Tus pies
de Pablo Neruda
Cuando no puedo mirar tu cara
miro tus pies.
Tus pies de hueso arqueado,
tus pequeños pies duros.
Yo sé que te sostienen,
y que tu dulce peso
sobre ellos se levanta.
Tu cintura y tus pechos,
la duplicada púrpura
de tus pezones,
la caja de tus ojos
que recién han volado,
tu ancha boca de fruta,
tu cabellera roja,
pequeña torre mía.
Pero no amo tus pies
sino porque anduvieron
sobre la tierra y sobre
el viento y sobre el agua,
hasta que me encontraron.
YOUR FEET
When I can not look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your gentle weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon the wind and upon
the waters,
until they found me.
Saturday 24 December 2011
stay quietly content
"Here we have an appreciation of transcendental aloofness in the midst of multiplicities - which in known as wabi in the dictionary of Japanese cultural terms. Wabi really means 'poverty', or, negatively, 'not to be in the fashionable society of the time.' To be poor, that is, not to be dependent on things wordly - wealth, power, and reputation - and yet to feel inwardly the presence of something of the highest value, above time and social position: this is what essentially constitutes wabi.
Stated in terms of practical everyday life, wabi is to be satisfied with a little hut, a room of two or three tatami (mats) [...] and with a dish of vegetables picked in the neighboring fields, and perhaps to be listening to the pattering of a gentle spring rainfall. [...] the cult of wabi has entered deeply into the cultural life of the Japanese people. [...] Despite the modern Western luxuries and comforts of life which have invaded us, there is still an ineradicable longing in us for the cult of wabi.
Even in the intellectual life, not richness of ideas, not brilliancy or solemnity in marshaling thoughts and building up a philosophical system, is sought; but just to stay quietly content with the mystical contemplation of Nature and to feel at home with the world is more inspiring to us, at least to some of us.
However 'civilized', however much brought up in an artificially contrived environment, we all seem to have an innate longing for primitive simplicity, close to the natural state of living. Hence the city's people pleasure in summer camping in the woods or traveling in the desert or opening up an unbeaten track. We wish to go back once in a while to the bosom of Nature and feel her pulsation directly.
Zen's habit of mind, to break through all forms of human artificiality and take firm hold of what lies behind them, has helped the Japanese not to forget the soil but to be always friendly with Nature and appreciate her unaffected simplicity. Zen has no taste for complexities that lie on the surface of life. Life itself is simple enough, but when it is surveyed by the analyzing intellect it presents unparalleled intricacies.
With all the apparatus of science we have not yet fathomed the mysteries of life. But, once in its current, we seem to be able to understand it, with its apparently endless pluralities and entanglements. Very likely, the most interesting thing in the temperament of the Eastern people is the ability to grasp from within and not from without. And Zen has just struck it."
(Zen and Japanese culture, Daisetz T. Suzuki)
Stated in terms of practical everyday life, wabi is to be satisfied with a little hut, a room of two or three tatami (mats) [...] and with a dish of vegetables picked in the neighboring fields, and perhaps to be listening to the pattering of a gentle spring rainfall. [...] the cult of wabi has entered deeply into the cultural life of the Japanese people. [...] Despite the modern Western luxuries and comforts of life which have invaded us, there is still an ineradicable longing in us for the cult of wabi.
Even in the intellectual life, not richness of ideas, not brilliancy or solemnity in marshaling thoughts and building up a philosophical system, is sought; but just to stay quietly content with the mystical contemplation of Nature and to feel at home with the world is more inspiring to us, at least to some of us.
However 'civilized', however much brought up in an artificially contrived environment, we all seem to have an innate longing for primitive simplicity, close to the natural state of living. Hence the city's people pleasure in summer camping in the woods or traveling in the desert or opening up an unbeaten track. We wish to go back once in a while to the bosom of Nature and feel her pulsation directly.
Zen's habit of mind, to break through all forms of human artificiality and take firm hold of what lies behind them, has helped the Japanese not to forget the soil but to be always friendly with Nature and appreciate her unaffected simplicity. Zen has no taste for complexities that lie on the surface of life. Life itself is simple enough, but when it is surveyed by the analyzing intellect it presents unparalleled intricacies.
