Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Remember Remember...

Good evening, Italy,
Allow me first to apologize for this interruption. I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of every day routine- the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration, thereby those important events of the past usually associated with someone's death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, a celebration of a nice holiday, I thought we could mark this November the 5th, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat. There are of course those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now, orders are being shouted into telephones, and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn't there? Cruelty and injustice, intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who's to blame? Well certainly there are those more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable, but again truth be told, if you're looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror. I know why you did it. I know you were afraid. Who wouldn't be? War, terror, disease. There were a myriad of problems which conspired to corrupt your reason and rob you of your common sense. Fear got the best of you, and in your panic you turned to the now prime minister, SB. He promised you order, he promised you peace, and all he demanded in return was your silent, obedient consent. Last night I sought to end that silence. Last night I destroyed the Old Bailey, to remind this country of what it has forgotten. More than four hundred years ago a great citizen wished to embed the fifth of November forever in our memory. His hope was to remind the world that fairness, justice, and freedom are more than words, they are perspectives. So if you've seen nothing, if the crimes of this government remain unknown to you then I would suggest you allow the fifth of November to pass unmarked.

Not my words, as you can tell, but oddly fitting with the mood of the day. I only changed a few words..

Thursday, October 20, 2011


It seems to have become very fashionable to show to the world the head of the person you have just killed. The bloodier, the better. I am not entirely sure I support this new trend. Actually, I am entirely sure I don't. I suppose since the time of David and Goliath, Salome and John the Baptist, or Judith and Holofernes, warriors have always made a point of cutting heads off and use them as a sign of their strength. But I get the feeling it was seen more as a way of clearly showing to your enemy how strong you were. Especially if, like in the case of Judith, a single woman managed to cut off the head of the enemy general.

That sense has now been lost. Correction, maybe it still survives but now the images of dead, shattered bodies are shown to everybody around the globe, whether you like or not. Colonel Gaddafy, or Osama Bin Laden were not my personal enemies, nor of the various news papers and tv stations that showed their bloody dead heads for days. Well, I suppose they were enemies of the West and Democracy, for whatever that means, and therefore everybody's enemy. But seeing their dead heads over and over again doesn't make me feel more powerful against my enemy. It just makes me feel sorry. For people who probably never deserved my pity in life.
Maybe it's the opposite, maybe all this is staged to make us feel sorry, to make monsters appear more human at least in death. But that surely clashes with the victorious headlines that accompany the pictures..

Then of course there is the third option, a lot less poetic and acceptable, that this is just an epidemic of lack of taste and tact that is affecting the world. If this is the case I beg to differ, and will shut my eyes in front of death. In the hope that if enough people do the same we could defeat the disease and go back to knowing what is appropriate from what is not.

Tuesday, October 04, 2011

I believe..

...I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye...

Mark Knoplfer and Savage Garden are rocking in the background of my mind. Setting the mood for a bunch of disconnected thoughts. Yet another big change in my life has happened. And yet another evening spent crying is to follow. I have to admit, haven't been here in a while. I don't even know if I can still manage this. Who knows. Who cares. At the moment I just wanna melt my sadness into tears and let it go. Go river of sorrow, run towards your sea. He is waiting.....

Monday, August 15, 2011


I should be writing my dissertation or go to bed.. instead I feel strangely inspired.
Thing is, I've been thinking about this for a while now and finally I got hit by the right words.. as always, from a song.

"Are there no fighters left here anymore? Are we the generation we have been waiting for? Or are we patiently burning waiting to be saved? Our heroes our idols have mellowed with age, following rules that they once disobeyed, they're now being led when they used to lead the way.."

It's a fact. I, we, grew up with a number of icons in front of me, whether actors or athletes or poets. I was a kid, they, in their twenties, young and inspirational. Now all of them are about 30 or older and somehow not as much interesting. They have mellowed. And I have grown up to be almost an adult. No longer they are icons or heroes. But there seems to be none else to replace them. Actors, athletes and writers in their twenties now are just people my age who chose a different path from mine. I guess maybe, it's a matter of having roughly the same age. Or of being mature enough not to need icons. Or, maybe, the world is mellowing in its own silly days of struggle and laziness. Or maybe, this is part of growing up. I do feel the empty space they have left tho. We, I, desperately need new icons and heroes. Maybe it's a call for me, and my generation, to take the lead and shine. Inspire younger people. And make a difference in this stupid lethargic little planet.

"do you care to be the layer of the bricks that seal you fate? Or would you rather be the architect of what we might create?"

Friday, July 22, 2011

The edge

sometimes the rage comes back when you least expect and just hits you in the guts with all its - forgotten - strength. It happened today. To this point I don't know exactly why.. but it did oxygenate by blood like nothing else can.
The thing is: I'm getting tired, edgy, bitchy and nervous. I despise people around me.. so much that it takes all the power of my rationality to bring me back to thinking they are actually lovely people. Which, in fact, they are.
Anyway, the rage triggered some highly philosophical thoughts.. as usual. Here it is.

