Tuesday, July 10, 2007

secret dream

well then... everybody has a secret dream, right?

mine is to hear somebody, someday, stutter the following words:

«You... you... but who are you?»

Currently reading: Julia Kristeva, Colette
Currently listening to: CSNY, Looking Forward

Monday, March 27, 2006


Among the places I don't belong to, those I miss the most are Holland and France. Also U.S. I miss a bit, but I don't belong to it a little less (or more) because I have never been there, so my missing it is a completely dreamed up feeling.
Other places I don't belong to: Great Britain and Ireland, still a little less than the previous (and also because I've never been there). I miss the smell of some London streets, the scent of some misty Yorkshire morning and the spray on some cliff of the Green Island. And the crunchy feeling a Greek wall, calcinated by the sun, can leave under your teeth. Holland tastes of water plants (on summer) and ice with leaves in it (on winter). France is lavender, melted wax and wine. Too much of a stereotype?

Currently reading: Umberto Eco, A passo di gambero
Currently listening to: Eagles, The Best

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

The problem is...

...that I never have time to stop and think.

That is, of course I have time to think. My life is mainly devoted to thinking activities, mostly on behalf of someone else; also every now and then there are lapses of time in which my hands are busy and my brain is not, so I do have time to think independent thoughts. The point is, as I said, I never have time to STOP and think. Think and devote all my body’s activities to this though: sit down, get a pen (or a palmtop), write it down. Let myself to be carried away by the flux of thoughts generating other thoughts. Or even simply note down something odd, funny or encouraging that I just saw sometime, somewhere. Pin down whatever flutters through my mind.

That’s why I ask readers od this blog—if there are any—for a little patience. One of these days I’ll make it. Really.

In the meantime, I post a photo. Why not.

This was taken last August on the road in Yonne, a part of Burgundy (France). It's a snapshot from the car (I love taking pictures this way).

And, last but not least, I would like to wish a belated HAPPY BIRD-DAY to Featheryca!!!

Currently reading: Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated
Currently listening to: the beauty of silence, after a morning of roadwork in the neighborhood :)

Sunday, November 06, 2005

The sun’ll come out, tomorrow

So they say.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I’ll be 41 tomorrow. Dang.

I used to be proud about being born in such an unconventional month, just a week after Hallowe’en. I always liked chrysantemum--also an unconventional flower, especially because in Italy it is considered “the All Souls’ flower” and used mainly to decorate graves—but for this very same reason nobody ever gave me a bunch of chrysantemi for my birthday. (This would be quite normal in England, I am said.)

It has always been fun to have a reason to rejoice on a gloomy rainy day while everybody else just feels depressed. But for some reason today I don’t feel like rejoicing so much. Might be the weather (really, I mean REALLY gloomy). And sure, the fact of having just watched The Corpse Bride doesn’t help.

But we’ll see—guess—tomorrow. After all, it’s only a few minutes away.

(And I never liked Annie anyway.)

Sunday, October 30, 2005

Getting ready for Hallowe'en

Originally uploaded by farouchegrande.