I am not a country-girl, I was born in Rome

For so long I have had nothing to write. I felt overwhelmed with life, and even if I still record my diary at least one hour a day, I stopped writing this online journal.

I am very sorry. For myself, first of all. And for everyone else that used to write in this space and stopped just like me.

I am very incostant myself, and I don’t know why but I haven’t need this place since I left it early a year ago. So, I know it was also right not writing a thing, because I do not need it. I have nothing true to write. And now I am here again…

I am still trying, with life. I try to find my way, I try to be true to myself, I try to learn things and fight. I am writing in the night and I am really tired, not tired to go to sleep, more like tired to try. I won’t stop trying, but I am tired.

I was having an intense year. I spent it trying to find a way to myself first of all. I write my diary daily, I reflect on myself, I am really focused on what I want myself to learn and reject. I even thought I have found out my life at 21: I am going to get marry and to dedicate my life to the peace of a dream I have always have had: being a country woman, that is: being a simple, right woman that lives near to the nature, near to her good being and the honesty of her needs. Now I think: I always wish I was I country girl, but I am born in a huge metropolitan center, and this made me a city girl.

I was never happy in my city; I attended school and was so sad and miserable that I thought I hated the whole world. I knew the country-side when I was a little older, and I spent my days off to my parents country house. I hated it first, just like everything else; but I started to love it, and the I started to think: I would never be happy outside of the country. Every leaf and every tree, every fruits and every flower I loved, loved so much in my heart that I thought I won’t ever leave that place.

Then I felt sad again, because I was living a whole contemplative life and I wasn’t made for that. Again, I discovered myself a city girl. I moved to a new city, where I find happiness again.

I think in all my life, my happiness belongs to the place in which I lived and spent time. The sea, the country-side, the city of Milan -in which I still live too.

Now I am asking myself why I thought that I would be happy only if I lived in a nature based place, that is the rashness itself, if my spirit is so complex, so incoerent and so very much dinamic, just like the place where I was born.

I was so sorry to my city, my dear Rome, that I cannot love. I was so sorry to Milan, that I honestly love, for thinking I can’t live here forever, and be happy. And I am so sorry to myself, because I am still asking me to change, to be the country girl I need, the easy girl I need to be, to find my peace. I am sorry.

An in love declaration on the importance of the abandonment

eat all up. I eat all the joy up and then it will not become a part of myself, not at all. I eat all the things up in the next two minutes I get in touch with them so that they just turn to shit then. And I turn hungry again.

I am hungry. I constantly am. As I start putting myself in a situation, I am doing that because I felt I was starving and I need to eat.
I am not a very sensitive person, but there are a lot of things to eat in the world. There are a lots of experiences, lots of books, movies, landscapes, classes, kinds of relationships, lots of people… The world is filled up with things that makes me stay in a constant state of starving.
So, that usually begins with me eating some things up, because I found myself capable of getting in touch with something only that way.
Trying to explain myself, I can write I start a thing not putting so much effort into it, or putting myself body and soul in the making of it: I just eat all up. I absorbe it all, I destroy it all and turn it all to shit in some weeks maximum. Places in which I live, experiences, practice courses… I eat all up.
I try to reflect on the paradox that says that if you eat something you become that thing. You have it in yourself, you have absorbed it all and it will be a part of you forever.
That’s not me. I do not eat all the sun in my life to become it myself, to become a ray of sunshine. It is not happening this way, ever.
All the things I eat turns to shit, that, in a kind of metaphor, explain how things just got me first, just right before I have finished with them because I have absorbed all that they can give to me and there is nothing more, even nothing to stay after I have done so.
That’s why I like to abandon places, experiences, people. Because they give to me something and then they could not do anything for me ever more. I like, I love abandon.
I am not here to stay. I am here to love, to live, to know you until I can really know your persona. I am not here to stay, I am even asking you the same if you can get it.
That’s all I love in abandonment.


The importance of my self-written collection of poems, diaries and novels

Once in a while I ended up imagining myself in a far away place with no material things or known landscapes that I can physically picture. With me, in my mind and the mind of the people that will know me, there are only my collected poems, novels and writings of all kinds, in their tiny notebooks all filled up words of a teenager kind of hand writing. They preserve, gard and keep myself.