With all the apparatus of science we have not yet fathomed the mysteries of life. But, once in its current, we seem to be able to understand it, with its apparently endless pluralities and entanglements. Very likely, the most interesting thing in the temperament of the Eastern people is the ability to grasp from within and not from without. And Zen has just struck it."
(Zen and Japanese culture, Daisetz T. Suzuki)
Thursday 22 December 2011
やるせない
"The Japanese have words for sadness that are so subtle and complicated that the English translations don't do them justice.
Setsunai is usually translated as 'sad', but it is better described as a feeling of sadness and loneliness, so powerful that it feels as if your chest is constricted, as if you can't breathe; a sadness that is physical and tangible. There is another word, too - yarusenai, which is grief or loneliness so strong that you can't get rid of it, you can't clear it away.
There are some things like that. You get older and you forget about them, but every time you remember, you feel that yarusenai. It never goes away; it just gets tucked away and forgotten for a while."
...
"The day after the funeral, I checked my company e-mail account, something I rarely did. I had an unopened e-mail from Hamaya.
It was sent about two days before she killed herself. I have never opened it. I've never had the courage. I don't want to know. I think I have a copy backed up on a hard disk somewhere. I'm not going to look for it.
What's yarusenai?
it's that one e-mail you never replied to and will never open. It's the bad advice you gave and the phone call you should have made and everything that came out of it. It's thinking about the friends that you suspect you might have been able to save."
(Tokyo Vice, J. Adelstein, 2010)
Setsunai is usually translated as 'sad', but it is better described as a feeling of sadness and loneliness, so powerful that it feels as if your chest is constricted, as if you can't breathe; a sadness that is physical and tangible. There is another word, too - yarusenai, which is grief or loneliness so strong that you can't get rid of it, you can't clear it away.
There are some things like that. You get older and you forget about them, but every time you remember, you feel that yarusenai. It never goes away; it just gets tucked away and forgotten for a while."
...
"The day after the funeral, I checked my company e-mail account, something I rarely did. I had an unopened e-mail from Hamaya.
It was sent about two days before she killed herself. I have never opened it. I've never had the courage. I don't want to know. I think I have a copy backed up on a hard disk somewhere. I'm not going to look for it.
What's yarusenai?
it's that one e-mail you never replied to and will never open. It's the bad advice you gave and the phone call you should have made and everything that came out of it. It's thinking about the friends that you suspect you might have been able to save."
(Tokyo Vice, J. Adelstein, 2010)
Corto
Sguardo che si perde all'orizzonte, occhi di ambra, una sigaretta che si consuma tra le labbra. Mi ha sempre affascinata. Stasera l'ho ritratto con le matite regalatemi da un caro amico.
La linea d'ombra la nebbia che io vedo a me davanti per la prima volta nella vita mia mi trovo a saper quello che lascio e a non saper immaginar quello che trovo mi offrono un incarico di responsabilità portare questa nave verso una rotta che nessuno sa è la mia età a mezz'aria in questa condizione di stabilità precaria ipnotizzato dalle pale di un ventilatore sul soffitto mi giro e mi rigiro sul mio letto mi muovo col passo pesante in questa stanza umida di un porto che non ricordo il nome il fondo del caffè confonde il dove e il come e per la prima volta so cos'è la nostalgia la commozione nel mio bagaglio panni sporchi di navigazione per ogni strappo un porto per ogni porto in testa una canzone è dolce stare in mare quando son gli altri a far la direzione senza preoccupazione soltanto fare ciò che c'è da fare e cullati dall'onda notturna sognare la mamma... il mare.
