Enchant me, my girl, enchant me again …
You, who are rose garden, scent of freesias, jasmine and fragrant gardenias …
You, who were born from the sigh of a star. You, that the blue sky gently rocked. You, that the pink of the dawn painted your cheeks, turn your eyes to my eyes full of malice.
Yes … because of desire ignites my chest, at the thought of the cascade of your beautiful curls just above your breasts full of life. And I hardly hold back the fire that moves inside me when I wander your body with my impertinent mouth. Continue reading “Autumn Song”
The taste of fresh mint. The sweetness of water. The sense of home that gave me the soft light. I needed this. To believe in these moments of calm, and from here to start a whole new life cycle.
I was finally aware that I had wasted much of my life chasing projects that would have been better for someone else, but not for me. To me, who struggled with the anxiety of a low-paid job, being exploited as if there were no tomorrow, as if my tomorrow was just my business and no one else’s. And maybe, after all, it’s true, is the truth.
And then I glimpsed this open door, on the edge of my everyday life, shoving myself into the business of the century, into the new gold rush: the web!
With the secret hope that by scouring the sand I would have found my nuggets, and I would have achieved success. Here, in a place in the world, where people often tried to get by, rather than fly with different wings … Continue reading “Always Start Again”
I had just closed my leather suitcase, with the thick strap, ruffled my hair with my hands to give them a hairdo, closed the door behind me without knowing how long I would be away or if I would ever come back.
The wind of change was blowing out of my little village. Students from all over the world were protesting against the decisions of those who wanted to keep the power games unaltered as they always had been.
My heart was pounding. I wanted to be there, I wanted to be there where the story was being written. I wanted to see those places with my own eyes, to hear the speeches, to personally watch the leaders of the movement, the great thinkers. I wanted to talk to them. Continue reading “The Spring of ’68”
The overhanging walls of our fjords aroused the fear and reverence that usually reserved for what is sacred. The flat expanses of those highlands, completely covered with snow during the long winter, and emerald green with spring, could only be traversed while keeping firm mind and firm nerves.
The height, in fact, gave an unusual ephemeral euphoria. To look at the abyss we felt drunk, of a strange joy, that could lead to a dark fear. That inexpressible height, hundreds of meters, seemed to bewitch you and inspired those who ventured along the edge of the abyss almost always the same fantasy:
Desire to fly… Continue reading “The Legend of the Falcon-Men”
The mistral blew heavily over the snow-covered country. This winter seemed to no longer end. The cold entered your bones, and the feeling of wet clothes and constant chills seemed inevitable, even next to the lively flame of the fireplace.
I looked at the maps, the maps that cartographers had drawn, exploring the remotest reaches of the kingdom; of this, in which I too lived, and of those neighboring, that I would have liked, one day, to know with my own eyes.
The reliefs, the mountain ranges that marked the border, remote places where nobody had ever set foot.
I was a merchant. Continue reading “The Silk Road”
I had just put the white coffee on the table. My eyes spotted a familiar face on the page of the magazine you had left casually open on page seven.
A distinguished man. With his broad-brimmed gray coat, waving over a Campomaggi leather bag. He was a very well-known entrepreneur. The headline of the news spoke for itself.
“Reaching success thanks to an idea? Little luck, a lot of effort. ” Continue reading “About Success”
Sometimes I stopped under the pergola to listen to the song of crickets. I sat in the semi-darkness on the old rocking chair, hugged my guitar and began to play my chords. Old songs arranged by me, with the memory of what my teacher taught me about music.
Paul… that was his name, the teacher. An old Brazilian accustomed to endless tours on cruise ships. I met him by chance entering a music store.
“I would like to learn how to play the guitar.” Continue reading “Paul’s Guitar”