Down

Going up is tiring, requires more effort, but gives a nice feeling, Then you're high, and look at the world with the eyes of the alpinist. Going down is fun, you get fast, no effort. You only need a lot of concentration and that state-of-mind of being ultra-awake. I'm down, but there's no fun in it, only being tired. I've worked 70 hours this week, and last weekend was a day shorter, again because of work. Things went well, and others not, but I feel exausted. Also because coming home I found my car bumper damaged. It's a stupid thing, but gets me upset. And because it is cold in here, summer has already ended this year - and there's no light, too many clouds, and they look at me, with anger and repulsion. They shower me if I'm biking, and retreat when I am at office. I'm down today. Too many work buffets, with tasteless food and meaningless words; too many phone calls, and meetings and smiles - never the one I want. I'm down because my father has cancer, which I have learned yesterday, and it looks really bad. Please leave your pity in the comment repository.

Fear

We visited an art exposition. Wondered around pieces of things; everything looked ugly to me. It's the problem I have with contemporary art; it's like you need to know the story, the meaning, the composition, before you can appreciate. Beauty is not immediate any more. I shouldn't complain. Myself I am immersed in a music that makes me alone. But I like it for it is immediate, and touches those strings I am not in charge of.

We left the exposition, and visited the Eindhoven's skating theather. All kids, jumping and revolting around, swimming in waterless pools, balancing their boards on their dreams. I can't skate properly. As I skate I am afraid to fall; fears blocks me. It's raining. While walking, I cover myself with my jacket: I could get wet. Fear. My mom does not dare to speak about my father's disease. Fear. And before I start playing, while counting the rhythm of the music that will be, my finger blocks in fear. I hesitate. Fear. And I look at you. I could hurt you. Fear. I could make you feel guilty. Better look somewhere else, better keep quiet. I better keep those words for myself. I raise my arm, and my coat with it. I'll walk dry today.

Ashridge

I have spent one week in Ashridge, for a company training. The course was nice, and the people I have met is exceptional. But the most impressive thing is the place. Not only the medieval monastery, carefully mantained and restored as college; and not even the gym, with its swimming pool and turkish bath. The garden attracted me the most. At every chance I would walk through it and lose myself. Usually it would start with an amazingly ordered field, or a small court full of fragant roses. Then I would reach the outskirt, and the more I would walk away from the monastery, the wilder it would become. It felt like I was exploring a forrest, and myself with it. Occasionally I would be surprised by a beautiful red-wood, or by a giant oak. I turned left, and found a treasure of unexpected grace. And then the deers would run away, looking at me as the intruder I am. It felt like being kicked out, but I do not belong there.

Today I have saluted the park. It's the last time in my life I will see it. My walk was longer, and slower; I could not let go. So much beauty in one go, too much for me. I looked at it, said goodbye, and my cheast felt empty, and my legs went weak. I'll fly back soon, I am only waiting.

Going to London

I am going to travel again to London. This time not for fun, but for business. Travelling I will move myself and some of my stuff with me, and I will leave some things behind. For instance I will bring my mp3 player with me, which I have loaded with a number of things. One of those is Alice, by Tom Waits; a nice gate to the world of Bukowski - I really reccomend it.

I will leave my double bass behind, and I think I will miss him a lot. Lately I am not progressing much, and I am ashamed of playing it; my teacher says it is going better with the bow, but my left hand is not doing its job properly. Nevertheless it looks like I am going to play soon in front of a big audience...

Marco's visit

Marco visited us yesterday. It was the first thing he thought doing after coming back from Thailand. He neglected all his other friends and family, and chose me as the first person to meet and doing something special. I am honoured.

We visited Edit, mostly an art festival in Eindhoven. The festival was especially gratis and some things were also nice. The biggest attraction was the one indicated to us by Milo, a kind of irregular time machine. If you would spent there 30 seconds, it would feel like 10 hours, and if you would spent 30 minutes, it would feel like 3 hours, and sometimes 3 days.
We saw a drama in which actors spitted at each other, and listened to a concert for 20 detuned pianos. We met Theo Maassen, but fortunately he did not recognize us.

After 3 hours, we went downtown for dinner. My butterfish was delicious, but the homemade coffeliquor was terrific! After dinner, we went for Death Proof, the last Tarantino movie. A lot of action, and good dialogs. A good movie, only the end took longer than I expected.

I sette nani

Quel mattino il sole era alto e i sette nani invidiosissimi come al solito; e non solo del sole, ma anche dei venti perchè erano più di loro.

> Alessandro Bergonzoni

Movies

Lately we have starting watching movies again. The Departed is a nice thriller, with a predictable final twist, even though very far from the conventional US action movie. Well acted and directed, keeps your eyes on the screen all time long.

Children of Men is the most beautiful film I have seen in ages. Imagine a world where human beings are unfertile for 18 years, i.e. from 2008 on. How will it look like? Children of Men tries a descriptioin. As every science fiction, today's trends are extrapolated, and whether the writer is a pessimist or a optimist decides how dark the movie will be. But this one escapes from the technological miracles of the conventional futurism, and just brings to the extremes the fragile balance on which our modern society is founded. A real masterpiece.

La Mennulara

I thought you knew me, but instead you know only a small part of it. I thought I knew myself, but my knowledge is incomplete. As for a teeth, that you don't feel until they pull it out of your mouth. So is it for La Mennulara, whose presence become evident only after her death. Her life is remembered in the memories and acts of the people around her; all fragments, each one distorted by the different characters, are put together for the benefit of the reader. The contradictions, tragedies and misteries form the parts of a wonderful portrait of a strong character, in a Sicily of the 6oths who is changing for good.