WHO ARE YOU? (tbt)

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 →

Staying home, far from home.

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

Being in Nyc and missing Nyc

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 →

Spring 2020

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 →

Otto Marzo 2020

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 →

As at grandma’s on a Sunday

I was walking through Manhattan and I stopped by Pret a Manger for a quick sandwich on 32nd street. I sat at one of those counters stuck to the windows to see outside. On my right, a beautiful girl with curly and short hair, black as her skin. On my left, an African-American woman in... Continue Reading →

Chatting on the bus

I am heading to a printing shop in Flatbush to pick up the playbills for my first show in New York City. It’s so far that there is only me and two gentlemen on the bus B44. The man on the left catches my attention as he pronounces a sentence that clearly reminds me of... Continue Reading →

Conversazioni sul bus

Stavo andando a ritirare le brochure per il mio primo spettacolo a New York in una tipografia lontanissima di Flatbush, a Brooklyn, così lontana che sul bus B44 alla fine eravamo rimasti solo io e due signori. Quello a sinistra ha attirato la mia attenzione perché mentre conversava con quello a destra ha pronunciato una... Continue Reading →

Tutti vogliamo in cambio qualcosa

Stavo camminando per Manhattan e mi sono fermata da Pret a Manger per un tramezzino veloce sulla trentaduesima. Mi sono seduta a uno di quei banconi appiccicati alle vetrate per vedere fuori. Alla mia destra c’era una bellissima ragazza con i capelli ricci e corti, neri come la sua pelle. Alla mia sinistra una donna... Continue Reading →

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