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Sembra volo di farfalle...

Elevation eyes from the computer and I'm here


looks like a swarm of butterflies wings
imbrillantate
and ice embroidered


rice seems to celebrate
due novelli
freschi sposi
sul sagrato di una chiesa

Sembra zucchero filato
a una festa di paese

Scende bianca

scende lieve

Sembra panna

ma è neve

e con lei l'inverno...

danza.

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Doppio binario (Racconto a puntate: puntata n°7)

Eh sì!, per la prima volta nella sua vita aveva provato a essere dall'altra parte della barricata, in quella zona d'ombra di cui le donne - quelle serie - non parlavano, se non con disprezzo e... rabbia. Rabbia per quelle squinziette, quelle rovinamatrimoni, quelle pantere che dava sollievo immaginare tutte curve e poco cervello, those women who turn on their partner tired of a new vitality, unimaginable, and stimulating erotic fantasy and the ability, no less imaginative, necessary to organize a double life of lies a go-go, work commitments to invent fake, double phone, cashmere sweaters in red ruby \u200b\u200bjustify the unusual presence in the closet, usually immersed in the repetition soothing gray and brown / beige. Now she was the one disturbing presence, those were his humor that remained on the skin, persistent and unavoidable, almost love, love wild, had a scent that can withstand any kind of bubble bath or shower ... hours would have been her, the other, that he was canceling the warmth, safety habits, the thrill of just mentioned rasssicuranti embraces marriage.

It was exciting to be the object of jealousy, not the victim of that feeling painful, humiliating, and corrosive acid such as hydrochloric acid used for scrubbing the toilet, be that barefoot, what, barefoot, was put aside, to be the woman to whom you gave a perfume or a complete or sexy stockings, no gloves or a pressure cooker, combined with the scarf.

Ah yes, the musician had a wife: very busy, very efficient, smart, clever. A woman who was often absent for reasons of lavoro, una donna che mai avrebbe pensato di poter essere tradita. Ma quale donna lo pensa?

(continua... )

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Doppio binario (Racconto a puntate: puntata n°6)

Dopo aver lanciato un'occhiata verificando che non ci fosse nessuno sul pianerottolo o lungo le scale,  lei aveva raggiunto in tutta fretta la porta del suo appartamento dove l'aveva accolta la sua immagine, riflessa nello specchio dell'ingresso - scapigliata, le scarpe in mano, quelle labbra arrossate e lo sguardo chiaro insolitamente allegro - che le era apparsa improvvisamente estranea.

Eccitata e insonne si era affacciata alla finestra, contemplando la città che si andava svelando alla luce chiara dell'alba. Quella selva di houses, where the windows looked like holes left by bursts of bullets, had not notified the usual feeling of loneliness, but rather that the city had seemed the winking, accomplice, an eye, protecting it with the darkness and silence of the streets without ever sounds of the metropolis. There were, as always, doors creaking, banging and swearing that followed, as if to emphasize the simultaneous presence, hidden by night, an underground life, vaguely sinful, lewd and dangerous.

had begun so that story ever told anyone, not kept secret out of shame, but for the fear to see it vanish like mist the sun, as it were a dream, thought for a moment in the transition state of consciousness of waking already part of reality.

had changed, as if a light had turned on the inside to illuminate the eye. His slender body was a bit 'watered, the pitch had become safer, the shoulders were giving to straighten his posture, and so have resigned, a new security.

Everyone, even in the family had noticed.

Al mate, very sure of his fidelity, had told him of improbable and gynecological disorders, with white lies, which she pretended to believe, was already interested in her best friend that, when he spoke of him, blushed and snorted, blaming the fact equally improbable chill by the menopause.

He had discovered the powerful allure of transgression and the excitement of the ambiguity ...

(more. ..)

.

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Come foglia, come pianto

Sull'autunno the fog

already fading

rain gutter,

like water, like tears

And the cherry on the branch, a leaf

,

only one, slow

dangles

e resiste

Chissà come,

chissà quanto?