I am more of a feminist that I would like to admit. I shiver with indignation in front of gender inequality and patronising attitudes. You know what I am talking about. I do agree with Dylan Moran on that any woman who spends hours getting ready just to walk the dog or whatever is doing it just to please men. I retch when I hear people saying the of course they will get married, because that is what is expected from women. I disapprove of traditional gender roles. I could go on. And yet, sometimes girls are so stupid, weak and annoying that I do think we might have called discrimination upon ourselves. I don't wanna generalize. But man the rage waves I get when I see those typically girly attitudes. I don't know.. maybe this general weakness that some girls display is a reaction to centuries of inequality. Maybe discrimination does weaken you. Either way. Whatever the reason. I get furious around stereotypical girls. To tears.

End of the angry rant of the day.

John Barleycorn must die

Thursday, July 07, 2011

Sons and Lovers

I started reading D.H. Lawrence masterpiece after what it felt like years that I hadn't read a novel. Obviously it has been less than that, but somehow I had forgotten that magic, relaxing feeling that only novels can give you. The infinite pleasure of lying down with a good book and let time disappear altogether. Joy. Pure Joy.
Here are two quotes that today struck me like lightening. Like only good quotes do.

He had denied the God in him.

Sleep is most perfect, in spite of hygienists, when it is share with a beloved. The warmth, the security and peace of soul, the utter comfort from the touch of the other, knits the sleep, so that it takes the body and soul completely in its healing.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Political Thoughts in random order IV _ Freedom

And so it happens, you know, some times the people make their voice heard. Screaming off top of their lungs from the mute voting paper. All very pacific. One cross expresses a preference. Millions of crosses scream "we don't want you anymore. we are fed up." And, as it happens a candidate - or a group of - wins over another and a party gains more support. And squares explode in celebrations. People celebrating throughout Italy, like crazy. People overjoyed. People celebrating freedom. Or the first step towards it.
This should tell you how bad the state of Italy is. Elections are routine democratic institutions. A candidate winning should not equal freedom. And yet it does, in a big way. It does because the feeling is one of oppression. So yesterday's results resound like a warning shot for the revolution to come. Even I, from miles away, felt it. The shiver of excitement that no one else could quite understand "freedom. L'Italia s'è desta. finally." But, again, it shouldn't be. Oh Italy! How did we get there?!

John Barleycorn must die.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011


.. sometimes you wonder what it is that makes you win the battles you win. I, by default, do not consider myself to be particularly worthy of anything.. and yet I find that I am extremely lucky in life. Maybe it's true what Michael Marmot has been preaching for four decades that if you come from a privileged background, you just win at this game a priori. Maybe I have some merits after all (although I'm not comfortable with that option). Or maybe it is as the Greeks put it and too much luck will result in some major catastrophe, which I will have to look out for. I do not know what the answer is. What I know is that I have been pretty damn lucky in life. I don't know whether I deserve it or God has just been too kind with me. I don't know where it will lead me. I don't even want to try and read something into it. I'll just take the fruits and give thanks. And I am not just talking about my achievements. I'm talking about the people I meet that make my life worth living. And the experiences I make blindly, following the instinct of the moment, that turn out to be not only amazing, but also useful later on. And the totally inherited and not at all conscious gift of making people like me. For all this I praise the Lord. And my parents. And all those who accompanied me in this crazy roller coaster of a journey making every bit of it totally amazing. You know who you are. Thank you.

Monday, May 02, 2011

Christmas Carols

Beer the Turtle

There was once a turtle called Beer. He was crossing the road when he got stuck on a piece of gum and he couldn't move backward nor forward. In that moment a car came and run him over. But he didn't die. His shell however, got cracked. The driver stopped, came back and filled the cracks of his shell with crack. That made him feel better.


There was once a girl called Hip, who fell off a cliff and landed on her hip. Falling, she banged her head against a rock and her brain popped out her skull. Luckily a man was passing by and he put her brain back into her skull. She was so grateful that they had sex. But before they had sex a snake bit her in her ****** but she didn't realize thinking it was the man. So the man had to suck all the poison out, and saved her one more time. And then they did it doggy style.

