Seasons

Eventually it gets warm and blue and I feel like it's time to go and wait for the healing.
It's like I've lost familiarity with the sun and I already miss the fog blurring the world and deceiving the eyes and their wet feeling.
Isn't too early for this?

Every end is a new beginning

If 2009 ended like this, 2010 began like this.
And once again pictures are beautiful, but they can't tell everything at all.

Colours

Grey day

Tra un anno passerà

Sei al mio fianco e non so perchè,
ma non facciamo l'amore.
Dormiamo e basta, da giorni ormai.
Oggi, in qualche maniera,
in macchina ti ho anche fatta piangere;
non conosco né il come né la colpa
e se non avessi preso il fazzoletto,
nemmeno me ne sarei accorto.
Le solite cose, mi hai risposto,
ma io, che continuo a farmi domande,
sento solo il tuo respiro,
pesante, come se stessi portando un peso.
Sarà questa nostra relazione ad affaticarti anche nel sonno?
Ho caldo, questi pensieri mi ammalano,
mi sento la febbre, l'asma:
l'anno è appena iniziato e già vorrei finisse:
sono come quei poverini che hanno paura di vivere,
che godono quando il tempo vola,
che non sanno decidere e restano uomini in forse.
Cosa dobbiamo fare, cosa devo fare?
Chissà perchè credo in una soluzione;
del resto nemmeno so cosa cercare.

Pieces of 2009

Posting one year of pics at once, leaves a completely different taste: i'd say bitterish and a bit melancholy.
From the white always-loved Winter landscape through the green of the mountains in Summer and the blue of the flag of Sweden, till the grey Bruxelles, what is lacking are tons of memories not pictured or not showed: maybe the ugliest but not the less important ones.

Sleep

I believed in dreams until I realized I was only dreaming.

L'anniversario

Perso in una selva di perchè
sfilo dai ricordi il passato,
spogliando il futuro a nudo niente.
Come Eva, altro non rimango che col peccato,
a farmene una benda per nascondere dalla vista
ciò che non so attraversare.
Cieco, come un feto in grembo;
da lì ricomincerà il futuro,
perchè si ricomincia sempre,
quando c'è il respiro e l'amore.

The Anniversary

Lost into a forest of whys,
I unthread, from memories, the past,
stripping the future to a naked nothing.
Like Eve, I simply remain with the sin,
using it like a bandage to block the view
of what I can't go through.
Blind, like a fetus in the lap;
from there the future will begin again,
because one always gets back to the beginning
when there is breath and love.

Scadenza

Vorrei ritrovare sapore nei tuoi baci
e la voglia di intrecciare gemiti e lenzuola.
Vorrei sentire di nuovo quella morsa al cuore
quando sei via, lontana, così come quando mi sfiori.
Ma anche il ricordo di tutto questo
è sciolto nel cuore come nell'acqua,
lavato via assieme all'amore che non so più riconoscere
né in me, né in te.

Deadline

I'd like to find again flavour in your kisses
and the desire to twist moans and sheets.
I'd like to feel again that pang in my heart
when you are away, afar, as much as when you graze me.
But even the memory of all of this
is melted in the heart like in wather,
washed away with the love i can't anymore recognize
neither in me, nor in you.

Night

Now let me wake up slowly pls

Tramontana

La sto perdendo. Me ne accorgo e non faccio nulla.

Non so perché, ma coscientemente so di questo mio atteggiamento inerme. E’ un moto naturale, penso, come due palle che prima si toccano e che poi inevitabilmente rimbalzano via l’una dall’altra.

Ci sarebbero i fiori e le parole, l’attenzione e le promesse.

Niente, non faccio nulla di tutto questo. Mi siedo sulla poltrona e leggo un libro. Stappo il vino a cena mentre le racconto di una giornata identica alla precedente.

Al mattino mi lavo i denti e la saluto di corsa.

Accelero, supero. Con lei non c’è una spinta a fare di più. Eppure sento che qualcosa mi trattiene, ma cosa? E cosa cerca di muovermi se non sento nessuna spinta?

In ufficio la testa fa un po’ male. Forse è il vento che soffia forte, violento come nella poesia di Saffo. Forse invece è il fruscio continuo della frequenza sulla quale sono sintonizzato. Penso ad altro, ma il rumore di fondo resta.

Bevo molta acqua, ho la raucedine, ed in bagno mi chiedo da quanto tempo non facciamo più sesso. E’ il desiderio ad essersene andato prima o l’amore? Il mio pene non risponde.

Lo fa il mio riflesso quando mi giro. Dallo specchio spunta un uomo emaciato dai capelli arruffati. La barba che comincia a spuntare più bianca che nera. Gli occhi hanno la stessa vivacità di quelli di un’orata sul banco del pesce. Lontanamente mi ricorda mio padre.

