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Pena as pain, pain as punishment. Equally lovely

I think people make a great effort to keep quiet the itching hands against certain criminal acts, and against certain criminals.
And I want to be driven by simple currents that oppose the "Italian", "foreigners", "illegal" ... equations with many fashionable, cry (alarm, but especially in alarmism) as "illegal = criminal." I speak first of all men, of criminals.
The rest is superficial and misleading. The rest, according to me, plays into the hands of certain political maneuvers of those who cry "Watch out there !" pointing with his finger on one side, so everyone looks in the direction indicated, and may not notice what is going on behind them ... With 'sti pretexts nations are born, we have established leadership.
We are a nation of the mafia, this time to remember that "black man" does not necessarily Slavic accent or Maghreb, "the black man" can be anywhere because it is "man."
Returning to bomb in the speech, I too, because I do not want soaping of moralism and hypocrisy, I admit it - before the murder, rape, pedophilia - I feel the anger salirmi right behind the ears and, being at that height, with blur hot and corrosive liquid eyes. I would like to hit, hurt, revenge, scan to sound of kicks, punches and insults a clear concept "Who returns to the victim of your actions - be it murder, rape or pedophilia - that which has been taken away?"
In the first case, a life.
In the other two, a normal life.
I would like to see him suffer, bleed, give the legs, collapsing to the ground, spitting blood and crying for mercy and goodness knows how many other sewage intestinal ... and only then ask "And why did not you given your victims, pity? But because you were not able to go further and do not own your dirty act of shit? "
And in front of the silence of his answer, probably, began to hit him.
But then, not very easily, I have to stop the thoughts, to calm the breath and heart rate in the meantime there has been stormy. are forced to use your brain, because it is there to be used, not ignored when he speaks.
I find myself thinking, then, in the long term.
Yes, I think, because what in the short term would seem to me the "just punishment", I then discovered that in the long term would only be something sudden, brief, with a peak at the time, but then would not let trains and simply disperse over the years.
kill those who commit murder, in the long term, not the victim back to life. Far
suffer physically (read "beaten up") who does child abuse or rape who, in the long term, not ever compensate for the suffering of victims (which I do not think will ever, and with whom - I think instead - will be forced first or later to live with, and confined to a dark corner of their own).
Leaving aside the talk - perhaps the most sensible - that could do some of my friends graduated in law on the role of "corrective" and not "punitive" in prison, I'm here to scream - in silence of these lines and my chest - life in prison for one reason: long-term - although the comparison is faded and rough - what could unite the criminals with their victims is the loss of FREEDOM.
Sure, type of freedom taken away from a murder victim has a sharp, inescapable. Lasts forever. The
type of freedom of the child victim of violence (by age) and rape (by the act) is more subtle, psychological, full of echoes and thrills hidden. Anch 'it, in its way, it lasts forever.
The common denominator - the pain and punishment as the penalty as a punishment - so should be something that: 1
. endure forever;
2. reflects key philosophical and legislative crime with the punishment.
death sentence, in my opinion (the second "me" that is able to calm down and stop the launch - at least in his head - kicking and punching the criminal) could not be part of those measures "long term" in, slowly In these lines have come to understand the value. Sure, it would last forever, but it would act much like an angry son of compensation (in the short term!). "Compensate" Unfortunately, it is impossible from the outset: I repeat, a murderess not kill the victims back to life, to physical violence on rapists could take instinctive satisfaction in the short term, but in the long run do not ever erase the trace of violence suffered by victims.
are repetitive I know, are repetitive I know, I know it is repetitive, but rather to convince you, I'm trying to convince myself.
In any case, I know I speak with the mouth of someone who either first or second person has never suffered violence like that. Every now and then but I can not identify myself - having everyday circumstances where surprises are the victims - one of the many boys assaulted while perhaps are secluded in the car with the woman to cuddle. And then find themselves spectators of the rape of his girl.
The sense of helplessness and pain empathy for his woman invaded carnally and emotionally , I think it's something devastating and only remotely conceivable.
why probably speak to this type of mouth - with that of the "theoretical" and not the victim - is all too easy. But in other respects, it may prove even more useful .
If you are all right and spoke with the victim's mouth, perhaps in the world would increase the number of executioners, instead of reducing it. And so saying, I will not totally abandon or belittle the victim, I just try to break away from the "moment" that - emotional and angry - Tends to get caught in the physical reactions of that anger and quell'emotività.
Serve, resuming his speech, exemplary punishment that forces the criminal to live, although very "distant", with the most profound characteristics of the crime that he committed. So I confirm: it must be deprived of a certain form of freedom for the rest of their lives. Now, I'm not perfectly clear ideas about what life inside a prison, so I want to point out that these considerations are made means holding (and I hope to do it right), not as a kind of "holiday village "(at the expense of the state) just a little 'more gray and less exotic than those of brochure travel agencies.
That said, a "non-life" as one of the cell, and a clear mind to think of it (and possibly sadistic?), Is perhaps worse than death.
What is life imprisonment, then, without loopholes, concessions, various workarounds. The only penalty
discount at which these criminals have to learn to draw, in their captivity, is the forgiveness of their victims. Which it is not, legitimately, to arrive.
"Forever" is not too fair.

