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VID - Africa, inizio

Some African video, because although Brazil is a dream, Africa was a very strong-even if sometimes difficult-around of our


high Gambia Forest, trees (those with leaves) are 30-40m high, the double tree Branca.

only boat in the area.



During the same period this
(Daphne says, "you can not 'slow down?" I "you can not' speed up?")

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Carnaval na Bahia

Oh yes, 'as no, thought to have suffered the guide?!


A week of crazy stuff, you 'with his wife and two children in tow.
In years past, by road, lonely and a backpack, came a dozen times in Brazil by carefully choosing to be out of the carnival, but I must admit that despite the snobbery week has been a special one. If

internet connections last, after those few videos of Africa

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August 1976

"You do not know the South, the houses of lime
which went out in the sun as numbers
from the face of a nut"
(Vittorio Bodini, Tobacco Leaves, 1945-1947)

Cerano, August 1976. The girl's profile is me

Between snippets of nostalgia, clear skies, eyes like pearls, notebooks Indians, Indians who would like to devour books, poems as tobacco leaves - Bodini for breakfast - sms to friends, letters, shipped from one continent to mp3 another, the scales of alligators stranded between the lashes, a city that will never see, a city that does not ever learn to love, love that city too, thoughts like candles, braziers of old country houses, and cigarette smugglers in my new pages, Ligabue's an old song that reminds me of the sound of friendship, skype, e-mail, technology to simulate hands and hugs, I got a little surprise. Sudden, as the joy of the twilight. It was August 1976, this was Cerano cut down before our barracks, and build the coal plant that is polluting the bodies and hearts, and these girls we were, me and my cousin of Marion Miggiano. Small, and as we already now da grandi: lei sorridente e solare, io come lo sguardo di luna. C'è anche mia madre nelle foto, e ci sono i miei cugini materni Mina in bikini e Danilo, appena nato (e pensare che sta per diventare papà adesso) in braccio a mia zia Nunziatina. Le foto sono in bianco e nero, ma il colore è quello della magia dell'infanzia.  

Mia mamma, io e mia cugina Mariagrazia

Mia zia Nunziatina con Danilo appena nato in braccio, io, Mina e Mariagrazia

 

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The Gay



Olgettina Women: a sociological analysis.

We are now aware through a period of very serious for our Italian peninsula and, taking due consideration, we can not help but condemn this fragente socially and historically opposed disillusioned.
Unemployment in Italy has reached levels so paradoxical that feels the need to create new jobs over a million have already been created by Prime Minister Berlusconi. Even
Olgettina, now tenant of modern vocabularies as well as modern residence free of charge, which in ancient Greece was considered a mythological figure (half cash and half topa) rappresenta l’ennesimo sogno infranto di noi tutti, ovvero la caduta dei valori di ricchezza, bellezza e spensieratezza .
Oggi, noi donne, che da tempo aspiravamo ad una condizione agiata e privilegiata, siamo costrette, attraverso questo dramma, a rivedere i nostri obiettivi e a rivalutare completamente i nostri dogmi.
Il declino dell’Olgettina e la conseguente caduta dei privilegi ottenuti con il sacrificio, ci mette di fronte ad una realtà amara ed inevitabile.
Questa modestissima opera visiva chiede solo di poter celebrare il tramonto delle nostre aspirazioni e di musicare con grazia il necrologio delle nostre speranze.

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Goodbye and do not read

India and Puglia, on my desk in Antwerp

Goodbye and do not read that newspaper, which praised the keeper

if shooting at thieves
snails in the forest fallow or chasing girls
to his lips for a few olive purple
wild in the bush.
may not want this world
even here, in this endless suburbs. And if not the only
our sadness, everything that makes this country as
should not, by itself
alien and out of place there pairs
everything, dropped his spade,
the cloud and on the olive tree
vineyards as a brown sail, yet the green, the fruit
full
lead the effort buried
that winter was here a desert
strains of blacks out of the ground
red swollen with rain like a herd of huge horns
sunk. Just as we live
data that do not mature insoluble.
We started by saying "a priori"
the bottom of the houses, without even confessing
surprise into tears again, and there is destiny

regret the things we
right here with us, as if they were
miles remote.
This I tell you. E 'in one evening
painted on silk which I leave you,
smells of damp and burnt paper
that I start fading per far ritorno fra voi
duro e sofistico come siamo sempre stati.
("Addio e non leggete", Vittorio Bodini, Dopo la luna, 1952-1955)

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E-mail to a friend

mi si spezza proprio il cuore, L. caro, a lasciare la mia piccola fetta di Bombay
coi tramonti e i corvi
le corse in macchina di notte con Asif
le risate
i miei amici
i miei amici canini
Floffy, sopra tutti
le albe dalla mia finestra, come se fossero villaggi dimenticati
le mie parole
lo zucchero dei caffè
i chai
lo sguardo felice di Ric
la musica
tutto, tutti

c.

