faccio cose, vedo gente

Last night I went to sleep without switching the mobile off; or better, explicitly thinking about not switching it off, ’cause nobody’s gonna call me in the middle of the night, I thought, let’s just leave things as they are. On my bed, I dip into the conforter, and I close my eyes.

I had a dream about a phone ringing in the middle of the night, but I clearly remember that I get up half asleep with a quick jump and then I try to silence it but instead I accidentally answer, then I finally hang up. I see my eyes rolling around, my hands moving like a robot and my inability to unlock the keyboard. The caller id is unknown. I switch the phone off.

This morning I look to the calls list and there’s no trace of any nighttime call. Was it really a dream? Was it the most real dream I have ever had? I was puzzled in between a reality that blurs into uncertainty and insignificant dreams that become accidentally true, without an answer. Did a phone ring? Did I jump on my bed? Did somebody really call me in the middle of the night? And did I really hang up on that call?

The whole day was spent looking for an answer; eventually, I solved the mystery. It wasn’t a dream, because my phone was off this morning, so somebody has to have called. I’ll try to discover if calls from unknown numbers are not registered in the call list. But besides that, it was a very lame day.

Technorati Tags: lang:en, Facts, Quiz, Random thoughts

Do you remember when I was wondering about love, on Valentine’s day, with a couple on my left was playing Monopoly? Today I took my revenge against destiny in being one of the two playing! I had two charming eyes where to lose myself in, and a board game to win at!

I don’t know about tomorrow. Tomorrow destiny could take its revenge against me but tomorrow. tomorrow. tomorrow doesn’t exist now.

Technorati Tags: Humor, Personal

Lenti,

le scoprono i venti:

dorate, lucenti,

perlacee memorie;

tra tutte

le più resistenti.

Acqueo,

l’umore vacilla

guardandole; ognuna

che brilla

a sei passi

dall’altra conchiglia.

Ritorna, costante, la bassa marea.

Technorati Tags: lang:it, Moody, Personale, Poesia

terrified again

of not loving

of loving and not you

of being loved and not by you

of knowing not knowing pretending

pretending

[S. Beckett, Cascando]

Today my friend Alessia assigned me an homework: write something about love. I don’t know if she’s aware of the fact I’m probably the last person that should talk about this, and love in valentine’s day is like presents at christmas, but homework are homework: I have to submit something anyway.

I’d talk instead of love of love, love of the idea of love, idea of love of the idea of love, and so on: I’d be happy to lose myself in a labyrinth of logical nonsense and discover that it’s exactly what I’m talking about but.

I don’t think it’s right. The last thing I remember about love is a few years ago, in a bookstore, picking up by accident a collection of poetry by Samuel Beckett, and still by accident reading “Cascando”. Like a door slamming. Like a pair of strong hands crashing my arms, shaking my body. The truth; so that I tried lying to myself; still didn’t succeed.

Before this masterpiece, I remember Woody Allen’s movie Everyone says I love you. I’d like to have that ability to anticipate moves. Earlier again, a tv series where a little girl is able to stop the time with a touch of fingers. I wonder what I’d do with that power.

Still. There is some deep thing, bubbling like a lava concept, floating in the profound, resisting high temperatures and glacial sensations, heartquakes, accidents, blood despair, sudden changes of mind, emptiness, fear. That something doesn’t grow, doesn’t die, moves slowly, doesn’t talk, doesn’t smell, draws circles.

On my left, a couple is playing Monopoly. On my right a girl just finished a garland. In the middle, I pound myself of questions: what is it? I don’t know. Do we need a name for it? Let’s say: my funny valentine.

Technorati Tags: lang:en, Patisserie, Poetry, Random thoughts

Worried by the incoming weekend and the usual struggle of saturdays-with-boredom I decided at the very last minute to go to a concert of the San Diego Symphony Orchestra, conducted by its Musical Director Jahja Ling. I’ve never listened to him, and I still remember a funny 60 years old lady at the SF MOMA talking about him with high opinion. Rush tickets were just 10$ for student (a status I can still fit in).

The Copley Symphony Hall is an old cinema, and San Diego is not a music spot with a great reputation: so I had very little expectations. The program was a mix of contemporary music and great classics, featuring the Overture from Semiramide by Rossini, a world premiere of a Double Concerto for Violin and Cello by Chin, and the Seventh Symphony of Beethoven. The last one, in particular, is one of my (not so) secret loves.

Before my bitterness could take over, I was already impressed by the strings: what a nice, delicate, precise sound! And what a great unexpected acoustics! Sound was like a river floating towards me and embracing my ears. Rossini was pleasant, even if it was missing some italian drama (the fine art of putting too much excitement into something). The Chin Concerto was very intense, and I’m not the best critic for modern music but it was very enjoyable.

The seventh was not the seventh I have in mind. I’m still looking for someone that can take care of the small silences it contains, and maybe that one is just myself. I remember a few times when the orchestra was playing a little too loud, more to please the audience than to follow the music, but overall the execution was brilliant, thrilling, consistent. And Mr. Ling will bring the San Diego Symphony to a world-class level if he keeps working so well.

To balance the musical genres, after the concert I decided to accept an invitation from my friend Justin to a gothic night in some hillcrest club. I’m not exactly a gothic person but Justin comforted me and my worries with a simple suggestion: just wear something black, and you’ll be fine.

After two Long Island I can take with more ease to be surrounded by fat girls in leather top, tall men half naked with darkened eyes and a nasty mix of haircuts, generally alternating hair and bold, in many different ways. My best gothic style though, was just a black t-shirt, a black shirt and my funky, checkered shoes.

In the general darkness, with a small booze, it’s not hard to mix with the crowd. Dancing next to an unknown woman tied in a minimal black suit and exposing 95% of her breasts is not a big issue, even when she starts rubbing herself on me: no more than a few seconds, don’t worry, I’m not the only one on the dancefloor. After a while it’s me, with my back against somebody behind me, without a face. Rubbing is an important social habit here in the states; it won’t never fit my lifestyle, though, but life is mix. Isn’t it?

Technorati Tags: lang:en, Music, Personal, Usa