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promised

Here I am again to chase myself, in the sense that once again I find myself with a backlog of months to tell scary.
Last post update, in fact, dates back to September ... and already it was, in turn, a breath summary of my adventures sub-urban and sub-cutaneous (heart and brain area, as always).
encyclopedic view of the implications of recent months - long before you would ask to Methuselah to write his autobiography - I prefer to deal with all this training period without giving any information (except maybe in the next post, sparpargliando references here and there ... but probably would be just a commercial move to create curiosity and audience). Skip to footer
of all these months, on the other hand, can also be interpreted (nice excuse moral!) as a kind of self-awareness reached (specifically: my limits). In fact, it is useless for the umpteenth time I promise myself to recover the lost time in the next post ... If you already seventeen-year diociotto had already realized that " ... the" promised "are nothing but broken promises, delayed, seeking a second chance. And always manages to have a second chance ... .

short, when at stake is really something important, a new opportunity you can (must) grant, also hoping to receive it.
Il blog, però, è più che altro sfogo- cazzeggiante ...

E poi, anche se un po' indirettamente, quale modo migliore per parlare di me attraverso un blog, se non dimostrando il mio modo di essere attraverso il mio modo di trattare questo stesso blog!?
Ogni tanto mi perdo (e lo perdo) un po' per strada, ogni tanto sforno un racconto (vedi post precedente), ogni tanto mi carico di nuova voglia di ingozzare questo spazio di post, ogni tanto mi sovraccarico e mi esaurisco addirittura prima di aver scritto la prima lettera.
Però, comunque la si voglia mettere - che sia una tastiera di un pc , or rag paper found by accident in the pocket of jeans - I find myself always here.

Writing is a form of slavery that makes me free.

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(Story)

