Trust me because I have no idea of what I am saying
Random Bio Notes
I wanted to write a novel and I didn’t know where to begin. I started from the essentials: dressing up like an artist. I am not sure why, but it doesn’t seem to have worked properly, and I am ending up with some sort of blog.
I love to fly to different worlds with the wings kindly provided by great writers (and I cannot make a list of all these trips because it would be too long).
But I want to remember the turtle in Huysmans’ À reburs.
Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I have the full perception of the backyard of my grandpa and grandma’s little shop, where I spent many days of my childhood. I still savor the aroma of risotto cooked on the old wood-stove, while an autumn pale sun was sneaking in from the door ajar. When I need to calm down, I think about it; and I experience the comfort and the feeling of total protection that I used to sense at the time.
Speaking of perfumes, I totally love the fragrance of maritime pines when it mixes up with the scent of the sea during warm summer days on the hills of Liguria.
I am still trying to understand what I want to be when I am an adult.
I like the word ‘indeed’.
I excel in the art of wasting time.
I am also great at regretting the time I have wasted.
If someone was going to force me to believe in some god, I would choose those familiar guys from Ancient Greece.
I can easily get lost in my own neighborhood.
When I was a kid I didn’t like my indefinable red-copper hair because I thought it was too weird. Now, when my hair is starting to show my age and I get some reminiscence of that color only in summer, I kind of like it.
I had dark times in my life when I experienced the separation or the connection – they were dark times, I couldn’t see too clearly – between mind and body.
I don’t like watches: they steal my time.
I also don’t like writing on a computer that much. When I delete a word, I completely erase any trace of its existence; I feel like I am killing a possible story that on paper would have lasted perfectly incomplete.
Kids are wildly wonderful, special kids even more.