Mi offrono un incarico di responsabilità mi hanno detto che una nave c'ha bisogno di un comandante mi hanno detto che la paga è interessante e che il carico è segreto ed importante il pensiero della responsabilità si è fatto grosso è come dover saltare al di là di un fosso che mi divide dai tempi spensierati di un passato che è passato saltare verso il tempo indefinito dell'essere adulto di fronte a me la nebbia mi nasconde la risposta alla mia paura cosa sarò dove mi condurrà la mia natura? La faccia di mio padre prende forma sullo specchio lui giovane io vecchio le sue parole che rimbombano dentro al mio orecchio "la vita non è facile ci vuole sacrificio un giorno te ne accorgerai e mi dirai se ho ragione" arriva il giorno in cui bisogna prendere una decisione e adesso è questo giorno di monsone col vento che non ha una direzione guardando il cielo un senso di oppressione ma è la mia età dove si sa come si era e non si sa dove si va, cosa si sarà che responsabilità si hanno nei confronti degli esseri umani che ti vivono accanto e attraverso questo vetro vedo il mondo come una scacchiera dove ogni mossa che io faccio può cambiare la partita intera ed ho paura di essere mangiato ed ho paura pure di mangiare mi perdo nelle letture, i libri dello zen ed il vangelo l'astrologia che mi racconta il cielo galleggio alla ricerca di un me stesso con il quale poter dialogare ma questa linea d'ombra non me la fa incontrare. Mi offrono un incarico di responsabilità non so cos'è il coraggio se prendere e mollare tutto se scegliere la fuga od affrontare questa realtà difficile da interpretare ma bella da esplorare provare a immaginare cosa sarò quando avrò attraversato il mare portato questo carico importante a destinazione dove sarò al riparo dal prossimo monsone mi offrono un incarico di responsabilità domani andrò giù al porto e gli dirò che sono pronto a partire getterò i bagagli in mare studierò le carte e aspetterò di sapere per dove si parte quando si parte e quando passerà il monsone dirò levate l'ancora diritta avanti tutta questa è la rotta questa è la direzione questa è la decisione.
La linea d'ombra la nebbia che io vedo a me davanti per la prima volta nella vita mia mi trovo a saper quello che lascio e a non saper immaginar quello che trovo mi offrono un incarico di responsabilità portare questa nave verso una rotta che nessuno sa è la mia età a mezz'aria in questa condizione di stabilità precaria ipnotizzato dalle pale di un ventilatore sul soffitto mi giro e mi rigiro sul mio letto mi muovo col passo pesante in questa stanza umida di un porto che non ricordo il nome il fondo del caffè confonde il dove e il come e per la prima volta so cos'è la nostalgia la commozione nel mio bagaglio panni sporchi di navigazione per ogni strappo un porto per ogni porto in testa una canzone è dolce stare in mare quando son gli altri a far la direzione senza preoccupazione soltanto fare ciò che c'è da fare e cullati dall'onda notturna sognare la mamma... il mare.
Mi offrono un incarico di responsabilità mi hanno detto che una nave c'ha bisogno di un comandante mi hanno detto che la paga è interessante e che il carico è segreto ed importante il pensiero della responsabilità si è fatto grosso è come dover saltare al di là di un fosso che mi divide dai tempi spensierati di un passato che è passato saltare verso il tempo indefinito dell'essere adulto di fronte a me la nebbia mi nasconde la risposta alla mia paura cosa sarò dove mi condurrà la mia natura? La faccia di mio padre prende forma sullo specchio lui giovane io vecchio le sue parole che rimbombano dentro al mio orecchio "la vita non è facile ci vuole sacrificio un giorno te ne accorgerai e mi dirai se ho ragione" arriva il giorno in cui bisogna prendere una decisione e adesso è questo giorno di monsone col vento che non ha una direzione guardando il cielo un senso di oppressione ma è la mia età dove si sa come si era e non si sa dove si va, cosa si sarà che responsabilità si hanno nei confronti degli esseri umani che ti vivono accanto e attraverso questo vetro vedo il mondo come una scacchiera dove ogni mossa che io faccio può cambiare la partita intera ed ho paura di essere mangiato ed ho paura pure di mangiare mi perdo nelle letture, i libri dello zen ed il vangelo l'astrologia che mi racconta il cielo galleggio alla ricerca di un me stesso con il quale poter dialogare ma questa linea d'ombra non me la fa incontrare. Mi offrono un incarico di responsabilità non so cos'è il coraggio se prendere e mollare tutto se scegliere la fuga od affrontare questa realtà difficile da interpretare ma bella da esplorare provare a immaginare cosa sarò quando avrò attraversato il mare portato questo carico importante a destinazione dove sarò al riparo dal prossimo monsone mi offrono un incarico di responsabilità domani andrò giù al porto e gli dirò che sono pronto a partire getterò i bagagli in mare studierò le carte e aspetterò di sapere per dove si parte quando si parte e quando passerà il monsone dirò levate l'ancora diritta avanti tutta questa è la rotta questa è la direzione questa è la decisione.
