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Per tutto il giorno ho avuto la sensazione di essere in quello stupido film. Per tutto il giorno ho rincorso a cento all'ora una coincidenza. Ora sono molto stanca e vuota e vorrei solo dormire.
Però il pensiero che la vita possa costruirsi balances of connections, or imbalances of the fate pursues me and chase me again tonight. I've run the coincidence, I caught and landed like a rugby ball on the goal, putting all my effort, all the energy I had in my body, a muscular and physical fury, or perhaps a tear of despair. Then I joined the surge of adrenaline flowing and then, only after I watched it and I tried to tell me that I was good, because it was an occasion difficult if not impossible, and the fate I do not reward, but the ' I did it for myself, I did try to, without thinking about the result even knowing that it will be a loser. It 'difficult to do anything without a return, in some form. I realized. If you want to quibble I might conclude that a reason, if I did, maybe there was. But it was not a gratuity, was not a goal, or it was in name only, apparently. Inside I know that I did to make it, to make it, not to give up. And I would just be so happy.

11/02/2006

it was so many things in my head right now. Not I did not even think about it, not to pass through the range of emotions one after another, not to build on dreams, not to reopen the whole short chapter to 360 degrees. Okay, there are the usual mix of emotions focused my psychic system produces daily, with a precision of genetic engineering. Then there's a new photo of me that I found myself in, like certain photos are marked on the camera and not because as you remember where you made (this metaphor to emphasize, once again, if proof were needed, the millimeter randomness and the immediacy with which certain processes occur). I feel that for the sake of trying, to get involved. I doing something not for the result or for the thing itself, but I do it because it has already added value. I embrace the saying that "The important thing is to participate" and live fully, with awareness of who is no longer a teenager ma è già adulto e quindi sa di dover deporre l'arma dell'onnipotenza nell'armadio dei ricordi. Con la perseveranza di chi ha finalmente attraversato la terra di mezzo ed è arrivato nella realtà.
Io improvvisamente più saggia e più sola e più cosciente della vita e di quello che può dare o togliere.
Non posso dire che questa cosa mi abbia fatto improvvisamente amare me stessa, questo proprio no. Però è successo qualcosa di rilevante nella direzione del vedermi più a fuoco, più definita.

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Sliding doors of old toys

Questo sogno in realtà l'ho fatto qualche tempo fa, però mi ha lasciato una sensazione così epidermica that sometimes I see him again in my mind and I'm still in there. Especially after what happened today. I was in my old house, with my family. Return to live there without moving, without worrying if someone lived there. Just give us a key and we were inside. Already today it was difficult to leave the house. Then, once inside, I realized that that apartment was left uninhabited. But it was in ruins. Some rooms were empty, as just after a move. In others, such as for example in our room, the furniture, but there were still split, stacked and dirty. As if these were not only stayed there 20 years or those who are, but as if the weather had deteriorated them. In the drawers and shelves were still my old toys, in particular my box of Lego, a precious heritage. But it was all mummified. The characters had their faces skeletons and cobwebs, decaying organic material such as the zombies of some imaginary horror. There was also something the whole, most bottles of shampoo or other accessories for the body. Everything else was lying tested by time, but not limited to, something more ... as if he had stayed there, but there was still worn, dried out, just like certain memories, which are still there but not live, are like the shadows of something that is gone, it is pulverized. There are no words for the pain I felt. It was much suffering for a death. I examined my things, scioccata. Erano poi tutte sparpagliate, come dopo un furto, come se avessero messo a soqquadro. Ecco, il paradosso: sembrava che fosse rimasto tutto immobile da quando ce ne eravamo andati, ma invece era tutto cambiato, si era mescolato e sconvolto, si era perso, rotto o spostato. Aprivamo le finestre, facevamo aria ma era tutto inutile. Era impossibile viverci, ma proprio emotivamente. Così impossibile che non ce l'ho più fatta, ho abbandonato la mia casa, il mio passato e quel sogno impossibile.

