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Diciamo che lì c'è un po' tutto quel che sono e quel che faccio.
Che finalmente mi sono dedicato un po' di tempo e ho terminato il sito.

Sia chiaro: questo blog rimane il mio blog. Nulla cambia.

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Strano, non l'avrei mai detto, eppure Milano mi mancava. O meglio, mi ci voleva.
Grossi edifici bicocchiani, poco a misura d'uomo. Una grossa calma, persone diradate e lente, addirittura bambini, infanti, madri, seduti senza attese motivate.
Poi ci sono le certezze, come gli operai, gli incravattati, le code delle matricole in segreteria, i parcheggi a pagamento mezzi vuoti, i clacson e i caschi.

Mi hanno chiesto indicazioni e penso d'essere stato tutto fuorchè d'aiuto. Un po' estraniato, alineato, isolato.

Siamo a settembre.
L'estate 2008, caratterizzata da piogge torrenziali alternate ad afa, è andata piuttosto veloce, più delle passate sorelle.
Ovviamente i vari propositi si sono dispersi per strada: niente emme in versione springcleaner, niente raccolta di racconti, niente sito web personale, niente ep acustico, niente berlino, niente soddisfacente prova costume, niente adobe premiere, niente gio'fest, niente modelli computazionali, niente ricerche tesi, niente altro ancora ... ma evito per evitare depressioni varie ed eventuali.
Detta così sembra tragica, e tragica in fin dei conti non è.
Ho portato a casa, la casa che è dentro di me, soddisfazioni e serene conquiste (tutto ridimensionato in confronto alle mie stabilità).

E' che sento, sempre più inesorabile, l'arrivo di una scelta.
Ho campi elisi e aperti, sterminati raccolti e altri a maggese ... devo proprio (solo!?) decidere dove spendere sudore. Fosse facile.
Ciò mi rallenta, mi fa contare i niente invece degli uau.
Io conto i niente invece degli uau.

Tipo che ... tipo che ...
Tipo che forse non sono cambiato così tanto come credevo.




(scritto drawn from the black leather of a Moleskine, new traveling companion)

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edges and contrasts greet


I lacked the low notes. Those
its deep, vibrant, predestined to prepare for the moment when all blocks to thinking-what is not important, do so. "

I miss them a bit 'of things, perhaps, not just the low notes.
's rare that I let go and melancholy eyes behind their backs now. Many more than forward, far forward as possible, and also high in the face to the sun-will be buying a case of special glasses, after twenty-five years without? -

I do not know well, as is traditional, locate the missing piece.
Di bordi e di contrasti, così forse mi definirei, ma ciò non significa che io riesca a ritrovare le nere fughe delle piastrelle che compongono il pavimento che è il mio petto.
Di bordi e di contrasti perchè adoro dei forti stacchi di colore, perchè adoro gli angoli a quindici, trenta, quarantacinque, sessanta e soprattutto novanta gradi; perchè adoro le linee parallele solo quanto quelle perpendicolari.
No, non vedo la vita in bianco e nero: una cosa può esserci, non esserci e altro, varie ed eventuali. L'amore può essere univoco, biunivoco e altro, varie ed eventuali. La ragione può essere mia, tua, ma anche altrui, di tutti e di nessuno.

Dicevo che ho questo pavimento nel petto, with the joints to divide black (which is to combine) the tiles.
imagine me lying, bound like Gulliver immense.
and relaxed look, barely raising his head, my chest floor, and no, I do not move any other muscle, if not stiff neck.
I see a plain, a tray, a launching pad, a checkerboard, a dance floor, a place to make love.

reminds me of playing the spectator, all of this. I will
stranger watching me, say that after more than a year has passed I still do not feel this to be delivered .. not so much from my legs but that is my life.

I thought it was a matter of new responsibilities.
I think it's a lack of reference points.
makes sense to think: how do they exist edges and contrast if you do not feel the lines?

I'm fading.
I really hope to cling to.







[I was thinking that this picture sums up very well .. luckily my]

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It's cold and raining, as I look and do not kiss me.
He rolls his eyes as I remembered to do, it seems that things have not changed much from those early years, the Piazza Vetra, the passer, cadorna and letters.

The first page of the new container of bees or wasps, it's a Moleskine and a Muji. It 's a gift, welcome, and that's what counts. Less nice is that this first page is spelled wrong, wrong, red.
Making a drink on an empty stomach is unhealthy because it takes to do what I want, like mess.

raining for weeks, I have reached a state of intolerance toward the romantic thing is the water that falls from the sky.
The cuffs of your shirt were in constant collision with my wrists, for the most part, as always, naked. Un'imbarazzata there is usually a safe distance when people walk on the side. What I liked tonight was that you do not respect it ... but precisely because it was sincere part of you, not for strategic goals of conquest.
pouring rain, it froze but wanted to stay out. I was shaking, but for real. I ferivo solitary infiltrated with harmless bullets fell from roof and evading all the rest.

