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Marne

closed the door behind him. Slowly turned the key. Two turns, no noise.
hung his coat. He loosened his tie, black. Undid the top button of his shirt, and white. He went into the bathroom and turned on the light of the mirror. He had chosen on purpose, a sixty-watt incandescent bulb. The mirror height face down. He stood motionless, his face three-quarters. He stared at the eye. Increasingly closer to the light and the mirror is focused on red vein from the inner dispersed to the iris. It is now recognized. An outer circle of dark green, lighter radial filaments. The pupil black and shiny that it shrinks. I always noticed, if carelessly lost the moment the light extinguished and rekindled, focusing on the contraction of the pupil. Then he looked reflected in the contract to a black dot. Her image in her eye.
The apartment was silent. He would not make any noise. Sought to control the breath. He stopped in the hallway. The ears cocked, ready to receive any type of sound. He did not hear anything. She was not at home.
Now he could relax. He hung his coat in the closet. He went into the kitchen and began to heat water. Poured into the cup three tablespoons of instant coffee, decaffeinated, and two of sugar, white. poured hot water and held the cup in his hands. Then put on the table, opened the window and took the soft pack of cigarettes from his pants pocket. He lit a cigarette, exhaling the smoke outside. He could not stand the smell of tobacco in the house. With the cigarette between the index and middle fingers took the ashtray and put it next to the cup. The kitchen was lighted only by the light of the corridor. It was as if the darkness was closely linked to silence. He did not want to disturb this state of calm. The weather could stop now. The cup on the table. The cigarette between his fingers. The moon on the roof of the house opposite.

This perfect stillness was interrupted by the sound of a bell. Three rings and then silence, then three more rings. It was not his. It was not the intercom. Someone stuck in the elevator had been closed. He put out his cigarette, took the phone from his jacket and opened the door. The rings operated continuously. Nobody was out to control, was not the first time that happened since he lived in that apartment. The call button was off. He got downstairs, but the elevator was not there. He tried to press the button that lit. The lift off again. He returned to his plan, he climbed the stairs he heard the elevator doors close and the sound of keys. She was from the back, one foot already in the threshold. Remained stopped beside the stairs. He said nothing. He looked again to close the door and their eyes met.

- It 'she was to restart the elevator?

- Yes, I just pressed the button.

- Thank you very much.

- I have not done anything exceptional.

- No more, however, came out to check.

- If it happens I hope someone comes out to check.

- Yeah, right. Thanks again, and goodnight.

smiled and closed the door, three-pass key. He was paralyzed as a few seconds, then went into the house. He had continued to look through the peephole? Or was it simply came without looking?
went to the room and began to undress. He heard her turn on the TV. Now he would never understand exactly what part of the house he was, the voices of a news program covering the rest of the night.
Their apartments confinement. He was sure that the other side of the room bed there was his bedroom. The walls were so thin that he felt going to the bathroom in the silence of the night. Bare feet away. A door closed, and shortly after the toilet.
The kitchen was on the side on purpose. He was not sure, but had to give on the street. A few weeks earlier he had heard the clatter of dishes, cutlery. Would have expected this kind of noise several times a week, but it was not. Rarely hear the sound of crockery, ol'aspirapolvere or spin of the washing machine. But he was not home all day and had no idea that life did. Fell the most diverse schedules. A few weeks seemed like a normal employee, woke up at seven o'clock and return at eight. Other Once back at night, the two went out in the morning or at dawn. Certainly it was a security guard, but he was sure did not make even a whore. Had no doubt about this. And why not use the house with clients? He lived alone and no one ever came to see.
elements had not, of course it was easy to understand that he was about to leave the house when wearing shoes with heels. He felt to go back and forth for a while '. Then the noise of the keys in the door. In these cases, rushed to the peephole, no noise. He looked out and wait for the elevator. All of the curved lens in small and of poor quality.
All I knew she had heard, filtered from the walls, drawn from her imagination. Yes, he had met by chance on the stairs, or at the entrance of the building. He had never seen but in the neighborhood, or at the cinema or the bakery or the nearby metro stop. The only information given was his name, because he had read on the bell.
Her name was Mama Rossetti.

What Can Heal A Stiff Neck Quickly?

incipit

What could be worse than a Sunday afternoon? You wonder while lying on the couch to switch from one channel to another. The answer you are automatically on Monday morning. In a second you rendi conto di quanto sei stato stupido a buttare via un pomeriggio libero, capisci quanto è stato inutile rimanere sveglio fine a dopo l'una per non fare nulla. In quei pochi secondi prometti a te stesso che il prossimo fine settimana sarà diverso, ma sempre in quel breve periodo di tempo realizzi che non sarà così.
Il bus affronta la prima delle quindici fermate che ti separano dal centro città e già ti guardi attorno come se non appartenessi a questo pianeta. Nessuno parla. Tu non sei da meno, non potresti rispondere a nessuna domanda, non riusciresti ad aprire bocca. Saranno quarantotto ore che non parli con nessuno e non vuoi di certo cominciare ora. Alla quinta fermata sale un tizio con la fisarmonica a tracolla. Il suo sguardo è vuoto. Yours is pure terror. A deafening noise suddenly starts to bounce on the walls of the bus puncturing the shell of silence that envelops you like a cocoon. Do you go to see him making you way through the standing people. Do you see yourself taking the damn instrument is tossed as soon as the door opens. You've never even played the accordion well tolerated. At twenty to eight on Monday morning is the tool that you hate most in the world. Stay still, you do not move, expect everything to end.