A long time ago, when I admit I do not know the kind of dream that could really fit me, I ended up dreaming of me always writing. My family will have to live in a house with at least a tiny corner with my laptop and some papers to let me write. My huge solitary apartment in New York City would have been like the Breakfast at Tiffany’s story, but from his point of view. I would have been the poet, the writer, the girl that fill her diary pages every day or every night with her intensity. At now, I know that she is not me, and that I will not write for my entire life, not even for a huge part of it at all.

The things I know that will stay is another one. Not my attitude for writing, but my material writings. The piece of papers I already filled up in words, the notebooks that I will always put on my suite cases when I will abandon the place I am at to find another new kind of home that could make me live.

Thank you,


Journal – 2^ project

Journal, issue 1; I was.. Taken without being touched

I have the desire to show this starting to the idea this is my second project about the self. In the first one I was documenting a video (I put in YouTube in August this year) in which some girls and boys were recording themselves together with me to impress and express their personal vision of their life. This second project will be out as a published Journal of a number of issues, each copy sell from a price of 2€ each copy. It will explore the inner construction of a self, through diary updates, poems, art pieces, photographs and essays, all coming from my inner self. It will be loudly in a way just you and me could hear.

To buy a copy write to my personal email address serenalinari5@gmail.com !

the things that always happened to us

The pens dad gave us

I am attracted to the image of a child with a cigarette
to my everyday
through the objects more that how I am through the people
objects -that are those which always have happened to us
I am affected to the rotten fascination of our blankets,

its ugliness, a rock
in which I would always continue to put myself under

Do not bring me to no scenarios
without the rotten
and the gross that belongs even in the night



on how I see myself as a pathological liar

A post ago or two I wrote about how I had fantasies about me and my maths professor, so that now I want to write about my fantasies and what that they mean to me; I like it so, clean.

When I first read about how pathological liar pathology is named “Pseudologia fantastica” (at least it is in my fantastic mother tongue language) I felt a warmth in my stomach remembering me how good it seems for just being about lies, that bad bad acts that are lies.
But honestly, lies always sound neutral to me; I only hate them in the concept of “lie to myself”. Otherwise, I do not even ask for no lies. I mean in here the kind of lies (almost anyone to me) that represent a fantasy.
I only invent fantasies when I lie; not because I don’t like my reality -I didn’t like it often, I surely hated it too,  but I lie even when reality is extra gentle to me and I feel awesome. I lie just to create new realities around me, new movies-like scenarios, all beyond the one-direction reality that is that of life. I want to just live all the lives I can and invent all those out of nothing. More accurately, I need to always have a space in any relationship where I can use my fantasies and live them to invent secrets and light the passion in me. That’s just the way I need to really live.
I admit that this makes me a liar. I am a liar, and I did not even control myself sometimes when I lie. At now I confuse reality and fantasies in dreams and in memories. I only love to know new people because I can tell fantasies to them and live those ones with them and for them and myself too. I don’t get why fantasies are not seen as something true. They are to me. I admit that I lived in those habits so much time in my life that now I could ever get rid of it, and that the kind of things a pathological liar lives I may be living too, for so many times I found myself living in a condition. Still, I don’t need anything different in life, at now. I only speak for myself and my only experience; I can say so because I live with my sister and her daydreaming and my fantasies end to be our reality so many of the times.
Plus, that is something that I really hate about this: I will never get why someone could have the opportunity to go and think I lie to them as a personal attack. I don’t lie to you because of you, I lie to you because of myself only, and that’s the reality about me, the real, honestly me: so if you can not stand that, go away and find a soul you can get more well.

I lie sometimes to keep secrets – which I am really attached to- sometimes to build realities that I love to imagine I then start to really live; forr this reason in particular I don’t really set “reality” and “fantasies” apart. You surely will get fantasies are a part of our reality as much as fantasies, and to be honest I live fantasies so much more that actual reality.

