mercoledì 23 settembre 2015

divination as dedication ...


Divination is investigation it is not mere imagination 
it is trusting one own intuition, is like a bad immersion
in the miserable void of prejudices and assumptions.
Divination is not abstraction it is like a painful excursion
along close minded paths of some shallow aberration.
Did anyone ever tell you that first you start deleting images, 
then you think about burning  books , last you end with building walls?

Phothographer, model and words Arialee Miles

sabato 5 settembre 2015

the warrior .....


My scars are made of people
who  lived in my mind  

my battles are made of silences and screams ….. 

photograph , model  and words Arialee Miles 

martedì 28 luglio 2015

.... it will be darkness


It will be all darkness after you will be gone
the cold sneaky creeping will worm among my bones
and my soul will lose the bright color of the sunlight  .

It will be senseless after you will be gone
the meaning of what I do will stumble against the walls
asking around for an answer but it will not get  .

It will be motionless after you will be gone
and every gesture every simple act will be dragged around
like in a slow motion nightmare without any hope of awakening.

words and phothography by Arialee Miles

mercoledì 10 giugno 2015

Death and the Maiden


When he knocked at the door, I was not ready yet,
but I had no choice but open and let him in ,
so with a last fleeting glance I tried to absorb
those traces  of life I was going to leave behind me.
With a slight wavering, just an unperceivable tremble
I accepted his hand on mine following his slow paced gait.
- I am ready Sir - I told him, and he nodded in approval
-  Let’s go then, do not further hesitate,
 the time arrived and the pact was respected.

photography  and words Arialee Miles

mercoledì 6 maggio 2015

tell me your secrets


a dedication

Let slide those shadows along the darkened things
In that particular hour suspended in the twilight
while the day slowly dives lazily in the dusk
while the consciouness leaves place to the swoon
and the shades of enlonged leafy branches
are threatening monsters hidden under our bed .
But we can win all the shades waiting patient our sleeping
we can fight all the monsters with the light of our minds.
So tell me all your secrets and I will tell you mine,
while in your arms I find my beginning and my aim
and we will make it twinkle with the spark of our words.
Tell me every secret you have never said,
all the things and the caresses you have never known.
Sing for me every song you have never heard
and I will play for you every day a new music
with a magic instrument made of dust of lost angels.
Whisper me all your secrets and I will keep them safe
locked in a special place carved behind my heart
between dreams and delusions, betrayed loves and illusions,
wasted tears and true emotions.

words phothographer and model Arialee Miles 

giovedì 30 aprile 2015

the dollz court_ a tale against gender murder


Just because you can see us like little children dolls it does not mean we still exist as you would expect.  Under the mortal shape so visible at the most there is more than an usual form of life.  
A more mysterious essence is concealed behind those remains, something of a different form. 
We have been here, with our hurried dollish shuffling and our childish chattering accompanying her in this house since  she was only  a child and sharing with her long tea afternoons, laughing in happiness and joy …. We have seen the excitement of her first dates and then we witnessed  the preparation for her wedding . But that was before …    far before  your steps on these stones, resonating heavy suffocated and covered her cries, tears  and her screams due to your strokes days after days since you came to live here.
Till that day you yelled louder and your fist hit  stronger her face and then beat it  again and again   and you stopped only when her head bumped against the wall bouncing like a broken doll and the blood from her forehead spilled and made a pool on the floor weeping under the  carpet covering the  room penetrating the stone and the wood. 
Meanwhile her breath light like the wings of a seagull reached the air,  that air  she  did  not have anymore and  lifted her soul  towards the sky in a surreal pirouette towards an angel, towards a God , if you believe in one ! 
And you down in that room dirty of her blood , alone with  the only worry to clean it all, and report her disappearance  to the police. An escape, an absent minded inquiry,  maybe  a secret  lover  , who knows !
Oh you have been so inconsolable, looked so  sad, desperate. A pillar of the neighborhood. Poor man !
But now we are gathered  here for you ! We were waiting for you.  
Come have a tea with us sisters of our beloved child . Come to your little doll friends, don’t be worried  man, we have seen it all ! We were here invisible witnesses.
We are just waiting for you!  Do not hesitate, do not be scared of the unavoidable! 
Sooner or later we all have to watch in ourselves with a true attitude. 
Do not be afraid the consequences of what with self indulgence you call your “ little mistake”, do not be afraid of us and about  what we could do . Oh, we will not harm you, violence is not in our plans nor in our aims , we do not look for turbulence just for acknowledgement, for self - assessment. 
In our tea there is just something pure ,   there is the awareness,  there  is your removed bad conscience, your self- absolution, your astute penitence, your renovated confidence.
You can sit among us and have a simple tea,  an exquisite talk, you can  look deep in the essence of the reality,  take a tour in your true conscience, measure the size of your guilt with the eyes of your denied evidence.
We will just give you the tools and true inner eyes to watch deep in the gorge of your dark soul and you will draw your right consequences.   Ohhh and we forgot to tell you !!  ….there  on the table,  just beside the teapot near the sugar bowl , we left  a  gun just for  every occurrence. 

