Quando il bambino era bambino...

...se ne andava a braccia appese. Voleva che il ruscello fosse un fiume, il fiume un torrente, e questa pozza il mare. Quando il bambino era bambino, non sapeva d'essere un bambino. Per lui tutto aveva un'anima, e tutte le anime erano tutt'uno. Quando il bambino era bambino, su niente aveva un'opinione. Non aveva abitudini. Sedeva spesso a gambe incrociate, e di colpo sgusciava via. Aveva un vortice tra i capelli, e non faceva facce da fotografo. Quando il bambino era bambino...

Monday, March 31, 2008

April is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain

seeing her joke with my friend, making voices, laughing, enjoying herself... and if i try to keep up with the joke she answers coldly, without even looking at me... why should i be so angry, envious of his savoir-faire! so stupid on my part... Those venal and furtive loves filled him with despair. He gnawed the rectitude of his life; he felt that he had been outcast from life’s feast. being invisible is just another, painful, experience. where i find the strength to go back to my work i don't know, to lift the phone receiver, to do something with a purpose in mind... remaining alone in the lab, as usual. driving wildly, with the idea that a ride in the motorway may be somehow relaxing, and then, after a few dangerous manoeuvres, going home to play the piano. immature... things don't fit any longer, lately. the way i approach other persons seems to be useless, and wrong. (Wagner's Prelude from Tristan und Isolde. pic: Isola Bella from Baveno, a few days ago)

posted by Mr Duffy # 23:37