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Explorations on the city: Milan now Dream


E' veramente, veramente complicato come mi sento io dentro Milano. Ieri sera percorrevo via Carlo Botta verso Porta Romana per prendere la metro, direzione Rogoredo. Sabato evening, almost time for dinner. At that time there are 2 New York: one that is getting ready to live the night "out" and getting ready to live the night "inside." Lighted windows are the eyes of the houses are heated by themselves. Lighted streets, local soft lights, metro stations, arcades, railway station are the shelters of those who live the night out. Of those who are open to the ancestral fear of not having a shelter and be devoured alive. Metropolis Milan is much more to me than others, for example in Rome. Why is more erratic, more northern, nearer to the idea of \u200b\u200bcold and dark. There's less harmony, the corners are sharp and separations, the emotions are clear and strong, with no way half. Rome is more conciliatory, more maternal.
So Milan is all that is happening outside, at night, a Saturday evening and a rocking Sunday slumber. Anything can happen out there while you are in transit, passing between two guys who do not belong to you.
Milan is the memory of the impossibility to exist, and nostalgia for transmutation, when you can be all or nothing, at the same time. It 's the heart transgressive and rebellious adolescence, which can not be contained in anything, but is desperately looking for something that contains it. Milan is a girl who cut, vomiting, and escaped.



24/9/06
La stazione è un crocevia dove si scontrano i destini di un sacco di gente, a volte per pochi attimi, a volte per ore, o per sempre. Guardi una persona, le senti pronunciare una frase e da lì ricostruisci, immagini. Un tossico mezzo sfatto che al telefono dice "Pronto, mamma..." e non pensavi nemmeno a quella parola in bocca sua, ha un sapore strano. Un bambino dai tratti peruviani, o colombiani, che ti suggerisce panorami da foresta amazzonica, o vedute andine, vestito all'ultima moda, con i jeans e la crestina ingelatinata.
Persone di mondi diversi che transitano qui, solcano i crocevia immaginari del caotico occidente, trasformano le metropoli in agglomerati faceless where differences are mixed and where all at the same time, there is. Leaving in the mouth the taste of anything.
The metropolis has the power to cancel the distance, to deny the separation but also to divert to the precipice towards moments of immense solitude, while compound split, undo and do coexist. The metropolis is a paradox alive, breathing. Milan is a metropolis that spreads and grows without form. Where everything is so close that they can tap into and then moves away to not see each other anymore.

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I decided: the theme of my blog will DREAMS AND THE CITY '. Two of my specific interests, two passions, two obsessions that often meet and mingle inside me like lovers' bodies. Speaking to me through their embrace and make me live other lives.

The peculiarity of the dream of tonight is the pit. I was in the midst of so many people on the beach. A crowded beach, those style Versilia, with umbrellas close, almost touching the sky and cover. Even my brother and his friends had unit a long table, with a canopy of cloth that covered him, and camps. It was not a summer beach, as always, the sea of \u200b\u200bmy dreams is dark and winter, with the cloudy sky turned gray and very wet sand. It was also moved, marked by swelling waves of swimmers who swam quietly. Recover after the curtain of people who crowded the shore and I stood on the shore, with his feet in the water. I wanted to take a bath but the decision was difficult because the sea was not invited: in addition to waves, the water was cold and dark. My body reacted to this difficult situation but also emotional climate, however laboriously gathered forces to plunge.
But suddenly the crowd gathered and moved to something as guided by an attractive force.
Even I walked with the other, crushed in the crowd, losing sight of known faces. As an unlikely step with sudden we were in my nursery. It was much bigger than in reality and willing differently. Ancient Great rooms with little furniture. Appeared the sisters, including my teacher. There were no children but their presence was felt, even if the environment was more like an empty orphanage rather than a nursery. The rooms are filled with waves, people crammed in search of something, or waiting for a higher order. The flow began again and pushed through the building were coming along dark corridors and rooms that lead to other rooms, in a kind of laborious ascent. The scales were transformed by large staircases nineteenth century in small, unstable ladders made of dark wood, on the attic and the sense of ascent increased, while the sisters remained on the lower floors and I tried my teacher, lost in the crowd to prepare beds for children. I wanted to get there but the pace of the crowd that was entered does not let me. And then I was afraid that I'd know. We ended up on the ridge of a mountain, a cliff overlooking the sea. The last climb was tiring to climb a rock wall, which ended with a sharp point and slippery. There were so many, I and other familiar faces, people of my childhood. You could see the sea out of sight, a sea of \u200b\u200bMediterranean flavor, I can not say what time of day.
The most pervasive feeling was that of not being able to visit with calm and sufficient living space my asylum. Seized by the desire to go back and review it room by room, even in unknown aspects, I was prevented dall'ingombro human who presided. I discovered a dark, dusty corridor of rooms with the nuns. While others had achieved the purpose of the mysterious visit, I felt deeply dissatisfied and disoriented.
I had found what, in my past, I came for.

