Su come scegliere una direzione

Che facile lo è solo nei discorsi dei novizi,
o di consapevoli ubriachi

Che importante lo è ad ogni istante nella mente dei frenetici,
o procrastinabile frenesia dei depressi

Che non è dilemma per chi resta al centro della piazza,
o naviga nelle rapide

Che si traduce: movimento
o si fraintende: meta

Che accade quando gli alibi sono distratti
e le abitudini disorientate

Su come scegliere una direzione, no,

altro non so.

Una mattina al mare

Come sempre, finisco a rileggere vecchie lettere, email.
Inaspettata, trovo qualcosa il cui ricordo era stato totalmente cancellato e che mi riporta ad una mattina di dicembre di cinque anni fa.

* * * * * * *

Una mattina al mare.

d'inverno di dicembre appena iniziato.
di onde e freddo sulla sabbia sporca.

di tronchi d'albero riversi sulla battigia
e montagne incappucciate dalle nuvole all'orizzonte.

di surfisti in branco alla caccia dell'onda
di onde in fila indiana infastidite dai surfisti

di qualche sparuta persona che camminava sulla spiaggia
di parcheggi vuoti della folla estiva
di teste vuote della follìa estiva
e in bilico tra la severità dell'inverno e quella del mare,
di teste melanconiche dell'autunno che sta per svanire.

l'autunno è nelle strade, nelle foglie che cadono,
e non nel mare piatto e freddo che partorisce sulla riva grosse onde

la primavera sarà nei prati verdi, nelle radure dove la gente cuoce la carne sulla brace
e gioca a pallone negli utlimi giorni d'aprile
e non nel mare di nuovo tiepidamente tiepido.

il mare è inverno.
o estate.
estremale, di confine.
non mediocre nè depresso, non autunnale.
inavvicinabile quando l'umore non è quello giusto,
avvolgente e accogliente se nel giorno buono.

in completa sintonia o discordanza,
specchio totale, del cielo e dell'animo,
e quindi splendido, o inguardabile.

Mostra

Intanto per distrarmi faccio una mostra di fotografia. Anch'essa non so dove andrá, forse da nessuna parte. Non ha importanza.

 Eccola:
 2-14 Giugno 2012, Gallerí Aguéli, Södermalm - Stockholm

 “Under the same sky” is an exibithion about the GalileoMobile project expedition to the Andinian Altiplano. GalileoMobile is a purely non-profit project that brings astronomy closer to young people around the world, and mainly across developing countries that have little or no access to outreach programs. Its first expedition was to South America, through Chile, Bolivia and Perú. South America is a land of kids walking through large spaces, under a clear sky. The GalileoMobile project has traveled in the andinian plateau, a small part of this huge continent, to share the cosmovision of some astronomers with that of local kids and native people. Children all around the world are enthusiastic to observe the sky. To the andinian populations their clear sky is an important everyday-presence in their lives. With human paces they walk the sideral distances of their land, land of deserts and forests, from of the thousand meters of the high peaks of the Andes to the shores of the Pacific ocean, through the rests of ancient civilizations. Stargazing and exchanging dreams with andinian children was an amazing experience, and “Under the same sky” is a collection of shots captured while being part of it. “These shots represent a little homage to this land, as seen through my own eyes.”

Dove andranno queste pagine devo ancora deciderlo. Come tutti i fenomeni umani, anch'esse attraversano cicli, inizi e finali. Tempi piú veloci e incalzanti, ritmi piú lenti, noiosi o barcollanti. Trasformazioni, cicliche, di durata subumana, dove il ciclo piú lungo é quello descritto dal numero dei miei respiri.

Snowflakes falling into place

Snö , this year too

It's time to have the first snowfall of this winter.
Right now, while I'm writing.
Sitting at my desk, writing, enlightened by a candle at my left.
I have just produced a whole page of handwriting. Something magic, considering that I write almost only on the keyboard of a computer.
I complete the page, look at my right and discover thousands of white flakes running like crazy for crashing against the soil of Stockholm.
"Wow! finally! It's magic, beautiful! Finally" I exclaim while opening the window.
Always look forward for the next snowfall,
Always be ready to let its magic to fullfill my eyes,
Always remember the previous one,
Never try, nor hope, to not let it melt away.

Caught in a frame ( I wish it was)

Half drunk, after a night in which I have almost no clue on what I have been doing, I sit in the tunnelbana.
Hopefully heading home, who knows.
It's crowded, even if it's night. Weekend, isn't it?
Strangely caught in the main stream and obscured by the alchool sitting in my veins, I have a sit and fall asleep. Although I think I'm pretty awake.
But no, I think "it's three stops till mine" when it's actually no more than one left.
And still I'm having a nap.
I wake up and see an image.
Still the same station. Still one left to get off the train. Still I am convinced I have a three-stops journey ahead.
A girl and a guy kissing, one of the door of the train being the picture frame.
Behind them, tons of unaware people walking towards their destinations, and the name of the train station shining. The complicate light system of the station is resulting in a simply perfect combination of rays, in which the two lovers are shining and the rest appears for what it is, that is meaningless. He's leaning towards her minute body, in a move resembling a moment of the jump of a delphin going out of the sea-water, the exact moment in which it's leaning out forward another delphin to let their faces to brush one against the other, caught in a frame.
I wake up believing I'm in a Cartier-Bresson photograph. Still, I'm in Stockholm in the middle of a friday night, and the train is waiting a never-ending moment, time-lapse.
Shit, rush opening your backpack, open it and grab the camera as fast as you can.
Done it, turn it on.
One moment to do all of that, one moment is gone.
The door closes. My "click" is barely enough to catch a noisy image of a door hiding a kiss. Fuck.

-"Too late" a man says, sitting in front of me, so far sleeping.
"Too late" he says, drunk sleepy man aware of my toughts.

-"Too slow" I reply, " I was wasting my time sleeping".

-"Wanna go back to the previous station?" he asks.

-"A moment is a moment", I state, while burying again my camera in my backpack.

My stop arrives then soon.
I get off, staggering to my place, my bed, my dreams, my next morning to be mumbled after a muddy night.