Enter the building where the headquarters of the company you work for. The doorman greets you, you answer with a nod and a smile. Not ready, but before o poi dovrai aprire quella cazzo di bocca.
Il portiere viene dal Bangladesh. Parla l'italiano meglio di te. Indossa un completo nero, camicia più bianca dei suoi denti e una massa di capelli che potrebbe donarne la metà a qualche calvo senza accorgersene nemmeno. Quanti anni avrà? Trenta? Quaranta? Non ha età quell'uomo. Non sai nulla di lui. L'unica cosa di cui sei certo è che se facesse un corso di trentasei ore potrebbe benissimo prendere il tuo posto.

Che il vento risuoni nelle orecchie di chi ti ha dimenticato. Questo è l'Haiku di oggi. Lo mandi per email a Laura anche se è seduta proprio di fronte. E' stata lasciata dal suo fidanzato tre settimane ago. They were married in the spring. Has not taken it very well. This is the only thing that unites them: being forgotten. For the rest you do not go to church, hear the furniture ikea, prefer tampons and can not stand Barbara Streisand. In short, two different worlds.

are eight forty small office and there is still no, the week has not even begun.

Do Megalodons Still Exist

pictures of paris (1-6)


I - elsewhere

the streets date back to the left bank
rue saint seine to sulpice looking for memories
is like seeing into the crowd while trying to hide
deceiving not to be followed
you're never really alone in our footsteps take us heavy
our weakness
our thoughts

bend to the right date back rue Bonaparte the gardens
a run in the rain
people at the tables playing chess in a hurry but as arms
families crowd the streets
Saturday afternoon

go down the stairs in a hurry and sit down in front of the building Luxembourg
watch the world go
try not to think
I can always feel strange to want a
elsewhere to be confused with a place

II - visions of the past

My eyes stared slightly close
foreign
dark eyes of a woman
passed over indefinitely rather than wade
I could not avoid it

down the hall to the other end I
crushed in the encounter at the prospect
not worried did not know his language
knew that I would happen
around her dimmed the light faded
as projected in another era

stool to get closer but in vain
every step I took her to the nearest
tried to feign indifference but breath
betrayed me and here I began to understand
she was not breathing down property
only a picture of a time
Remote

III - theater

on various floors
built on the desires
a meeting
inclined
between the features of a path
put a red frame snaps in.
between two rows of thoughts
unveiled

waiting formulated motion of the ever steps
only timeless words of sentences
letters agglutinated
the center a red frame
repeated sequences are not known
centered on the lips of the actor
in ceaseless motion
on nothing

IV - dance

tre persone parlano oltre la vetrata
e lentamente cambiano posizione

uno sguardo e solo la donna dai capelli rossi
mentre l'uomo e la donna con la borsa di spalle
entrano in un altro riquadro

un secondo sguardo e le donne affiancate gesticolano
mentre l'uomo indietreggia

un passo ed un quarto di giro
la borsa in spalla
e un riso scioglie la compagnia

V - attesa

nell'afa del pomeriggio
i giardini vengono chiusi uno ad uno
la tempesta è in arrivo

macchie di grigio nel cielo
come muffe che ricoprono il sereno
salgono dai muri della città
lente solo quando non le guardi

a saint merri il sole scompare
dietro le vetrate e i colori svaniscono
il cielo è coperto di nubi
in attesa
di aprirsi all'unisono

nelle strade alcuni corrono
altri si siedono vicino ai muri
in attesa della pioggia
inevitable

VI - jardin des plantes

hear the water flowing on the walls
digging deep wrinkles
touches the ground in showers
forming channels

the city dissolves into mud
in inanimate matter
in lumps of new possibilities
the yellow sky for the last strokes of the storm


is the color of the walls of the houses
and how these black ruffled
is wet from the rain
fast ground

indifferent dog crosses the street
illuminated by lights on the water flowing
zest
day that this part of the sea on
' water die image of a face
now too far away to be remembered

the dog lies down on the other side
waiting for the sun
knowing useless every thought every action

watch behind a glass that leaves you
and I fear the silence that will

How Do You Beat Solitaire

polyptyque (C ) - Soulages


factory opened early, like every morning, even before the light of day, even before the awakening. had to be all ready for his arrival so he could fully devote his efforts to marble and stucco work hours to hidden scaffolding. the structure surrounding the cenotaph as a cage and allowed the eyes to see the details of the restoration only, temptations, fantasies to distract the intention of bending in search of a hope, there is now her hand arrogant and indicative of a lie, now the sword Perhaps the saint. resumed work in silence, removed the dust, only the pace of chisels spaced hours and prayers of beggars.

'details to distract attention from the harmony of the whole work is relegated to a second analysis, the emotion of the first meeting "would have wanted to record on the back of the blade. perceived his work as an artifact of a demiurge deceiver. hands clasped in prayer surrounded by the prophets eyes motionless, unable to forward the spirituality of a place and collected only in setting the pantomime of the faithful. hagiography exposed on the metopes of the acts of a caption by the hero, to inspire fear that choice to move to the company. details carved in stone, acanthus, glyphs and astronauts.

was already night, he could barely even see the profiles of the altar, took the mortar and began fill in the figures, to complete their spaces, to shape the entire structure, to give life to the monks, pilgrims, miracles, to merge them into one movement. there was one mass of sound, compact, where the first hesitated counterpoint, black, interior, lined with grief and hope. in the morning took him away, speechless looked almost smooth plaster.