Significhi _la storia della rosa bianca 
Qualcosa che c'è. Resta. Resterà. Lo sento, lo so.
Immagina che ti sorrida.( come sorridi tu che illumini, come hai sorriso dalla prima volta che ci siamo visti e non è tanto, ma nemmeno poco) Immagina che voglia dirti più di quello che posso e non lo faccio, anche se ho spostato qui, accorta, saggia come non mai( ehilà che Zurigo faccia bene? Che faccia rinsavire gli inquieti, che faccia balenare un regno di non-cielo ma tutto carnale ai troppo ricchi di spirito, di luce, d'amore e di intraprendenza?). Immagina qualcosa di giocoso, timido ma non infranto, persino di gioioso, se gioia non è parola d'abuso digitale. Immagina qualcosa di questo tipo, se ti va. Più di quello che è detto, e dato, consentito e ammesso, permesso, in concessione, per intercessione,per procura o indicazione Più di quello che sarebbe decente dire, anzi, l'inopportuno. Totalmente inopportuno. Lo so, non mi è sfuggito, mi è scivolato dal controllo e la maldestrezza malaccorta che mi ha rigato il cuore oltreconfine ancora mi pesa e adesso si frena senza remore di sorta, ma non può negare il resto. Questo fatto del pensarti. This feeling that makes me feel good. What I want to tell you things you do not have to because they have nothing to do. Things that have nothing to do, diverge. Do not deny it is one thing, here, safe, not sure where to read. I moved here where "just in time" as long as you, from there I still read it. I do not think there is always time, perhaps even the desire. Here I can write. Push (just) one foot over the threshold. Omit no. I can not do. Or at least write what I may do I owe the truth which is radiographed my poetry, my narrative compass. Similar to Chrisitine Angot, so to speak. How does she. Mercilessly, her. Not me. I do not. Celo because I usually write in a "place" where you need a virtual curtain, light and thin to conceal. I write with paraphrases, and allusions and metaphors and prosody, write oblique depending on the occasion. I write because I owe it to the truth of
corpoparola . Oblique and can not be decoded, it is my narrative. Between the lines and spaces.
If ever by chance happen to be here-and I do not think-maybe you will not understand and will be better this way. Much better. I really want. Building. It 's something that means (SEI something that means) but what it is, of trespassing and sweetness is impossible. Unpaid inappropriate, wrong, useless, senseless, not admitted, not detectable, not available (never shown or expressed, or manifest, covered with words, paid tribute to prosodies bold, parentheses infinite) but sometimes it makes me think back to the time in reverse, I "stretched" a gentle hand, able to invade me smile and warmth, let me speak without realizing it , you, for hours. (It's happened, I swear) Unaware. You, before anything else. You, what you do, what I admire.
just talking. In other language, in my. It does not matter. Stateless restless traveler. Each language is good, varied what he says. I thought I would talk about everything then I realized. Even with shame. In part, a mix of shame and amazement, a mix of paralysis, from moments of non-action. It 'happened, I talked and talked and even wrote to you, taking for granted a familiarity that does not exist, displaying a timeless and ageless impropriety. With that load of enthusiasm and momentum and run, always in my arguments, always a landmark, a compass always behavior, knowledge, understanding. I do not know if it's pleasure to the listener (indeed, in certain situations, not really, imagine, seduction in the air, words, environment with low lights, perhaps superfluous words, but to become a flow, and all your will to live and empathic feel good and do good things to wrap around and surprise, and my words become spokesman for the feel). He spent the Gotthard with me the amulet. Leg. (I refer to a post I left in the blog, not da collegare, ma tu sapresti, se mai leggessi qui, e non lo farai mai, lo so)
L'amuleto con me. Non mi ha sempre seguito. Non voglio utilizzare espedienti. Ci sono momenti ( ci sono stati eccome, per fortuna) in cui sai come succede, si appoggiano ai bordi di un letto i braccialetti e anche gli orecchini.( insieme ai vestiti e ai troppi cuscini) A volte gli orecchini si lanciano senza guardare e si fatica a ritrovarne uno. Poi si rimettono, però. Davanti allo specchio, nel brevissimo ed eterno "POI" si guarda il viso roseo di piacere, segnato dall'apoteosi fisica appena vissuta,l'orecchino pendente, il braccialetto nella mano destra, sui fili rossi tibetani, uno nuovo al polso sinistro. Bello, argento indiano, I would love to one day see him, I know.
In those moments, after that (not only, but in that case there is a stock, that covers the face, the expression on a strange numb dismay), my thoughts go back to live, whether it's *** city that is a telephone conversation, it's a moment of enthusiasm, something to write, to experience a German keyboard, the usual things to update. Sei. There are, in the words in the story, tell me in my yet to be defined using a selective memory that fishing where I quite want the past, there would be no need for this. And the breath is not long, and laugh and think that all this I am glad there is still a constant, even in the room gazing across the lake from the window in a kaleidoscope of words gallant there, sitting. This. And then he spent the Gotthard with me the amulet, on his return, but the thought, and sad to be slipped on my "too much" on my "real" on my "necessary" (ah, some slippage is Do not hesitate to retaliate), this, add this, do this and be in a hurry, this desire to live a life of somersaults, has marked a slight regret the trip but will not happen again, (never again I can assure you) will remain between lines and spaces and Too many brackets of some narrative. Remain far (I do not know but I'm learning), will remain far from any wear. A moment supernova.
In any case imagine. Hold me close, I've already said, perhaps the, always full of convoluted syntax masking. Mystification necessary, but volatile, a shooting star. This will keep smiling. Please, pretend. Awkwardness that the misguided there has ever been. Forget it, the momentum from crushed crystals, which sought to emphasize the error, wait for a message or a sign to let your heart jump freely. Forgive, please. How not
dettofatto. So of decency, opportunity (similar to Bach and Gould helped some arts but I know), aware of the value of the seriousness of the stubbornness and sense (well, who knows How many waterfalls sense we deny ourselves, everyone, always, how many conventions assumptions concerns allegations inactions, who knows how many drops of shine let go) will not happen. Never under any circumstances, any sweetness to hear. I have full awareness of what is right and proper (the little details but I worry crumbles redial) So. I will make the oblique light, I will leave tiny spaces of storytelling (a whisper-jerk, always a hidden deviation) in this space and I will bring my own secret, not known, but always concealed at least freer, where can I tell you again and again that means . What it means and you're where you do not have six WHO should not mean, but so is. The non-innocence I have to tell it. I can do and maybe I should not.
(Zurich of the rose is yellow and let dry in the books, awaiting the moment when we will, perhaps, a return may be as well-no, I always think, is my luck, but if there a rose, the white one is the rose that moves me, that instantly makes me chasing pieces of the past and present. The white rose is important)