Alla sera sono stanco ed assonnato. Ci vuole la doccia prima di una bella dormita. Mi lavo il pene con più attenzione del solito mentre ripenso alle parole di quel tizio nello specchio.

Le coperte dalla mia parte sono tese e faccio quasi fatica a disfarle dalla loro piega fatta con precisione. L’attenzione che deve aver dedicato nel sistemare il letto mi commuove ed irrita al contempo. Mentre mi infilo sotto le lenzuola intravedo il suo corpo ancora bello e liscio. Mi sento vecchio ed in ritardo.

Il vento fuori non ha smesso di soffiare e sbatte tra le tapparelle scivolando nelle fessure della porta. Mi viene in mente l’immagine di due corpi sospesi su di un baratro uniti solo dallo stringersi di una mano. La stretta è forte ma s’allenta, lentamente; inesorabilmente prima o poi avverrà la caduta. Mi chiedo cosa li tenga sospesi, quale spinta; forse il vento. Mi domando del perché sono convinto che cadranno il momento stesso in cui le mani non si toccheranno più.

Mi sistemo a pancia in giù per prender sonno. Inavvertitamente la sfioro. Inspiegabilmente rabbrividisco e mi eccito talmente tanto che devo cambiare la posizione delle gambe.

E’ solo sesso fine a se stesso, mi convinco.

Mi stacco dal contatto, giro la faccia dall’altra parte, così che la luce non mi dia troppo fastidio, ma lei spegne subito l’abat jour.

Rimaniamo immobili per un istante. Poi per due.

Nel buio ci diamo la buonanotte. Torna lo stallo e l’immobilità.

I due corpi immaginari cominciano a cadere.

Sogno di un figlio, ma questa ormai è tutta un’altra storia.

Latvia again

Spent few days of this 2008 again in Latvia, in this little wild town called Cesis where there is a beautiful thing called Zize.
Memories run in circle again towards forget-land, but i've caught some of them into pics.

Evening post

Washing-up in hot water, the news coming from TV,
smelling lemon-aroma bubbles I dont get that time flees.

Sunlight has gone far earlier sunk in a glass of cold:
a bottle of red wine helped gloominess to unfold.

Windows have curtains and honey grows in pots:
beauty is hidden in this rhytmic modern hip-plot.

Thought rides in circle, routine prevents any strife:
bared is my mind therfore i think "so this is life..."

White wedding

Memory selects.
Time erases.
What is left, ripped by tonight's effort to remember, are just impromptu.

Our small feet stamped on the car windows, on the way to Tropea; his fatty yummy ears I was used to bite; his special way to kick the ball trying to score.

I remember that time I yelled at him coz of a fish he didn't catch and again when I got mad coz he was winning me at video games.

The more I remember, the more I feel how damn much I have unforgivingly forgotten.

But I can't forget that first time he started to dance sick, on our way back to the gym, during boxing training or when he repeated it while I was carrying him on the bicycle. I cant forget that dreadful night noise every time he was rolling sick down from his bed.

I was there with him, during those long, sad, lost years. But, much more, I wasn't.

I remember my lonely 30th bday and that letter with my promises and my excuses and, then, my inability to keep nor to honour them.
Ah cruel guilt, save me for a while, please, and let me end this post.

I remember long hair and skinhead, fatty body and skinny one, but never, I can tell, his eyes changed: not even when his mind went upside down.

I remember that time in my car I burst into tears and dared to finally caress his head.

Ah memories so sad and sweet.
They clench you to the past, and I can't believe that today he wanted me to his right side to get married. Eventually he's still just my little beloved brother who I still have to take care from up afar here, coz however I showed to be, I'd give my all for him.

Short consideration

There is nothing bad in silence, unless u are waiting for a word to break it.
Nothing bad.
Nothing at all.

Prague and my feet

That's a beautiful city. All of it, hard to find an ugly building.
Got many memories but recently i dont have much energy to write them down, sry... just... I think it is not anymore worth it.

Donno, maybe we get used to silence when we fall into it. For the rest, here there are some of the pics I took.

Perchè?

Non aspetto altro che di svegliarmi.
Invano.
Passa così la notte, insonne, mentre mi travesto empaticamente e prego che sia più forte di quanto, immagino, non sarei al suo posto.
E mi struggo per un silenzio che ancora non so rompere, ma poi perchè?

Deep in one thought

Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?

The way they do it

They argued. Once again for few more than nothing.

He was deeply upset. Closed into his silence he was escaping from her look and her attempts to make peace. Like always.

On the sofa, she tried to kiss him, sweetly, kindly as she was used to be when he was mad coz of her errors. He dodged her lips with a movement of his head: he was waiting for a sorry, not for a damn kiss.

She sadly gave up with her aim leaving just a little kiss on his right shoulder.

«I’m going to take a shower», she said: maybe he would have made out a solution through his anger, in the meantime.