 

Perché averti amato?

Tanto.

Non sapevo 

che l'amore,

come foglia 

come pianto,

dura un attimo

soltanto? 

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Doppio binario (Racconto a puntate: puntata n°5)

Larghi fiocchi cadevano lenti rendendo invisibile il paesaggio e difficoltoso il passo, ma non i pensieri. Sua suocera non le aveva risposto, nemmeno una parola... mentre lei cercavadi giustificarsi per una scelta fatta tanto tempo prima, quando ancora la gelosia, per quel suo senso del possesso che arose from the need to be loved, and that she had been still-or was it? - Bottomless abyss, dark pit from which no one had ever dared to approach, like a flaming torch in the night.

now invaded Fatigue, muscle after muscle, confuse your thoughts, and his step was heavy and the snow was lit with gold, becoming light yellow and hot that made her slip into sleep hated dreams - colors that are too violent, the troubles - a world that only rationality imprisoned, walling him alive as a convict imprisoned in an impregnable fortress and forever.

"So, what's decision to make?" the voice was trying to be nice, but it was dried and too high. Not to mention that required it to make a decision. On what? He narrowed his eyes and seemed to meet a gaze that stared at her coldly.

"So mom, even the Father ..." You put him well, as my father had called her son, calling the shots. He had just explained that the anger was still there, alive and well, to give him a feeling of blocking the stomach. And if he, the son, had the right to let go in the snow to keep warm in the arms of the greedy owner of a bar of boys, she had the right to make this choice without having the balls between her ex-husband .

"It would be the best choice!"

But look - I think - è arrivato anche lui, mentre riconosceva la sua voce e il profumo del suo dopobarba.

Era una vera e propria riunione di famiglia, peccato che considerandola importante quanto il due di coppe non le avessero detto nulla, né il marito, né il figlio, né... Be', questa era la più bella: c'era anche il suo compagno.

Da chi era stato invitato? E da quando lui e il marito si frequentavano? Eh, già, ormai andava di moda la famiglia  allargata: tutti a far finta di essere superiori, immuni da rancori, ripicche, tutti insieme appassionatamente a mimare di volersi bene, di essere preoccupati per le paturnie della ex moglie, ex compagna, ex, ex...

Se vi aspettate che give you the pleasure to meet you wrong - he thought, taking refuge behind his closed eyelids.

I heard circling that word, annoying like a mosquito: pretending! Not to understand, not to hear ... pretending, pretending.

Pretending what?. It 's funny how people who should know better, do not listen to us, we do not look at it, perched on the assumption of knowing all of us to assume a way of being of itself immune from changes. But the life there runs on without a trace, the lives we change, we change. Not more interested in their opinions: she wanted to live, to do something for themselves, not to give to others, but to take, grab life by the tail ... and discover it.

He had known the man, trivially, that new condominium, comes a winter afternoon, carrying a sea of \u200b\u200bboxes and that piano that did not go anywhere, he had done cursing and swearing traps and drawing curious on the door.

If it was found in front, tall, dark, dark eyes and curly hair as a boy, just graying at the temples. The

smiled holding out his hand and telling her: "Do not tell me you hate the music, I just rented the apartment next to her and she had laughed in turn, intimidated by the look that hot as a slipped sull'interlocutore caress.

In the evening, he played on his door, bearing a tray balanced on a bottle of wine and a plate of spaghetti.

"Have you eaten?" and the smile already spread to the eyes that stared at her amazed, lingering on his lips as if to follow the geometry was the most important thing to do at that time.

"No!"

"So, let me company, but the wine I offer I always manage to find it ..." and had gone on patrol, opening boxes as she followed him, opening a path between boxes and furniture stacked to the least worst.

remembered everything about that night: the taste of wine, the music that he had played the piano, his long slender hands slipping on the keys and strong e. .. After, on his skin, with the same passion and security while the candle light - did not have the electric light - goes out fumigation and the night fills the room.