Friday 16 December 2011
mon petit soulier
C'est la belle nuit de Noël
La neige étend son manteau blanc
Et les yeux levés vers le ciel
À genoux, les petits enfants
Avant de fermer les paupières
Font une dernière prière.
It's a beautiful Christmas night
Snow spreads its white coat
And eyes lift toward the sky
On their knees, small children
Before closing their eyes
Say a last prayer.
Petit papa Noël
Quand tu descendras du ciel
Avec des jouets par milliers
N'oublie pas mon petit soulier.
Mais avant de partir
Il faudra bien te couvrir
Dehors tu vas avoir si froid
C'est un peu à cause de moi.
Little Santa Claus
When you come down from the sky
With thousands of toys
Don't forget my little stocking.
But before you leave
You should dress well
Outside you will be so cold
And it's kind of my fault.
Le marchand de sable est passé
Les enfants vont faire dodo
Et tu vas pouvoir commencer
Avec ta hotte sur le dos
Au son des cloches des églises
Ta distribution de surprises.
The sandman has passed
The children are going to sleep
And you will be able to begin,
With your sack on your back,
To the sound of church bells,
Your distribution of surprises.
Refrain
Il me tarde que le jour se lève
Pour voir si tu m'as apporté
Tous les beaux joujoux que je vois en rêve
Et que je t'ai commandés.
I can't wait for sunrise
To see if you brought me
All the lovely toys that I see in my dreams
And that I ordered from you.
Refrain
Et quand tu seras sur ton beau nuage
Viens d'abord sur notre maison
Je n'ai pas été tous les jours très sage
Mais j'en demande pardon.
And when you are on your beautiful cloud
Come first to our house
I wasn't always very good
But I ask for your forgiveness.
La neige étend son manteau blanc
Et les yeux levés vers le ciel
À genoux, les petits enfants
Avant de fermer les paupières
Font une dernière prière.
It's a beautiful Christmas night
Snow spreads its white coat
And eyes lift toward the sky
On their knees, small children
Before closing their eyes
Say a last prayer.
Petit papa Noël
Quand tu descendras du ciel
Avec des jouets par milliers
N'oublie pas mon petit soulier.
Mais avant de partir
Il faudra bien te couvrir
Dehors tu vas avoir si froid
C'est un peu à cause de moi.
Little Santa Claus
When you come down from the sky
With thousands of toys
Don't forget my little stocking.
But before you leave
You should dress well
Outside you will be so cold
And it's kind of my fault.
Le marchand de sable est passé
Les enfants vont faire dodo
Et tu vas pouvoir commencer
Avec ta hotte sur le dos
Au son des cloches des églises
Ta distribution de surprises.
The sandman has passed
The children are going to sleep
And you will be able to begin,
With your sack on your back,
To the sound of church bells,
Your distribution of surprises.
Refrain
Il me tarde que le jour se lève
Pour voir si tu m'as apporté
Tous les beaux joujoux que je vois en rêve
Et que je t'ai commandés.
I can't wait for sunrise
To see if you brought me
All the lovely toys that I see in my dreams
And that I ordered from you.
Refrain
Et quand tu seras sur ton beau nuage
Viens d'abord sur notre maison
Je n'ai pas été tous les jours très sage
Mais j'en demande pardon.
And when you are on your beautiful cloud
Come first to our house
I wasn't always very good
But I ask for your forgiveness.
Sunday 11 December 2011
in your face
today I got emotional. some good pieces of close family visiting, ex-colleagues getting angry with me because I would not accept to do one thing they asked me to (after I have happily done many others for them), a proud 1,2 km of swimming to release the stress, some chocolate biscuits =) and some Leona Lewis singing. So, yes, I am still abit emotional.
Sometimes I feel not understood. the more you give the more people want. And I am not good at saying no, not at all. I become fragile, I feel guilty. Somehow since I have 'decided' to be the one following her work possibilities, the one without bounds, without kids, the one who is open and helpful, then some people feel authorized to want more from me. well, this is not the way it is supposed to work, sorry. you know me just in part. you do not know what is for me a risky situation. you do not know that you cause me to have a rough weekend in this way. you do not know how much it hurts me and how much inner energy I have to invest back to become calm and balanced once again.
yes, I know, probably this is my problem. I have to learn to deal with all kind of things. but I am no robot.
and no, i am no career woman who chose not to have a private life, who decided that it is better to have the Sunday morning to myself and going swimming, that is not used to have people around anymore and if she does she might easily get nervous, that is not used to share a bed. It is just the way it is, sometimes I enjoy it, sometimes I wish it was different. and, damn, when will my mind stop going to that place? it hurts every time, every single one.
