Category archives: Travel Journey

  • Day Twelve. To Finish

  • And then it happens that it is over, even if we do not see the end. With eyes full of everything we should have become, without being able to really do it. To our eyes, at least, given as a present to the life we found ourselves to look at. To the life that we have had the inviolable foolishness to [...]
  • Day Eleven. To Belong

  • Every millimeter of space, each molecule of oxygen, a gram of flour, the final word, one cent change. Everything belongs to someone. Even the right of excluding.  I have fallen in love with the city, I admit it, I have done it as an aware adult, untidy beard and welcoming eyes, an abusive and con[...]
  • Day Ten. To Become

  • There are clothes and insects, the servile manners, the truth of a hug. Measures that cannot be translated, unexpected guests and homes, who knows how many, and lives and judgements. Indivisible childhood memories, a take-away adolescence, the present just digested and the hunger to swallow down fu[...]
  • Day Nine. To Write.

  • An inaccurate portion of light passes through the long field of my feelings. The taxi in the morning, four letters by heart, the precise memory of an ordinary place, beyond any boundaries. I write for the same reasons I exist, not to back out of opinions, I write as I need daily strictness, I nee[...]
  • Day Eight. To Measure.

  • As if water could be chewed. I live this way, of an indecent measure, of improper terms, of things that happen while I see them happening, pierced with joy from being there and from derelicts, from clouds of sugar and from a walking hunger. From the hope left everywhere and from the cynicism fat[...]
  • Day Seven. To Fall Silent

  • A man and a half, almost two to be precise. The glasses hanging halfway between the nostrils and the sweated forehead. He has been standing still over there since the moment I have arrived, doing little more than feeling his own sweat. Smelling Canal that stinks of summer, enchanting, stripping ol[...]
  • Day Six. To Know.

  • The midnight carriage passes through Times Square. Two white skinned fifty years old have left the Ohio to come here. To show off a bovine breast squeezed in a satin bustier, together with the all the meat in surplus.  They jump up and down with the rhythm of the horses march, with their nose up an[...]
  • Day Five. To Breathe.

  • A house in greenpoint, eight flights of stairs to run up as if they were only one, the same anxiety as the first time here, a few years ago, with the same smell of stale wood and linoleum to each step, increasing by two. Everything was easy back then, love in my eyes, four daises on a weak table,[...]
  • Day Four. To Exist.

  •   I touch my own face to make sure I actually exist, a bunch of minutes past ten pm. I am on the rooftop of midtown feeling the amazement in Marcello's eyes , eaten away by the jet lag, hidden under a green hood, watery for an overseas love, seeing in them the same joy that touched mine the [...]
  • Day Three: To Sleep

  • Up & down Manhattan avenue for ten blocks  of silence.  The ultra red sky on the east breaks up in pieces of truth on the intermittent neon light of a dry cleaning shop, on the Cuban sitting on the window and wearing out the hands where his face sleeps. It might be that it is still the morni[...]
  • Day Two. To Kiss

  • I walked the city the same way you give a first kiss.. With lips exhausted with astonishment, hands behind my back.. An unexpected tremble between my groin and the universe , telling you it is time to stray into the certainty of being alive , into a solemn silent walk  on worn heels, between a Sep[...]
  • Day One. To Tell.

  • Malpensa airport sleeps even if it is late. Malpensa drinks a coffee before the take-off. The order of priorities that are the soul of this country puts my plans at risk, plans that were born to be confused, and born not to be born at all. I stand still in the one quarter of a man space seat , th[...]
 
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