Weekend Milan again. Between cinema and a cocktail appearance on 27 February in sixth place. I look at the last stop for twenty minutes and when passes are almost disappointed, because I was running out to take some pictures with my phone. I do not have an iPhone, and the resolution of my camera phone is an insult to photography. Yet in those few images there is a lot to me. I never do snapshots, except in very rare cases where I feel an emotion of wanting to take away from a place where I lived . Then maybe you do not respect anything, but I know they are there. And above all I know I have taken.
selecting the photos selected to be retained in this case, I covered some of those in memory and it was a nice shower of small but powerful memories.
Tonight, somewhere between the hypnotic notes of a piece entitled "The Golden Age " I looked at the old Fair: its buildings under construction, the crane with the red lights a bit 'wobbly on top. The streetlights on the road. The few machines. The tarmac. The crosswalks. The newsstand. The tram tracks with the reflections of light. The buildings around the square and their lit windows. I always like very much to look at houses from the outside, imagine the people inside, the decor, the lives that are going on. Sometimes I want to play over the intercom guessing that the tenants of the windows m'incuriosiscono more, saying "I am" and open myself to give a face to their rectangles of light.
in my phone now there's this: a fragment of the area where I lived more or less my first twenty-six.
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