and i think of how maybe this is the last day of the last month, of me living this way. maybe, and hopefully, and Bring It On.
***
my mother tells me i spend too much money, that i can be very rude sometimes, and that there is no intelligence required in artistic work. among other things, i think of Henry Miller, translated into Italian, in a bookstore by Piazza Repubblica:
L'arte non ci insegna nulla, salvo il significato della vita.
among other things.
***
seven years ago this month, i moved to Italy. i love how now, my mother says to people, "you know, her brother and her father were very against it, but i've always loved Italy..."
***
at Villa Celimontana the wisteria reminds me of new-york-city-lilac. the jasmine at the Colosseo is celebrating something big. and Bramante's arches still feel like spa treatment, for your eyes. there will always be things that will be far from perfect, and people who are unable to understand. you can still be happy.
[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Marco Aurelio, Roma]
[venerd́ 30 aprile 2010 ore 10:17:02] [¶]
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off Santa Maria in Trastevere a jazzman swings his sax, and umbrellas bobble -- almost-but-not-quite in rhythm. as if somewhere you cannot see or hear, there are misprints in the melody.
i watch the weekend wrap itself around my city.
on the bus, i think the good things: the twenty-seventh of August and more kisses than you can remember. how good everything always seems by candlelight -- tiramisu' and Tuscany and talk. how someone's shooting star can go by, and it hardly even matters.
it seems like months since i have walked through a rainy Roman day that is all mine.
in the shower today i tried again, to slough off more of Pakistan, more of the memory of discontent and negativity and blood-so-much-thinner-than-water. i can live away from it, the sick and stupid hate-fest that some people call family. i can do without.
on days like this, it works well.
[nightingaleshiraz] [?]
[Via Marco Aurelio, Roma]
[luned́ 05 aprile 2010 ore 13:06:22] [¶]
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