The alarm sounds, the feel, I sat up and do not open my eyes. Do not open my eyes because they are blind from birth, and I say this not to self-pity, but simply to show you that in my life I have never needed to open his eyes in these thirty-four years I learned to look at things for what they are. And, as you can see, even to make the easy irony of my congenital blindness. I do more for you, especially when vi trovate davanti a me: perché se vi rendete conto che per me è una cosa leggera, allora vi alleggerite anche voi, buttando fuori in un sospiro di sollievo tutta quell’aria di contegno che vi appesantiva i polmoni.
Perché una delle differenze tra me e voi, è che voi pensate alle cose solo quando le vedete, io ci penso sempre perché non le vedo mai.
Scusate lo sfogo, non è invidia, la mia: vi potrei invidiare quanto si può invidiare uno che parla il “ Cumanbese ”, quando in realtà non è mai esistita la popolazione dei “ Cumanbi ”.
Quindi non ce l’ho con voi, è che spesso di mattina la sveglia ti precipita addosso troppo early, especially when you did the night before a little 'late to the pub with friends, talking about football, women and work, between laughter and beer mugs.
You are amazed by such a normal part of a blind man? I will see .
To make you feel a little more normal for me that I could tell the evenings at the pub with friends also have a variety of flavors and unmanageable substrates that often fill my head and distract me : the smell of hot wood, the light that keeps you appiccicume the fingertips on the table, the taste of a po'aspro glass mug, the hot and salty fries coming from the kitchen or somewhere around, chats from other tables. These ultime sono le più magnetiche, ma non quelle un po’ caciarone e distorte di chi - per l’alcool o l’euforia del clima intorno a sé - ti frusta con le corde vocali. No, parlo delle chiacchiere più sommesse: quelle mi attraggono per la loro timidezza, per la loro fuggevolezza, come fossero custodi di verità accessibili a pochi. Tant ’è che spesso durante la serata - come ieri - qualcuno tra Luca e Danilo è costretto a riportarmi con i piedi per terra acchiappandomi per le orecchie. A volte metaforicamente, a volte un po’ meno.
Luca è alto (Come lo sai? La direzione da cui parte la voce quando stiamo in piedi), ha un modo di parlare che ti comes along with lashings of ups and downs, a breath of toothpaste ever know maybe because it has that taste of nicotine, especially for a fixed and short hair gel and hair. Yes, more than once I held her head while vomiting blood and alcohol in remote corners of the street and sour piss. Danilo, however, is what has always known that the lawyer would be great: When you were born in and slapped by the doctor to make sure she was crying, he - instead of whining - probably said "I denounce you." Barba always rasatissima (sweet gusts of dopobarda not tell you), always has a way of speaking that now comprises For years I suspect that you write speeches before leaving home.
Luke is terrified of marriage and seeking the love of his life, Danilo is married to Miss Danilo perhaps even before you know it.
And I am made to understand how I started to touch me as a boy, but unlike everyone else, I was not limited to the penis, I explored all forms of my body: I \u200b\u200bhave narrow shoulders, ankles, long a bacon that appears and disappears in inverse proportion to my beer steins, a nose a bit 'curved, pointed jaw and curly hair comb that I gave up ages ago.
all three work in the same bank: Danilo in the legal department, Luke at the counter, and I am a bit 'more behind the scenes, the hotline.
three of us have been friends for almost ten years, and - if we add the appearances every now and mom and dad (her soft, still warm as a freshly baked pie, but firmly in his pudgy, with the smell just mentioned that reminds me of musk and warm hugs for protection), I'd say this is all my life.
And now, instead of being here if I decide to talk to even stand up and start living it, I could not be late for work.
Sheets under the palms of my hands still give off my scent, but are slowly cooling down. I make three steps naked and shivering on the marble, although the window is closed, I feel leaked the draft landscape: little things, like a breath away. The open and a cold breath swells get the room of engines, horns, voices, footsteps and music that intertwine in unexpected combinations. Am referring to the same three steps back, my shins meet the edge of the bed, then I turn right and do the usual five steps to the bathroom. The tiles, in addition to the cold, still exude the scent of floral foam bath shower yesterday and mint toothpaste. I grab the knob plain tap water, pull it up and roar monopolize the water environment. For each lash I glacial self-inflicted, pulling across the skin reacts.
We're more awake, and tone in the room, walking distance to my right over the foot of the bed, coming to the cabinet. I open with a creak and streamlined - from this small gorge that breathes lavender, powder and plastic - do I extract a shirt, a tie, a dress and a pair of shoes. Of course, the choice of what you call "color" for me is completely random, then - if I come across the street, know that my color combinations are the result of compromises, sometimes contentious, between Luke and Daniel , in different fashion as in life. I, around the shops with them, I would spend hours listening to the slow, funny and very personal tone of their hot: Luca gets nervous increasing confidence as a parody of a buddy ; Danilo formality increases becoming a kind of sound human story titled "how to draw up a contract in five easy audiolezioni . Being
damn late, I have to skip breakfast, so I will spare amazing mental calculations to show that, after five years of life in the same apartment, I know of coping with a kitchen with refrigerator, cupboards, stoves, and prepare for trouble-free breakfast with milk, cereal and coffee in mocha. Although with a bit of regret, because one of the things that put me more in a good mood - even after sleepless nights and after quasi-alcoholic - is to fill my lungs with the warm aroma and a bit 'wooden coffee just did. I turn on all the senses, except one, of course.
In his pocket, the phone I propina yet another blast of Luke (I put "The Reckoning" by Vasco as custom ring tone), and it makes me understand that he is still waiting for the metro already a bit '. I consider myself a connoisseur of good music and not because it is non-blind person has a particular sensitivity acoustics, but want to make having to choose una suoneria diversa per ogni nome della tua rubrica telefonica?! Questo fino a quando non inventeranno dei mini-display in Braille...