I have spoken of the certainty that I try and I did not understand your reaction, your non-reaction.
I just wanted to know what is normal.



you think is wrong and cowardly to want
modest and slow
between bed and routine?
Tsk. Citations.




(section written by the skin of a black Moleskine, a new traveling companion)

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This is truly the last page (of Muji, of course).
Today I had promised myself to buy a new one, but it escaped me for a change of mind.
However today I realized how much say goodbye, just the act itself, is almost killed by his daily life to apply. A big risk is, that the words spoken and their complementary actions lose meaning, resulting placeholders, easily replaced with synonyms (synonyms which were not first choice).

Words have their weight and density: the number of letters makes a difference, is what I hold strong to their sounds to form words, to express ciò che volevo esprimere.

Insomma, c'è un po' questa trappola banalizzante, ma ancora una volta la coscienza della cosa salva la situazione.
Questa maschera di fronte al congedarsi è una maschera così leggera, così tanto che la puoi soffiare via.


E' una bella esplosione di primavera (oddio, i rami e il cielo).
E' un crescendo di cui non voglio trovare l'apice.
E' una mappa, le cui strade ho tracciato su carta porosa e terminato in un prato.





(scritto tratto dal mio fedele Muji, compagno di viaggio) (giorni fa...)

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I say that I do not write more.
fact that he does not write anymore.
With all sincerity, I do not like much.

It 'still a piece of me, put in the corner, yet again, swimming as a priority, stands out among the duties, giving half-certainties, trying not to compromise too much, finding a comfortable corner, den to hide, hide a piece of me.

curious smile in puns.
Do you see, word games?
We note the irony that still leaves me. The woman I love most in the world is in me, great.





--- Followed written tract dal mio fedele Muji, compagno di viaggio ---

In questo gran marasma frugo nella mia borsa, chiedendomi se il taccuino c'è ancora.
Poco fa, arrivando alla stazione, ho perso la spilletta, l'ultima rimasta appesa, l'unica mai caduta. Girandomi l'ho ritrovata, abbastanza facilmente, ma non è più questo il punto. Il punto è che raccogliendola la riscopro arrugginita, sporca, vecchia, caduta da una borsa sgualcita, sbiadita, vecchia, abbracciata ad una spalla storta, dolorante, vecchia, a valle di una testa stanca, stanca, vecchia.


Diventa sempre più raro, e strano, scrivere di me.
Ufficialmente sancisco il cambiamento e passivamento ne prendo atto.
I do what my favorite proverb professes, that is a virtue of necessity. I want to bet on myself, on this new state of being.

will design, to Trecentosessantagradi.
start from the basics, the foundations of that neglect. Depart from me, just the will.
The rest will come by itself.

Full stop.

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I've never been much of a girlfriend in the good-byes.
I also wrote one of the banality of digital profiles, in the absence of another.
's why I close the phone as if nothing had happened. The alternative is what? Something even more difficult, that fatalism echoing, harmful, burning. Click
ignore it, masking it all with daily practice, is to imagine that you suffer more before they ever. I chase a

myself that I can not find. This
disintegrates anything that is close to my side, in a frantic and furious speed, and I leave behind, in the blind rage of having lost something important. I can be myself, how can you be you, or even nothing.
But the loss remains.

E 'that accumulation weights, taken from everywhere, and discharge them directly on to my life ... involving all my duty and my every pleasure, including unconscious suicide who wanted to enter.

I should warn you before you beat them with my paranoid masochistic applicant merciless solitude.



(Mh. Maybe the cold weather that makes others feel the heat .. though.)








(written taken from my faithful Muji, travel companion)

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In a sadistic

What a great calm that has been created now.
With raw fish in the stomach (the sublime japponese Thursday), the notebook finally resting, sleep progressed, the volume adequately high.
There is even a surreal sunlight cuts through the waiting room of the station and casts the shadow of the pen, all agitated on the wall on the side. They even seem comfortable chairs.

dinner invitations have appeared.
Birthdays. What a wonderful thing
invitations to dinner, birthdays. What a wonderful thing
friends, yes.
The dancers and stockings on the legs, but not too thin, a woman.
What a beautiful woman.
No, not a stupid thing to admit.
What a great loneliness.
not stupid either.

I do not feel alone. In a sadistic
sometimes I would be. And sometimes in a curious way I can .. but basically, in fact, they are not.

I marry a bed and wait, quietly, a single mother.

(scritto tratto dal mio fedele Muji, compagno di viaggio)