(more. ..)

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Perché tanta meraviglia, Silvio?

Why so much wonder, Silvio? You have transformed politics into entertainment, in the television show by asking the center of the scene - you an incurable ham - and played your part, proud increasingly warm applause, standing ovation included? So what? Your audience has grown weary, perhaps because your show has become repetitive: the same old maidens, all curves and little brain, always la stessa menata, sempre uguali anche i sorrisi mentre gli spettatori all'uscita non trovavano più il cappello, o l'ombrello oppure i guanti, e, alla fine, nemmeno il cappotto e, tornando a casa, qualcuno si è ritrovato il soggiorno allagato e - come consolazione - solo le tue promesse e, di reale, una bottiglia d'acqua minerale e una vanga. Per cominciare a spalare il fango, anche dal laboratorio tirato su a fatica in anni di lavoro... "Come in guerra... " ha sussurrato tra i denti una vecchietta intervistata in TV, "come in guerra" mentre tu, simpatica canaglia, aggiungevi alla tua collezione di case l'ultima: la reggia di Antigua, costruita lontano dal Belpaese, poiché qui tutto rovina e i paesi ruscellano a valle dopo due giorni of rain, along with earth made unstable, dancer, from the hydrogeological. So maybe someone changed the channel and found a more clever comedian - one who played for free - taking you for a ride, making you look for what you have always been: a strolling player. A strolling player! Yes, but that policy, cheerful, never had much and - let's face it once and for all - should be a serious matter.
You can always change the channel, Silvio, and if I were to appear unified networks, a single click to turn the TV off. E 'policy via video, the image, the "disposable", the one that has contributed so much to your success ... Do not laugh any more? The grumbling is not giving on TV You just forgot? Someone like you?
I wonder, Silvio!

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Doppio binario (Racconto a puntate: puntata n°4)

He turned round and stared at her face and off farm.

"How many years, Angela ...."

smiled at her inquiringly.

"Mary, the daughter of Peppino ..." He made a false

nodded and asked, "do not live here any more?"

"After the death of her husband went to live in the city: his son. It is time to time. Mette two flowers at the cemetery ..."

'And' what do I "cut him short with a smile, as already s 'walk along the road turning a short distance to climb spiral down the sides of the hill until you reach the cemetery on the knoll. The few words that followed the wind picked up scattering them on the grass.

He reviewed the road as he had so often done: young children who hopped beside noisy contending his hand and arguing with each other. The sun melted the snow high in the sky that fell from the branches in an aqueous flicker than the pine. The main gate: Tomb of the family was called for aggressive and heavy on small stones around her, as if it were a swarm obsequiously circondasserero a leader of soldiers on horseback.

It was then that he saw her. Stood out clearly carving out a space in the whiteness glittering landscape, the black dress that fell on the slender body mingling with the mass of dark, glossy hair, a veil that obscured his eyes. He stared for a long moment, taking the measurement. Suspicious.

"Angela: I never thought I'd review" said his mother-in-law.

"Life is no surprise. Again!" answered approaching. He wondered who wore the hat too elegant, not very suited to the location and the season, as the dress and shoes high-heeled black suede.

"You have not changed," he added, with a certain envy, noting that the face, the haughty profile, it was still beautiful, incredibly beautiful for her age, and the need to justify himself to her leads her to tell her "I know that you have not approved my decision, but ..."

The woman looked at her, waiting. Or was she who mistook waiting for what was only a veneer of polite indifference?

began to speak, the voice in the silence of the place had become almost a whisper incomprensible, while she was trying to give those words that came from his lips barely a fullness that did not have. Why could not articulate the words, or to detach from each other? They were like a raging torrent, the expression of anxiety now that overflowed flooding the overwhelming silence, bouncing off the tombstones and on the face of the woman, davanti a lei, la osservava fredda, distante, l'espressione immobile, come quella dei volti che le lapidi incorniciavano nel gelo del marmo.