He left his eyes staring at the wall for all the time of her shower. White, clean, with no suggestions for him. The reasons he had for being mad were childish and stupid but he knew that if he didn’t react, they would have ruined even that night.

Am I really arguing for nothing more than a caprice? She left everything for me, why should I ask for other proofs?

He had to move on this little obstacle, go downstairs and just hugging her. He couldn’t let his stupid behaviours break their love. He had to go over his jealousy and stop worrying for bullshits and revenges.

He got in his mind all the path to settle down and get her happy, starting from wearing off his serious and broken-hearted look. For one second all the muscles of his face relaxed at once and everything appeared to him so clearly in its simplicity. He would have made peace, it was so damn easy!

«Teddy, it’s your turn for the shower» her voice, again sweet and calm. Like nothing important really happened between them.

Ok I will make peace after the shower he said to himself. The water will wash away any doubt, he deceived himself.

She went in bed exactly when he ended the shower. He took it too long, like he wasn’t used to do, delaying on washing his feet, contemplating the white foam over his sex.

I will give him time to digest this stupid thing and I wont bother him anymore tonight.

She slipped under the sheets, covering her head too. She didn’t want him to see her red eyes nor to see that nasty serious look of him.

He just saw her shape on the bed, under the plaid. The right moment was passed away.

Nobody said a word that night.

Another little step towards the failure, they both thought when the light was switched off.

Latin's hits

Recently seasons change after every single sunset.
Just tears or laughs alter time’s pace. And only dreams can stop it.
For years I’ve been crawling in the dark, in a place with no space nor time, just to discover that, even escaped from there, I still can be hurt and lose my mind coz of something coming from the darkness.

Today is spring, again. And in the warm sunlight I pretend, once again, I don’t know anymore what the gloom is.

But deep in my soul, I know it’s just a question of pace: I’m running away from words, actions, regrets: mine or yours.
Winter, spring, summer, fall.
Accelerating time. Running against the wind, closing eyes so they can’t get wet.
Finding the darkness, with no dreams and with the echo of the last weep.

Lost in peace

The road that runs between the trees while the stars goe blind and the wind starts to sing. The forest that slowly swallows you sticking its teeth in your broken soul.

Or the city lights that fade voices as incomprehensible as noise, lost in some sin-place far away from home, lost into your thoughts, your memories, your tears of fear and melancholy.

Both running away and still looking for the ones you really care about, maybe with the memory, maybe using their little pic stored on your phone; hugging them virtually, maybe with a sms.

Loving what is impossible. Holding air into your fist. Listening at the stones. Smelling your dreams.

Ah all these useless priceless moments that make life concrete and tasty.

All this loneliness, so precious, so rich of emotions. So magic in its gone time.

R.I.P.

Ho conosciuto superficialmente Pietro Fumi. Incontrato in occasione di sporadiche vertenze sindacali: lui rappresentante di Federmanager, io di Confindustria. Occasioni in cui sarebbe potuto nascere facilmente un diverbio, ma che puntualmente, invece, si concludevano con una delle sue ricette spiegate col fascino della favola.

La sua scomparsa mi ha sorpreso e rattristato al punto che mi sono interrogato su dove abbia avuto origine questa malinconia. Con Pietro Fumi, mi sono risposto, non se ne e’ andato solo un uomo, ma e’ scomparso un pezzetto di Piacenza: di quella parte di tradizione ancora incontaminata che ci lega alla nostra terra, come fosse il Gotico od il dialetto o quei pisarei di cui Pietro raccontava le avventure.

Per tutto questo grazie a Liberta’ e Teleliberta’ che hanno saputo dare ad un uomo semplice il valore e l’attenzione che di solito si attribuiscono ai pochi: piu’ ricchi ed importanti, ma non d’animo ne’ di sapore com’era Pietro.

Home sweet home

The sunrise as much orange as the juice and the coffee, black and sugar-free.

The day starts with this warm kiss of the sun still sleepy but there, with u, in that small groovy kitchen...

From upstairs the iPod strews notes around: from the living room still empty of life to the tv-house with no actors and scenes yet. There is still so much to do, but when u get urself in the elevator ahh, nothing's like home, whatever it's lacking in.

Ishh.

Into the white

So much snow fallen that the lift to Tonale, like the road, had to remain closed. Silly skiers got sutck in the few pistes of Ponte di Legno facing snow-walls they would have loved to dodge.

At the end the first fresh snow, in a spring shaped day, had the usual tutti-frutti flavour: sweet and wilde, with some kind of melancholic aftertaste. I got to much fun to stop and shoot.

The white moon in Ponte di Legno

It all begun in the moonlight spreading from the sky just above the black line of the mountains. In this light, snow seemed to be even more white, but it was just an illusion, like the strain to take a photo of it: moonlight is just something impossible to photograph but with the sight.
The valuable rest will be shown in this page. The priceless one will be kept unshown.