Con Luca, come ogni mattina ho l’appuntamento fisso davanti alla stazione della metropolitana (dodici fermate e siamo al lavoro). Danilo preferisce assecondare i suoi tempi e i suoi orari, che non a caso si incastrano alla perfezione con quelli di Miss Danilo . Però, se non ci fosse lui nel nostro trio, io penso che andrei a sbattere in continuazione, e Luca peggio di me, nonostante il cieco sia io.
Davanti alla porta di casa, afferro il bastone bianco - che in realtà siete voi a chiamare così quando per me è solo un “bastone” - ed esco. Until a few years ago I had a guide dog, but the passes for all ages, Remo has aged before me and went away leaving me plenty of memories soft, affectionate, hairy, often damp. I liked him a lot of good, even if in the last years of his life - including cataracts and arthritis - I had more to do with guide dog with him.
- This time you've taken a much too convenient,
Luke's voice is a bit 'agitated and full of nicotine. He smoked a lot, me and his breath in his nostrils as you enter one of those corkscrew spiral, despite the cold I anesthetize a little 'nose.
- You know, the city is full of architectural barriers. - I smile. In the near-far
rumble of cars, motorbikes, trucks and buses, I feel Luke sigh:
- No, the city is full of Paraculo, including some with disabilities ...
- Calm, Luke, will not want to beat a person with glasses ... alone?! - Widen the system's smile and glasses on the humps of the nose.
- I'll hit you with your own stick! So you do the easy, not you introduce yourself at the counter ... I've got responsibilities that I ...
- Tonight at the pub on me.
- Ok, no longer angry with you. But now that we're late to three meters.
- Danilo , you must not take advantage of the fact that I'm blind and imitate the voice di Luca, tanto che sei maniaco degli orari alla fine viene sempre fuori...
Luca sbotta in una risata che tenta di contenere più che può per non darmi soddisfazione. Poi mi circonda il collo con il braccio – cotone pesante che ha vagamente quell’odore caldo di tintoria - e mi scrolla la testa come a sancire una specie di perdono paterno.
Ci incamminiamo per le scale e lui non molla la presa paterna: sono certo che la sta usando come scusa per aiutarmi a scendere. Nonostante lui sappia che me la posso cavare benissimo da solo, a volte non riesce a fare a meno di farmi indirettamente capire che posso contare su di lui. Questa gliela concedo mentre, scalino appiccicoso dopo scalino appiccicoso, ci intubiamo nelle profondità della fermata Stations.
entries at the bottom condense into rumble and those closest in a sizzling hasty chatter, there is a piece of music in the background most odious of those with whom I put on hold the phone bank, and the rhythm is punctuated by beeps less out of the turnstiles for access to trains. Everyone knows humidity, rubber, sweat, newspaper, and it seems that every time you smell will stick to him like the soles on the floors made (more) slip by a viscous film.
On the platform, Luke begins to talk about the game of Champion 'if, by its syncopated breath, I guess that is mimicking the same shots, and cross passages is talking about. I listen to him until he starts feeling on her left cheek as a swarm, a barely perceptible current of air, but more and more lively and warm. After about ten seconds, Luke interrupts his personal playing Champion 'if he says
- I hear the blast, coming on the tube.
- A yes, I too feel 'I hours me that you do see ... The metro
slows us down in front of a strong lament of brakes and grinding ferrous metals. With a snort amortized opens the door and in a few steps are surrounded by so many hips, elbows, breathe, more or less intense odor of skin, heat, air fresheners, more or less sharp, and voices, music croaking from readers mp 3, browsed pages or curled.
The train starts pushing me back I'm standing and those around me. Luke resumes his football record, but without the ability to mimic the movements of the players, stuffs the story in detail and at this rate, the game is talking about that I could have lasted two hundred minutes instead of the traditional ninety. Just outside the metro
comes out, I get in my face the sudden heat of the sun, and the pressure of bodies in the wagon, the spaces will be very hot now, and the first pungent odor of sweat were not slow in coming.
the fifth stop, Luke is yet engaged in a lunge on the wing right (in the seventh for the first time), yet to the sixth wing of crossing (his last chronicles more of the episodes of Holly & Benji ), the seventh stop the world around me stops.
My head gets stuck in a smell of a woman who is a natural scent, not sweetened by annoying essences pour femme : a strong smell, warm and fresh with a smell that melts into the nostrils so creamy. It is a smell at the same time is also a taste, a smell that comes through me and to the finger tips, filling the desire to touch, making them aware that the smell have to be associated with something smooth, round, morbido sì, ma anche elastico e sodo. L’odore raggiunge il suo picco nel momento in cui qualcosa mi sfiora la guancia: è poco più consistente dell’aria, lievemente filamentoso, riccio e gonfio. Sono i suoi capelli.

Il tocco in un niente si dissolve, e l’odore perde la sua intensità.

