choosing the picitures that represent you --sometimes your picture laggs behind you sometimes it preceeds you, sometimes it has nothing to do with you even though it's supposed to be you, sometimes it is you even though it does not look like you at all. You are never quite who you tell the world (or yourself) you are.Tue, November 3, 2009 - 8:53 AM permalink - 1 comment
My Steve was diagnosed with cancer in January. Neither of us ever believed in marriage but after 13 years, we got married on 3-10-09, for the heck of it. He passed away on 4-19-09. Today I see that i had chosen "Contemplation" my tribes.com avatar? the picture that represents me, more than a year before. I wonder whether i knew something way back then or whether it is as it is, death is part of me, it moves with me. Death, my one steady lover who taught me how to dance.Tue, November 3, 2009 - 8:41 AM permalink - 1 comment
The Blue Traffic LightMon, June 4, 2007 - 12:18 AM permalink - 0 comments
Once, the trafic light at the Dome Piazza in Milano did a strange thing. All its lights suddenly turned blue and people did not know what to do.
To stop or not to stop? To go or not to go?
All the lights in all dirctions shone an incredible blue, a blue which even the Milano sky had never been.
The waiting drivers, being at a loss, began honking and blaring their horns, the motorcyclists revved their engines and the heftier gentlemen yelled: “Do you know who I... read more
(same book)Mon, June 4, 2007 - 12:13 AM permalink - 0 comments
The Palace for Breaking/ or The Wrecking Palace
Once, in the city of Busto Arisio, people were worried because the children kept destroying everything. We are not talking here about their shoes, their pants or their school-bags, we are talking about windows when they played ball and dishes and glasses when they ate dinner, and they didn't break the walls only because they did not have hammers at hand.
The parents didn’t know anymore what to do and what to say, so they t... read more
(this is still a work in progrss and comments/suggestions are welcome!)Mon, June 4, 2007 - 12:13 AM permalink - 0 comments
Once upon a time...
....there was a travelling salesman. His name was Bianchi and he was from Varese. Six days a week he travelled all over Italy-- East, West, South, North and through the middle, selling medicines. On Sundays he returned home and on Mondays he took off again. But before he left, his little daughter always told him: “Remember, Papa, I need a story every night!”
You see, this girl could not fall... read more
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