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Shadows behind his back

Sometimes when you go to meeting future events feel behind the threats posed by signals from the past. I would not have to confront this painful occurrence. The fear of being invisible and forgotten. The fear of not existing, or being confused in the midst of a pit of other human beings who are pressing for survival. The need to emerge almost as a matter of life, like breathing ... the prima delle funzioni che il corpo umano deve acquisire per garantirsi la sopravvivenza. Perchè ho bisogno di tutto questo?
Di riviverlo ancora e ancora fino all'estremo, fino alla ripetizione infinita che non lascia più nulla se non un solco profondo e senza significato.
La cosa che meno riesco a tollerare è il gruppo. Io nel gruppo non riesco a funzionare, divento un arto scollegato che va per conto suo, dove confluiscono le correnti più primitive e meno elaborate di tutti gli altri. Nel gruppo ho paura di non avere aria da respirare e di soccombere.
Lo so, è un discorso poco comprensibile: lo è anche dentro di me, anche se ci sono i collegamenti oggettivi che servono to contextualize and understand what I'm talking about. But here I can not enter them. Here I will only trace data transmission, not trapelerà me anything about the real, if not something of the inside, poured on these blank pages and reassembled as best as possible. I'm not here for me to know, to open myself. Rather I am here to close me, to have a secure container in which the movements without trying to hurt me. I'm here to leave a track I do not make me feel real, but just let me leave here and there things I can not show the world, like seeds sown among the clods of earth moved. My hope is that somehow giving birth to germinate a new plant.
Basically forget to understand: you can take the pieces and groped to connect them, thinking that this experience makes me feel free and protected in my weaknesses, in my dark side scream as much as fiercely in the dark in an empty room. And you can still have a form of me made by you and then create a new me through you, whenever you read. 'S why I made a blog and am trying every day to create my own blog philosophy through the lives that we live in, I make use of them. Not original, not as much as other blogs I've seen around and they are truly a stroke of genius, but mine, my little virtual room where I want to exist. It 's all I can do.

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Ode to the metropolis of glass: NY


I would write about New York from here.
But I can not. Some things I try just there, simply closing his eyes and breathing, trap air, noise and sound. Even the air in New York is special and if you breathe with your eyes closed You know exactly where you are. Are you in NY.

2/1/2005
are in NY for a few hours. I had a shower, chamomile, and now I write from my bed to a huge and half of Manhattan hotel where we are staying. The first impression was abrupt: chaotic, dirty, full of things that catches the eye of quell'accozzaglia marginally in American movies. Wooden houses, 1000 lights, garbage bags for the dark streets of Queens, strong smells, billions of advertising signs, lights in the skyscrapers in a honeycomb ...

Even now I feel it is behind the glass and that will never stop until a new day. It happens to all out there tonight

The metropolis of glass is like a heavy breathing into which all the sounds of America. It 's a notorious street with smoke coming out of the heat from the pavement. It 'a window with leaded panes in a rush on a roof deck to cross. And 'the Central Park where I meet an envoy of Rai 3 walks and I see that a huge lake on which birds Marine formed a band with their bodies. It is the palace of Gosthbusters. It 's a port city. E 'Brooklyn and many faces of farmers in the south that have started to live here a century ago. And 'the city of Oriana Fallaci, even if I did not find his house, but I knew it was there. E'l'abisso of Ground Zero seen at night in which crystals refract light and sink names of unsung heroes. It 'a flute sings God Bless America on a street corner. And 'Little Italy empty sad scene in a movie early twentieth century. And 'no homeless and wondering where is gone.

And 'look up and put a little' before finding the sky.

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Metti tutti questi sogni strani che ho fatto, e la visione di un film surreale e inquietante, "Profumo", al cinema con una mia amica e poi la sosta al messicano, a mangiare cibo finto e piccante. Poi la storia di un amico (ma era un amico??) diciamo conoscente, che ha deciso di andarsene improvvisamente e non si capisce come gli altri la pensino veramente (la parabola del figliol prodigo...). E i sogni che continuano, e sono sempre più nitidi, immagini e situazioni che mi sento di aver vissuto davvero e la mattina, when I wake up and before in real life, I leave my head I feel confused and dazed, as if suddenly I was in another city in another world at the time of a blink of an eye ... who are they really? Sometimes it is so difficult to separate reality from fantasy, dall'allucinazione, it is more convenient to get carried in the kaleidoscope of images of the psyche that are like so many film clips stitched together. Only yesterday, surrounded by a sea of \u200b\u200bdancers pre-and late teens, with shiny skin, hair and eyes bright volminosi. Immature bodies and beautiful, the soft sculptural lines lengthened and slender. Desire to get lost in that world, which vanishes when you close the curtain and vanishes ancora, come un sogno alle prime luci dell'alba.
Un sogno da rincorrere finchè resta fiato in gola. Abiti indossati con noncuranza, gioco di stili condotto con la leggerezza dell'adolescenza, dove tutto vale nel momento in cui esiste e poi scompare. Adolescente per sempre, contro il tramonto, contro il freddo della notte, adolescente nella trasformazione perenne che non porta da nessuna parte. Un orecchino strano e capelli fermati con le mollette e calzini di lana e un maglione largo e una scia di lucidalabbra che risplende nel buio.