Il rancore, mai superato del tutto, la soffocava e il silenzio dell'altra, lungi dal calmarla, aumentava la sua rabbia mentre le accuse rivolte al marito rimbalzavano su quel nome, il nome della rivale, che le sue labbra nominavano torcendosi.

"Be', dimmi qualcosa, rispondimi!" esclamò alla fine, sempre con quella voce soffocata, innaturale, monotona che non le apparteneva. La risposta fu un enigmatico sorriso, seguito da un gesto fatto la mano: quasi un gesto d'addio che tale si rivelò quando, distratta da un frullo d'ali, dopo aver seguito il volo di un bird, noting she lowered her gaze, surprised that there was no one in front of her and the only noise you heard was the faint squeaking coming from the open door that gave access to the family tomb. A feeling of fear, the vice stomach and hurry, the rush for a few minutes he had granted a truce, pushed her back to get in gear ... To go and, like a hunted animal, running to escape something, to someone. Few seconds were enough to reach the gate and exit.

had begun to snow again.

(more. ..)

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Mio caro Presidente...

My dear President,

has not yet realized that his time is up? From the roofs of factories, from the cranes, the roads that are increasingly filled with people, there comes a shout, a roar that will soon be rumbling. Do not you feel, Mr. President, do not feel them, the guys who are hungry for work, immigrants who claim the right to exist, to be citizens like any other, does not hear the grin from abroad, the chuckles of derision that follow it, around it, the false rumors of the servants who still flatter ... ? E 'deaf, President? E 'blind? The working around, and beyond, the story moves fast, where there is direct knowledge, but certainly in the future you will not see because it is old, it is unmade. 'S life, President, with its rules, and there is a credit card that could change.

Look in a mirror in the pale light, relentless, day and realize that is born to be a broken man. Take off the makeup, slip off those ridiculous high-heeled shoes - not a dancer, is a grandfather - to stop and smile (you) save those jokes becere, vulgar, those jokes that are no longer fun no. Take the door and opens them to the shoulders. We did not want to laugh, we turn the page ...

and start over.

disappear, President. Resign! That 's what awaits the country, is what the country requires.

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double track (serialized stories: episode # 3)

I have to go - he thought, getting up quickly and leaving money on the table, without looking back, the urgency to move that gave her an excitement for her unusual gestures.
The sun now enveloped the valley opens up before his eyes. He knew those rugged mountains, points, and their silence, knew the road that wound, alternating with short curved straight down into the valley. Although covered in snow would be able to distinguish the path, even with my eyes closed. He quickened his pace, down safe. Compared to the night just past advancing quite delivered. The son followed the more ... He must have stopped. Perhaps the owner of the local offer him the liver sausage in oil, maybe they got tired of following her in the race that he must have seemed meaningless. Be ', had grown up person, if it would manage itself in one way or another.
The coffee was burning the stomach and the bitter cold made her shiver. Almost without realizing it was in a square, one of those squares so common in countries not to be nearly indistinguishable from one another. The ever-present church on the one hand, the bar second, houses and a shop of food to demarcate the space that is at the heart of each country. Some old man playing cards in hand, the beguine front of the church, black as ravens hopping in the snow in search of food. Nothing seems to change, even in the house beside the church.
He went and put his ear to the door of the gate. Silence. Absolute. It had been so long, what had she expected? To find someone? To be welcomed to the sound of brass bands?
He moved slowly and peered through the fence into the garden. It was wild, the bushes had invaded the beds. The hedge no longer trimmed, thick as a wall, fell into disorder intertwined with weeds and overflowing into the square.
"Hello?" His voice sounded shrill and behind him he heard, before you even detect its presence, a woman's voice apostrophe in a questioning tone, "Are you Angela? My God, How long has it been? "
(more. ..)