Sometimes I feel not understood. the more you give the more people want. And I am not good at saying no, not at all. I become fragile, I feel guilty. Somehow since I have 'decided' to be the one following her work possibilities, the one without bounds, without kids, the one who is open and helpful, then some people feel authorized to want more from me. well, this is not the way it is supposed to work, sorry. you know me just in part. you do not know what is for me a risky situation. you do not know that you cause me to have a rough weekend in this way. you do not know how much it hurts me and how much inner energy I have to invest back to become calm and balanced once again.
yes, I know, probably this is my problem. I have to learn to deal with all kind of things. but I am no robot.
and no, i am no career woman who chose not to have a private life, who decided that it is better to have the Sunday morning to myself and going swimming, that is not used to have people around anymore and if she does she might easily get nervous, that is not used to share a bed. It is just the way it is, sometimes I enjoy it, sometimes I wish it was different. and, damn, when will my mind stop going to that place? it hurts every time, every single one.
Wednesday 7 December 2011
piccolo
no, i regali no, qualcuno, giusto per sentire che è natale. principalmente qualche souvenir dal giappone.
al mercatino ci andrò magari nel weekend.
ma per me non è la stagione della neve. qui è piuttosto un autunno, una stagione della pioggia. m iritrovo contenta di questo nuovo curioso lavoro, entusiasta dei risultati raggiunti e delle conferme che al momento mi vengono da diversi lati.
gioiosa per una visita della mia famiglia e per un capodanno con un'amica con la A maiuscola.
piccole cose, le petites choses de la vie
al mercatino ci andrò magari nel weekend.
ma per me non è la stagione della neve. qui è piuttosto un autunno, una stagione della pioggia. m iritrovo contenta di questo nuovo curioso lavoro, entusiasta dei risultati raggiunti e delle conferme che al momento mi vengono da diversi lati.
gioiosa per una visita della mia famiglia e per un capodanno con un'amica con la A maiuscola.
piccole cose, le petites choses de la vie
Monday 5 December 2011
once is good, twice is better
The most beautiful aspect of the dark season is that the cities are transformed into giant aquaria: you go through dark streets and can stare through the glass into the windows of lit kitchens and living rooms and watch the people as they swim back and forth surrounded by their furniture. It always seems like you are doing something, which is a little bit prohibited. I love that.
The most beautiful of all aquarium-streets of Hamburg is the Isestraße. Left and right of the Isestraße are wall to wall multistory apartment houses in Wilhelminian style, in the houses are rich old historic apartments, in the apartments live well-earning people. In the middle of the Isestraße runs an iron bridge, on the bridge runs every five minutes the elevated railway. If on a November or January dark late afternoon you travel with the elevated train through the Isestraße at supper time, while traveling past you can look in the dinner plate of the inhabitants of the Isestrasse - which from a distance are as big as dollhouses: in the kitchens or dining rooms couples and families sit at massive tables under stucco ceilings; above them hang candelabra or other lamps which were so expensive that they are called not simply lights, but 'luminous objects'. The luminous objects emit a warm golden glow. The warm golden glow has the strange effect that of the people which are illuminated by this glow one cannot even imagine that they cheat on their partners, abuse their children, blaspheme their colleagues, drink too much , or get intestinal flu.
The inhabitants of the Isestrasse have so little against the fact that one looks into their homes as the Calvinism-oriented inhabitants of the Netherlands, where large at-ground-level street-facing curtain-free windows deliver the message: 'We have nothing to hide'. Only that the inhabitants of the Isestrasse maybe go one step further: 'We have something to show'. Luminous objects, for example.