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Quando ero piccola trascorrevo un mese di vacanza al mare in Toscana. L'ultimo giorno, prima di tornare a casa, mi immergevo for the last time. I looked at the deep blue water in the mask with eyes and thought Hello sea ... I was sorry to leave. Was the greeting of a child to something that felt alive and part of himself. I just simply this, hello sea ... and I knew he was listening. Silent, waiting for a winter of solitude. Then I walked away, wrapped nell'asciugamano, and I turned one last time to catch his gaze.
Say Hello sea, see you next year ...
sea Hello, see you next year ... (What you gonna do here just for the winter?)

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OPEN WATER. Reflections submarine


I've never seen this film. I've seen the trailer, I heard about it but I've never seen. But tonight I had a dream that reproduced exactly. I was alone in a sea like this, an expanse of water in the eye which was reflected in a dark sky.
I love swimming, especially offshore. Even if it gives you that feeling of vulnerability, of being alone in front of the power of nature. But in the dream I was even more alone because there were no other people, there was no land, there was nothing. Only two sharks, whose fins emerged from the water, Slowly they approached me, harmless as dolphins. But I knew it would not last long. I would be eaten alive. No one could save me. I was alone in front of my death, a terrible death, it would make me suffer so much. I have never seen the end of this nightmare. The idea was so unbearable that I woke up first. I know that I would die at sea. Just as I was born in the water so I die there. Every time I see him, immense and still, a primitive and absolute silence, I would like to disappear inside, forever. How it would break through from there, from the fourth dimension that is water. The water is as an interface between two worlds. That's why I love swimming. Have you ever experienced the sound propagates under water? And 'the sea's voice, the voice of the abyss.
When I think I want to be in a fish to live. I dive, and before I try to emerge a little pain, suffer acutely in leaving that. The re-emergence, the water's edge, is the transition between the two dimensions. I'm over, I begin to breathe with my lungs, I see the sky, the sun warms me. Yet I suffer because I separate ...

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blogs I visited beautiful, true works of art. I wondered why sentissi l'esigenza di creare un blog ma ancora non ho saputo rispondere. Da una parte pare un'esigenza estetica connessa all'impulso di creare che in questo periodo sta occupando la mia mente a tempo pieno. Dall'altra c'è questo fatto delle cose molto personali che normalmente si bloggano, e che anche se non lo sono apparentemente, in realtà parlano di te più di quanto te ne possa rendere conto. Non saprei dire quanto un blog lo faccia chi guarda o chi scrive. A volte mi sembra che sia l'osservatore, il navigatore casuale che si imbatte in quella pagina, proprio quella in mezzo a milioni di altre, che dia un valore a quel blog più di quanto possa averne in sè stesso. Se non ci fosse l'occhio anonimo del visitatore, del lettore, il blog exist? The books exist without reader? It 's the same thing when we ask if the tree falling in the forest with no one feels it makes a noise ...
do not know if the idea of \u200b\u200bmy blog would have taken shape without the thousands of eyes peering from the darkness of the virtual world. Moreover I would like to develop it, improve it day by day as you do when you buy a new home. The first time you go in and feel it and you start thinking what to put in, starting with the essentials to get the decorations, the supellettile, paintings, everything that makes you feel really yours. And my house that I do not have it, and who knows how long I will not, I decided to take this space of nothingness, this virtual apartment of my own, I can costruiredipingerearredaredistruggere way I like it. Where there's only me I open the door and I let the guests. Where can I go if I scream and smash everything. Where do I stand up and shutting myself in my world, and play with words, letters and sounds. Where can I muovermisaltareurlare. I've done it. I opened, I baptized ... Welcome
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not just an hour. I will do it but not enough simply to tell you all I have. I discovered a world while traveling on a train to the old station of Milan in a gray morning.