I don’t want to live with all of you that exist in your body. I chose one face and now that face is disappearing. I am afraid, I want to hide from eyes that are lurking behind your eyes.
Once upon a time there lived a woman i hated. I hated her because she looked exotic and horrible and beautiful at the same time. I hated her because I didn’t understand her . I hated her because I feared her.
He is a middle aged man, his name is Kabiljo, he is a bosnian jew, he is slow and wise, his granfather used to be a cobbler but he is a merchant, his son will be an engineer in some far away country from his native Sarajevo Bosnia.
Men and women fighting, rich and poor fighting, races fighting, genetics winning…genetics as a lottery, as a token of love for humankind, really nothing more or less…
am i missing something? I am missing his name I know the face, i know that face behind a face which looks kind and paternal but it is a mask, a mask of a kind father who actually killed first his wife and then his daughter
Don’t you see the world is coming apart at it’s seams? Why are you happy? Do you have a compulsive smile? Oh my God, I see it now, a hand is holding your face from behind.
I ve been in Alexandria, I lived in Alexandria Iswam in Alexandria, I remember the smell of the desert, of the sea, of the burnt library…
I was robbed the other day in a bus station. This man not only took my money, but dropped my purse back into my bag with the documents. How kind of him? But really…
Massimo, your name is Massimo meaning the maximum he was a 68 rebel in Milan he was a photgrapher of Vogue he smoked pot
Listen to the falling rain listen to it fall and with every drop of rain I can hear you call call my name right our loud…
It is an egg, it is a faceit is a face in an egg shellit is a mooni am a sleepwalkeri talk to the moon and the moon talks to mesometimes it is a she moonsometimes
I think you are angry I don’t know why but I know tonight you will pick up a fight with your wife and if she does not respond properly, and there is no such thing as responding properly when you are angry, you will beat her.
she was a woman who used to call herself an artist she played everyday a different instrument on the corner of colorado boulevard in pasadena
When I entered the seventh room of the Cheops pyramid, I had to bend and crawl onwards; usually people give up here theie voyage to the mystery of the pharaohs.
Yesterday, when I entered the huge abandoned railroad warehouse in Turin, I went numb with pain. My hosts were showing this structure to me as their memento of pride: their past and future glory, but my senses told me a different story.