Friday, March 18, 2011


This morning's lecture was truly inspirational. The guy was awesomely cool and I found myself agreeing wholeheartedly with everything he said. Which in itself is a first. He was talking about ethnicity, racism and inequalities and inequities and I suddenly found myself struck by a somewhat distressing thought: I don't have an ethnicity. I suppose that's partly because I'm white middle-class and all that.. but once the thought had appeared in my mind I couldn't stop thinking about it and I realized that I do not define myself in anyway. Pondering over it I found that I never fully identified myself with what it means to be woman in the traditional sense of the term; I wouldn't call myself straight nor gay nor bi; my passport says I'm Italian but I don't really identify myself with that either, nor with being English (despite the fact that I do love the Brits..); I was brought up Catholic but I beg to differ on many of the things that religious belonging implies; yes my skin is white but that doesn't really mean anything to me. What does that make me?I suppose you could say I don't have an identity. And yet I exist and very much so. ---> Epiphany!
Gender, nationality, ethnicity, culture, religion etc.. they don't exist! they are social constructs. The argument is slightly different for sexuality but that has come to have a very strong social component too. I mean, they exist. But the way we define them, the idea of what it means to belong to any group, is very much socially defined and highly stereotypised (ok that's not a word but it is now..). Personal identity goes above and beyond any of those labels. Those are just stereotypes no-one in the world really matches. And yet, people seem to be giving a massive shit about it. If you think of it, the moment you define yourself you also draw a line and define "otherness" therefore laying down the first stone towards discrimination. So the logic thing to do would be not to define yourself. Why, oh why, do we feel the need to restrict our identity to a few, inaccurate labels?
Wait, I know the answer to that.. it brings us back to the good old group and violence theory, good old Renèe Girard and escape goats. In short, people choose to homologate because when something goes wrong the group will pick on anyone who's different and kill them. And no-one wants to be put in the middle in that situation. Fair enough. I suppose you can't escape that. Wait, can't you?! Well probably you can't, but what you can do is to join sides with the escape goat. Throw yourself in the middle. Which doesn't mean repudiate your group belonging, it just means you choose not to see the line. That's it, that's the trick. That is what one of my favourite men in history has been trying to teach us for centuries.. that's what it means to take your cross and follow him. Don't be scared of consequences, don't be afraid of being the escape goat, cross the line that defines groups of people.. because actually there is no line......... we are all human beings after all.

John Barleycorn must die.

Sunday, March 13, 2011

When the alarm goes off...

.... and then you start dreaming. Eyes wide open, brain in full function. And yet you dream. The dream takes form in your head and you can feel what it would be like if it were real. You know, those sensations, emotions.. the ones you lack in real life.. they'd all be there if the dream was real. It would be nice and warm. A place where to curl up and feel protected. Days without anger and frustration and fears... no voices in the head either. You feel it. You feel the warmth.....

.... but, as usual it's just an illusion. Not going to happen. Fine. Something similar? Not as perfect but close enough? Neither.
Just get on with it.

Thursday, February 24, 2011


... my yellow shoes are dying. I put them on today and realised they are (literally) falling apart. Ready to be tossed away.
Whoever has known me in the past two years knows just how much those shoes mean for me. And now they are dead. Time to move on.
Looking at them today I started thinking of all the fun, crazy, important moments I lived wearing them. All those memories were suddenly slightly too much to take and I had to sit down. What now? Do I want to buy another pair of yellow shoes? They are beautiful, but the new pair will not be the same, would it? It would be just like trying and carry on with a worn out relationship.. or scream and fight to avoid getting old.. But, what other shoes would I like now? what do I feel like? What would represent my identity?

That I do not know.
Beautiful metaphor of my life.
Time to look ahead, but to where?


Wednesday, February 09, 2011


It appears that booze is the key to a faster and more productive work schedule. I can go with that.

Why oh why, when I ask for synonyms the internet gives me tips to a flat belly?

The internet is for porn. gossip. lies. and frustrated deluded wankers. and a lot of other interesting things.

Three years at university teach you how to rephrase the work of others in such a way that you know it's plagiarism but your lecturers won't notice.

Note to self. Remember to save work every five minutes. Least it will all crash. again.

There's a seagull in my laptop. Oh no wait, it's actually outside. Pheeeew. That would have been weird.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Political Thought In Random Order III_ The end.

I am watching the slow, but inexorable suicide of my country. I'm watching from far enough feel safe, but that doesn't stop the pain and rage.
Italy is NOT this. Italy is wonderful, warm, chilled and friendly country. Full of culture and art and amazing people. I still believe it, despite the many efforts to convince everybody of the opposite. I believe it, but I'm losing hope.
Silvio Berlusconi is the personification of everything I hate about Italy. The arrogant ignorance, the rowdiness, the lack of respect for everything and everyone. And yet is in power. He is transforming the country in the larger version of himself. And, what worst, he is destroying everything that is good about Italy. This is unacceptable. This enrages me. To tears.
Italy is so much more than that. There is a lot of good in the country. And yet, that voice is not being heard. Why oh why is Italy not rebelling to this bleakness? I'm waiting for my country to show some pride and back-bone. But I fear I'm waiting in vain. What happen to the fight, the protest the rage?! Where did those go?! What happen to Guccini, De Andrè, Gaber, Cyrano, the dream?! Come back! this is the time, if there ever was one to stand up and make your voice heard. Do it. Do it now. Please. Or it will be the end.
Perhaps, this is what sadden me the most. No-one is standing and fighting. Did we all grow brain washed, passive and lazy? Did Berlusconi succeeded in that?
I sincerely hope not.

Destati Italia.