lunedì 20 aprile 2015


We carry with us ghosts and fears
coming from other lives,
we listen to voices and whispers
we thought we had forgotten
in the farthest corners of our consciences.
We stand up for freedoms
we are willing to lose
waiting only to dive  ourselves
in the eyes of who can cause
a sudden beat of our heart.
We are the autumn of a lost summer
and turning back we cannot  see but
a missed  future full of regrets.
We do not know anymore
what we are at the present
 and where we go,

Nevertheless, we are  still walking. 

words and photographer Arialee Miles 

giovedì 26 febbraio 2015

the song of the frogs

The song of the frogs 

Your fear should not stop my hands
when a caress is near my fingertips
ready to explode crossing your hair
like a far  firework, the echo of a lost holiday,
the remind of a past happy joyful time.
Your interrogative eyes should not
stare at me like I was the foulest of all  fools
the one that does not know the weight
of the intrinsic value of a blast of words
said just in a moment to be left in the wind.
Heavy inheritance of a world of illusions and
disillusions, all covered with the lightness
of a not hidden superficiality of aims and hopes.
Come here, come here  summer of despair !
light of dead drunk fireflies all around escaping
 when a stone falls in the pond with a deaf sound.
Do you hear the frogs singing their dissonant song?
You so close yet so distant, caring at times
but always closed in your own mystery. 
Come here, come here don’t leave me waiting
In the middle of the seagulls’ noisy meal.
My half lifted hand insecure in a caress,
withdraws in its mortified attempt.

I do not  try to understand the reasons
I do not wonder anymore and yet I am hurt,
I should not but I can’t help a subtle pain,
crawling  sneaky along my veins,
coward,  when I am absent minded
reaching for my  heart and there stopping,
stubborn catching my breath
and taking my words away.
And you , you observe me with your
inquisitive glance like I was something exotic
coming from outer worlds and from outer galaxies,
with my charge of ironic too subtle humor
and unexpressed enigmatic poetry.
Come here, come here months of lazy intimacy,
talking like we were the only ones on this earth,
like we were the only ones to share a secret.
The unveiled truths of a cheap honesty,
the last mirror to seize the real look

 of a thousand remodeled fake beauties. 

Photographer and words Arialee Miles 

sabato 10 gennaio 2015



If all you can do is crawl, start crawling. ~Rumi


In a nowhere land
where nothing stay untouched
under the lashing of elements
I buried my heart.

I let  fall it in a ditch
I have digged with my hands
and  filled with the
ground of my regret.

I did not turn to watch
I did not say a word,
not a farewell, determined.
I left it behind.

My heart is buried in a nowhere land
where beings without a name
scream their sorrow,
unheard cries.

I trespassed the borders,
of the no-love land,
crawling beyond  my fears
passing them and going ahead.

I am not brave but without a choice,
without help, without peace,
without a reason to survive,
without an aim and without a passion.

I found the sand in my pockets
and I filled the pit of my heart
to repair it from the bombing
without any shelter.

I built an house made of
withered branches,
of unmentionable lies and shrewd pains.
And now I live there.

Photography and words by Arialee Miles