Tutto, I miss India and too

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corner of my desk in Antwerp, today

Our room

Indian yesterday, shortly before departure

the canteen, with the birthday cake yesterday

Last sunset on the roof, yesterday

ravens, golden light, wind, palm trees on my terrace Bombay, yesterday

Flying away, yesterday

My desk Indian yesterday

writing on the wall, yesterday

The birthday cake yesterday

Stella shadow, today waking up: sky blue like a jewel

light from the window, now

My desk in Antwerp, today

The view from the window of my office today

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Time to go (almost) still

Almost end. Good times and sun of my last afternoon in Bombay. But there is still dark, and then in the evening and finally the beginning of the night. And the darkness clears, and we remove to return us to another life, another winter.

flowers and a gift of Ric

The Music Room

Canine friends

What is love!

Floffy that stretches

Floffy rickshaw, destination: Veterinary vaccines last

Even with the risk Floffy

Chai in the afternoon, in our canteen

She shadows

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Song of Father De André

"Do you really want
leave your eyes only dreams that do not wake up. "

" Yes. Your Honor, but I want them bigger. "

" There's a place there, let your father.
You do not need to stay on deck and watch the other ships
pass
Direct it to the smallest and largest river
already know where to go. "

No words today, only music and eyes and hands. And Bombay is sunrise, sunset, abandoned. Goodbye, goodbye, returns. Future (im) possible.

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The song of the father, Fabrizio De André

With a moving, lived, felt, long live e-mail to S., this morning I tore le lacrime invece dei soliti sorrisi. Sangue vivo, le tue parole, S., e ti vedo in quella stanza, come Michael Corleone, a proteggere tuo padre dalla morte.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w75KaCK9MQo

Ora aspettami fuori dal sogno
ci vedremo davvero,
io ricomincio da capo.

E questi ultimi versi li dedico in ordine sparso a mia nonna Clara, agli amici perduti, ai miei cani indiani e alla stessa Bombay, in tutta la sua esuberante, feroce bellezza. Mentre sono alle prese con le regole eternamente mutevoli della Comunità Europea sul trasporto di cani provenienti da paesi terzi. Con un miliardo di postille... Odio la burocrazia perchè never take into account the feelings.

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longitudes, latitudes, My dear audience colors

In a text message this morning, the snow in the north. The snow, inconceivable, in the heart of the Indian summer heat, and his eyes catch fire, and your hands will melt. In India there is no room for white, because the life you dirty every day, even you dirty thoughts.

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CONSULTO con il CIRM

During the crossing Daphne had a sinusitis. At first a bit 'of aspirin, then began to make them much more harm to invalidate the whole day, in pain, lying on a bunk without moving.
Since we have a pharmacy by half a cubic meter, we decided to call the CIRM. For the uninitiated (shame -.;) is a center specializing in medical care to seafarers, maritime yachtsmen or guests of cruise ships.
We send an email with all the required elements (see http://www.cirm.it/ ), we add the symptoms are the same page of the XYZ medical guide boat where he speaks of sinusitis, then an indication of the medicines that we have on board.
messages sent.
After half an hour I try to reconnect radio and hop, here is already the response message.
Take this and this, if you can keep the patient is not too windy, and so on. Twelve hours later ask for a contact, we answer that we are only able to propagate in 24 hours. OK ok.
Outstanding!

take antibiotics, but 'the day after not work. Let's look at the deadline, all hop expired a few months ago.
Hmm. Remains of the antibiotic in children (tonnes): New message to CIRM: we can take it. Immediate response, all ok. After six hours
Daphne was better, thank you message.
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"I want to say is that words like crazy with this song
singing nun
heed to those who speak ill cumm
nisciuno vuie ppe to me and 'carnal'

(Nino D'Angelo, My dear public)

Today is March 1. March is my favorite month for a thousand reasons (it is also the month of birthdays of almost everyone in my family, me included). On March 1, and I finally began again to write, free from the words of others. End of seances - translations - and the beginning of a month dedicated to particular words. My new novel, which I start to work, was written with an unusual soundtrack, in addition to my usual "writing buddies" rock and pop, this time there was Nino D'Angelo, almost all the albums by year 80-90. Why are the protagonists of my new novel are very carnal, blood, "southerners", and listen to this music. In the years of high school, when I started listening to Bob Dylan, Lou Reed, Pink Floyd, in my village depopulated Neapolitan music, which was the music of simple hearts. I remember my homework, my cousins, and the radio tuned to local radio stations. The programs of Neapolitan music.

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al-Falaq, or the dawn rising of the International

Al-Falaq (Dawn Rising)

In the name of Allah, Most Gracious, Most Merciful.
Say: 'I seek refuge in the Lord of the dawn rising,
against the evil that has created
against evil and darkness extending
and against the evil of the blowers on knots,
against evil and envy as envy. "

This sura of the Quran is beautiful. Too bad they did not know the 'to be able to read the original Arabic. I talked about it the other night my friend Asif. A sura which is a sort of protection against the "nazar" or "Najar" as the Indians say. Against the evil eye and envy, and negativity in general. My friend L. Then, in an e-mail made me reflect on the darkness beauty of this verse: against the evil that has created against the evil that God / Allah himself has created. Here you could open an abyss of reflections. God creates evil, for us. Difficult to comment, hard to stay on the surface of this sentence of immeasurable depth. However, continuous, and we all continue to float sull'imperscrutabile around us. The figure of the "blower" is charming, dangerously charming, and I brings to mind the old "masks" of the south.