Writ(h)ing(s)
Things I would have never done on a Sunday: Baking (awful) cookies. Cooking the whole afternoon listening to the Beatles. Staring at the windows for twenty minutes thinking about things I don't remember. Cleaning the balcony while raining. Smelling the basil for 5 minutes. Sleeping until eleven am without feeling guilty. Drinking a cocktail made... Continue Reading →
Monday: wake up, cry, run 3 miles, computer, cook, eat, computer, clap, cook, eat, series, sleep. Tuesday: wake up, sex, computer, cook, eat, computer, 30 min workout, clap, cook, eat, series, sleep. Wednesday: wake up, run 3 miles, computer, cook, eat, computer, clap, cook, eat, series, sleep. Thursday: Oh my goodness tomorrow is already Friday.... Continue Reading →
Human beings are born to get used to stuff. No matter how long it takes but they will eventually get used to stuff. For example, I hate changes, I hate not having control of the present, yet I am able to get used to stuff too. I got used to having an intolerance for milk.... Continue Reading →
This is for you, a man after being a woman. For you looking like a Vietnamese guerrilla but you are probably Korean. For you with short hair and thousands of tattoos. For you getting on the ferry at nine twenty from North Williamsburg, every morning, always dressed in black. For you, always sitting in the... Continue Reading →
I got my first blood test in New York. I went to a cosy and shabby lab in the Polish neighborhood of Greenpoint, in Brooklyn. The laboratory is run by a lady with blonde hair and blue eyes, clearly Polish. She took my personal data and also made the blood draw. From the first moment... Continue Reading →
The worst moment of all this, from down here, is when you Italians go to sleep. Although for many of you the midnight has almost become dawn, that's when everything sinks and leaves room for a reflective and three-dimensional silence that smacks of helplessness and fear. Photo by Christian Lue
I am wondering what the Sun is thinking. He stays up until 8 to illuminate the emptiness. Tribeca, by Zachary Shakked
If you don't believe that this city is a magician, then it's just an expired, smelly city full of rats and of rotten people. If you don't close your eyes before opening them, what you see is not the most beautiful sunset you have ever seen in your life, but just another day that ends... Continue Reading →
My neighbor is a white boy in his thirties. He always wears a hat. Always. He could be American, or from Northern Europe. His house is right in front of mine. Today he cleaned it all up. Even the windows. While I am writing this, he is folding the laundry that has just been removed... Continue Reading →
Questa mattina mi sono svegliata e il mio cellulare era pieno di messaggi di auguri per la festa della donna. E' stato come risvegliarsi da un lungo sonno. E chi se ne era accorto che siamo già all'otto marzo? Io no, che qua non ci sono le mimose. Vicino casa mia, a Roma, c'è un... Continue Reading →