I grew up in a suburb where in front of each window were hanging curtains and quite many neighborhood residents were living in the cold glow of white neon tubes or, if they were very very hard on it, in the almost-frosty glow of purple translucent neon lights. In this light appeared, reasonably veiled by curtains, all sort of things: murder, intrigue, depravity. My parents had a kitchen curtain, however in the living room behind it many small cozy lamps lit my happy childhood. Still, every time I traveled through the Isestraße as a teenager, I thought: "When I grow up, I also want to live behind such a curtain-less window, where you enjoy to look and to let look."
Later I moved out and I lived in my own apartments. After each move, I have made the street test. I switched on the lights in the rooms which faced the street. I went outside. I stood on the street; the higher we lived the farther away from our house I had to stand in order to be able to see what I wanted to see. I imagined that I was not I and my apartment was not mine. Then I watched myself in the window, verifying.
Yes, I probably have a screw loose. What I saw never reached the approximate standard of the Isestrasse, but mostly I was reasonably satisfied, sometimes even quite happy. Then I went back inside.
The most beautiful of all aquarium-streets of Hamburg is the Isestraße. Left and right of the Isestraße are wall to wall multistory apartment houses in Wilhelminian style, in the houses are rich old historic apartments, in the apartments live well-earning people. In the middle of the Isestraße runs an iron bridge, on the bridge runs every five minutes the elevated railway. If on a November or January dark late afternoon you travel with the elevated train through the Isestraße at supper time, while traveling past you can look in the dinner plate of the inhabitants of the Isestrasse - which from a distance are as big as dollhouses: in the kitchens or dining rooms couples and families sit at massive tables under stucco ceilings; above them hang candelabra or other lamps which were so expensive that they are called not simply lights, but 'luminous objects'. The luminous objects emit a warm golden glow. The warm golden glow has the strange effect that of the people which are illuminated by this glow one cannot even imagine that they cheat on their partners, abuse their children, blaspheme their colleagues, drink too much , or get intestinal flu.
The inhabitants of the Isestrasse have so little against the fact that one looks into their homes as the Calvinism-oriented inhabitants of the Netherlands, where large at-ground-level street-facing curtain-free windows deliver the message: 'We have nothing to hide'. Only that the inhabitants of the Isestrasse maybe go one step further: 'We have something to show'. Luminous objects, for example.
I grew up in a suburb where in front of each window were hanging curtains and quite many neighborhood residents were living in the cold glow of white neon tubes or, if they were very very hard on it, in the almost-frosty glow of purple translucent neon lights. In this light appeared, reasonably veiled by curtains, all sort of things: murder, intrigue, depravity. My parents had a kitchen curtain, however in the living room behind it many small cozy lamps lit my happy childhood. Still, every time I traveled through the Isestraße as a teenager, I thought: "When I grow up, I also want to live behind such a curtain-less window, where you enjoy to look and to let look."
Later I moved out and I lived in my own apartments. After each move, I have made the street test. I switched on the lights in the rooms which faced the street. I went outside. I stood on the street; the higher we lived the farther away from our house I had to stand in order to be able to see what I wanted to see. I imagined that I was not I and my apartment was not mine. Then I watched myself in the window, verifying.
Yes, I probably have a screw loose. What I saw never reached the approximate standard of the Isestrasse, but mostly I was reasonably satisfied, sometimes even quite happy. Then I went back inside.
the black hole
win and lose, fall and rise, rund and fall, bloom and dry.
smile and look forward, open that window and let the fresh air come in. Welcome fresh air, 'Bonjour, ca va?' 'Tu as eu un bon weekend?' 'Oui, il fa froid'.
Welcome, winter. I have collected stories and sun rays. I am ready.
smile and look forward, open that window and let the fresh air come in. Welcome fresh air, 'Bonjour, ca va?' 'Tu as eu un bon weekend?' 'Oui, il fa froid'.
Welcome, winter. I have collected stories and sun rays. I am ready.
Saturday 3 December 2011
le quart d'heure tolousain
rileggere e domandarsi come mai.
poi cancellare tutto, tutto. e aspettare che la demenza cancelli anche quell'ultimo appiglio della memoria.
perchè la vita è qui, ora, ed ha sempre un quarto d'ora di ritardo.
poi cancellare tutto, tutto. e aspettare che la demenza cancelli anche quell'ultimo appiglio della memoria.
perchè la vita è qui, ora, ed ha sempre un quarto d'ora di ritardo.
Thursday 1 December 2011
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