Often, in my early teenage, I felt bad because I needed to lie. They always said people lie because they are not happy of their reality, and I felt like a hypocrite looser. I thought about how stupid it was to always lie and how dangerous it was too so many times, always questioning myself on why I needed that so much. Now that I know myself better, I don’t feel guilty anymore, and I explain to myself my way of telling lies so much clearly: I don’t believe in the absolute truth, I never believed in that, and I don’t need it in my life, too. I need to hide things, to create mysteries, to keep secrets (even the most tiny of all, the most irrelevant, but I need to hide it carefully and suddenly it becomes magical, appealing, fascinating) and invent other ones, to build a character out of nothing and give it to the person I like to give it too, to not show my whole me to anyone else and to stay free, playing my inspiring roles and my day-dreamings. I am always myself in my fantasies, I always feel free of any act and those lies are nothing about how I love or hate my actual reality because fantasies (or lies) are part of that too.

If you are asking yourself the problem with a liar is that you cannot trust what I say, then just assume I don’t ever lie to myself, and I am writing this to myself first this time as ever.



“Unacknowledged sovereigns” first documentary: a view to their untouchable worlds

I need to start this giving a unconditional kiss to all the queens (and kings, actually) who recorded their videos for the documentary project: I deeply and patently attend for your power in all the places in which I worked to realize this (both public or not, both alone and with my twin sister). Thank you.

To make it more clear the concept behind the short documentary, I wish I could say something about it in here. First of all, the main idea was to record something real, something free, something auto-determinative, something out of the dreams (particularly) girls were recluse for so long, the Other Ones dreams/nightmares about them. It was all about subjectivation, free acting, testifies, playing and free talking too. When I first record myself doing something I felt from the inside, I was just playing with my feet, that had been found “ugly” by someone I deeply know. Then I just found myself talking in my own language – that I love, again, I deeply love – and reading some of my writings, something in English too. Then I just didn’t think of what to do and I ended up just making love to words, touching myself while I stay in silence and speak again -speaking in Italian, for I felt free to only make love to my language, or I would lost myself in translation. I was not sorry for you to not understand what I said: this is not important at all, this is not for you a thing to capture or understand. I just needed to physically impose myself to the world so that it would not create something out of me; something I never want to embrace, and that I never was first: something that is not even true and that still could make me feel bad about my own self.

In the clips they sent me that I just put together, most girls and boys just do what they feel they want to do – smoke, dance, stare at the camera, cry, lament, sit down, look at the mirror, removing their make-up or their clothes. I think the most important things was that the videos were recorded by themselves in first person, in the “freedom” of their “solitude”. It would be more hard to be themselves if I’d be the one to record them, and I also thought they would be the first (and best) recorder of them all: the truest. I, myself, do not even know why they do such things in their videos, or in what things they could feel free protagonist of their owns. Most of them told me via email when sending me the clips, but I don’t tell about their reasons in the video and I don’t ask them to speak that to me so that I will understand it all, properly; that is no reason not for anyone to understand why or what they are doing. No reason to not even ask yourself: they are just living their own worlds and that is all the beauty I clearly see in the project.

While watching the video, I just see at them all, I see myself too, and see and see again, and feel the beauty in those amazing reigns impressed with a camera or a smartphone for the world to see. I really appreciate the gratuitousness of this: I don’t know something else, something like the reason why they smile, cry, or smoke because there is no reason for me to understand: the whole video is nothing that can be ever understood. It is just about free expression. They don’t even want to explain something, they want to be. This is just so vivid seeing the video.

What is vivid is also that the “myth” (created and seen from strangers eyes) of the girl, just like that of the boy, need to die if they are not embracing that first. You cannot define a thing out of a thing, you can not define a person out of that person: it is violence to put an image out of them that don’t belongs to them and never will; it will give or steal them things that they don’t want to. They are just their reality and their fantasy, and they (me, too) wish that was just so clearly untouchable as it is in this video.

That is the maximum I can explain about that, because I patently reach the idea that give a meaning to the documentary is really out of reality.

To watch the video, give a look to it at the link below;

YouTube: here

Also follow the Facebook page to join, submit or follow the next documentary projects: here


@cantnameacat Disincantata