ever have, the most precious one. Thinking about it as a bag full of coins, well, I don't want to see, one second before dying, even half a coin still in mine. Maybe that's wrong, because maybe there will always be infinite coins in it, but that's not the point. I've been like the shy, quiet Todd for too many years. But I finally understood that I must do something, not just saying that. I want to be the one that stands up, and lives like how Neil would have lived. I want to live. Let's start.

[isa-b-8]

My beloved Autumn

While this sultry summer goes on

I feel that the burning heat has won

And I crave for those leaves that, falling

Redonate me my way of living:

Walking down streets caressed by the rain

Washing my sweater from a coffee stain

Reading poems when a storm is outside

Doing beautiful things that I've never tried

Studying my favourites subjects again

And all the other things that my beloved Autumn may contain.

I want autumn to return. Right now. Summer is too... summer. Is there any people here who feels the same?

This is my first poem in English, so it could be a bit... I don't know, wonky. Please tell me if there are mistakes : )

[isa-b-8]

Part 2

You are a person. A real person. I'm the shadow of your feelings, I'm created by your mind. I'll never be a person, don't you know this? I would really love to stay with you... but... I can't. You should go with her. She is not able to stay alone. She hates her Solitude when it is with her, she can't stand it, if you don't go..." "If I don't go she'll find someone else to stay with, and that's the right thing. I know that you're not a person, but... maybe I like you even because of that." he looked at her. She was confused, thinking that it couldn't be possible, that it couldn't be happening to her. She catched his gaze, and for a moment, a single moment, forgot everything. Her responsibilities, her fears, her doubts. "I said that I want to care for you, but... now I want to ask you... if you would, well, like if I cared for you" "What... do you mean?" Asked her, with a strange feeling inside, a hope. She wanted him to say THAT words. Since their first meeting, since the first looking in his eyes, since the first words that they said to each other, she started feeling something that she had never felt before. She was an expert about feelings, then she exactly knew what that was. But for some reason, she would never admit that to herself. She would never admit that... that she LOVED him. But, maybe, that moment could be right to declare all. Maybe that was the right moment to decide for her life... or whatever her existence was. "Well, I mean that... I..." "You what?" Asked her, with an expression on her face that was impossible to describe: happy, worried, loving, maybe a bit sad... there were all the feelings she could have in it, all togheter. "I... - end part 2 (I know, ending here is a really evil thing, but... I'll continue soon!)

[biancacanlove]

"Hello, solitude. How are you today? Come, sit with me, and I will care for you."

-Thich Nhat Hanh, Ikigai.

[isa-b-8]

"Oh, ok, thanks. I'm fine, as always and forever with lonely people. How are you?" "I am here with you, so quite lonely, but you are becoming a good friend, so... maybe not that lonely" "Be aware, if you attach yourself to me that closely we will start to talk too much. And if we become best friends, you will always prefer me to... you know... people" Solitude looked in his eyes, but, surprisingly, they weren't confused, there wasn't fear in them, there wasn't doubt. There was, instead, a warm sparkle, something that she had forgotten in the past, something like... affection? She smiled for a moment, but her smile was ripped away from her face made of shadows. A girl was approaching, smiling to the boy who was sitting next to Solitude. "Hii! It's almost lunch time, are you coming with me? We could lunch togheter!" And then, slightly smiling, he gently shook his head "Thanks, but now I can't. I prefer to stay here" "Well, we could lunch here, then! Couldn't we?"Solitude, hearing that words, was walking away, thinking *Ok. My work here is finished. Like always. So, why am I so... sad?* The boy, seeing that, said, not smiling anymore: "Well, if you're not too disappointed, I'd prefer to stay alone" "Oh... ok, if you want..." "Thanks". He tought *How can I catch Solitude now? Where did she go?* "I'm always there for you, in any moment of loneliness, you know" "Oh, I'm so happy that you're here! I had... the fear of losing you..." "Hey, let me ask you a thing: just... why?" "Why... what?" "Why have you preferred to stay alone instead of staying with that pretty girl?" He smiled, in his eyes there was the same warmth as before, maybe deeper "I, actually, preferred to stay with you, not alone". Those words resounded in her mind. She was both incredibly happy and angry at the same time, and tought that she had never felt like that. "What? You can't. It is not fair, you are excluding yourself from the world to stay with me! Are you crazy? - end part 1

A few months ago I found this quote on "Book Club" community, and got an improvise inspiration for writing this. I've never written a love story, so it had been a bit difficult for me, what do you think about this? Please tell me : )

[isa-b-8]

Life flows.

It is not really a poem, and maybe it does not make any sense, but... please read it, and don't judge me : )

Our life flows. Heraclitus said this, and I think he was right. It flows out of our hands, down to the floor. It penetrates, slowly, the soil, and goes down and down. This happens everyday, everywhere. All the things that happen to us make it heavier and heavier. And there's a moment in which, without knowing it, it falls out of our small hands. If we're strong, we'll catch it, we'll find it. Sometimes, we'll try, without finding it. Sometimes we'll just let it go. Someone will catch it, and give it back to us. Or at least try. Sometimes that person will destroy it. Sometimes that person won't exist. Our life flows, like the blood rivers in our body, like our thinkings, like music, like time. A second, and the world is different, and it will never be the same. And we will forget about that second, and about all the other seconds. Yes, we will. We could write about them, but somehow all will flow, Maybe slowly, but all will be different. We'll probably be dead, maybe life won't exist anymore here, on Earth. Who knows… Surely not me. I sometimes wouldn't want to think. Because I think too much, about things like this. That's not really healty for a 15 years old mind, is it? Whatever. I don't care. It's ok to listen to Listz's music while thinking about life. It's what I decided for my life. And I'll do it. It will flow, and be forgotten, but that's ok. That's life, isn't it?