Luca si accorge solo dopo un po’ che il suo unico ascoltatore è altrove e, quindi interrompe la sua cronaca quando il cross di poco prima sta per incontrare la fronte dell’attaccante. Mi guarda e dice:
- Che c’hai? Sembra che tu abbia visto un fantasma! Il che è praticamente impossibile per almeno due motivi. Quindi perché fai quella faccia?
Io assumo un’espressione serious and reserved, I'm closer to Luke and, in a low voice, I ask:
- the case is passed to a rich woman next to me?
Luke's spend a few seconds to process applications that I think the absurdity of the sudden demand, and to look around. Then answers:
- Yes, it's sitting on your left a couple of meters away.
I'm in front of Luke facing away from the doors of the car, then I insist, in need of details:
- But it is sitting on the seat behind me, or those on the side to which I am facing.
- those on this side ... - Respond, then perhaps thinking that "this" is an adjective a bit 'vague for me, adds:
- That is, if you walk sideways like crabs to your left for a couple of feet, you will find face a. .. um ... navel.
The next question I have it almost on the tip of your tongue for a while ', because my head is screaming, hit by the smell. But it takes me a little 'more than you have to ask:
- She is?
Luke again uses some other infinite seconds to respond, and I get hot from the neck of impatience imagining him that if the team. I'm jealous.
- Carina - replies flat.
"How dare you downplay them saying it is simply cute!" I think, are already protected.
"I I hate them because you can watch the quiet here, as I see it I have to touch it. "I think almost at the same time, discouraged the idea of \u200b\u200ba world suddenly enemy, not at your end.
simply replies:
- Ah! - A bit 'stretched from braking to the Metro I bend slightly forward.
- Oh, is rising to exit the car, coming here ... turn around and tell her something - quivers Luke caught the elbow and trying at all costs to rotate it toward her.
- No, but ... How do I. ..
- From here she is here she is, behind you, turn around and say something before it comes out ... - Turns to me and whispers hundred and eighty degrees.
I am face to face with the smell, and then with her. I can hear frantic whispering Luke "by by by by by ...", I feel my heart beating in my ears splashing hot liquid from the tips to the lobes, I feel an emptiness of words in my head.
- Hello! How about a coffee before going to work? - Ask the hard, creating a sort of smile on my face. The smell fades
sucked from the air coming from outside and buried dozens of other odors. When I turn with resignation to Luke, c'quasi not need him to tell me "did not even turn ...", because they already know.

I never thought I would take it, and yet the smell has left its mark all along the path from the nose, I get to the head, and then its fingertips via the heart.
It is as if I had stuck to his nostrils stood between my nose and any other fragrance. As if he knew her, or if I can not breathe nothing but that part of her fading m'è remained inside.
By now, five days are sick and do not pretend that I'm going to work: the director of the bank which has the thought, Luke and Daniel a bit 'less. With the lawyer Danilo
I attached the phone just a few minutes ago:
- tonight if you want to step to you with aspirin and oranges for the juice.
- Dadilo , Orba sits ribasdi only du and bia Badre to gredire in sbremuda d ' Arangio ...
- Okay, but at least take an aspirin and go to club people on the street.
- Gos 'is Guesde ibbrovvizo sendzo ' s uborisbo bard udo doiozo GOME de? Ghe of zend bogo bede anghe du ?
- Ok, come non detto... Ora ti saluto che mi aspetta una giornataccia . Ci sentiamo stasera, riguardati!
- Di rigordo ghe zono gieco ...
- Ok, attacco se no non la smetti più. Ciao.
Nonostante a telefonata conclusa io sia stato assolto dalla Legge, alla fine mi sento colpevole. Non tanto per aver mentito al capo e soprattutto agli amici, ma perché in realtà sono ormai quattro giorni che prendo la metro sempre alla stessa ora di quel primo giorno, alla ricerca di quell’odore.
Perché dall’esatto momento in cui l’ho assaggiato, vivo per quell’odore.
E come la mattina mi chiudo alle spalle the front door, besides being blind, deaf, also became a frantic tachycardia because my ears clogged, disoriented in the middle of the road, totally blowing my mental calculations. And they are forced to wander until the meter really blind, anxiously waving his stick along the sidewalk I walk almost ten years.
Today: road, metro station, the tunnel booming, the cold air in the cheeks shrink, the traffic chaos that shoots you in the ears from several fronts, smog bittersweet, the rumors about rumors about rumors .. . I know there are only because that is where they should be, but I can not hear anything (else).
are in the exact same car the morning before and in exactly the same from the morning of my personal big bang.
In a few seconds to stop.
The doors open.
I, who by now are totally overwhelmed by the smell (and especially from his memory savor, reworked, chopped and reassembled in my heart) when I feel really scared. On the one hand I am afraid that is not as he is no longer able fully to coincide with my idealized memory, on the other hand, I really was terrified that he is, because I do not feel able to do anything.
When I realize that she is really there, somewhere in front of me - and that the smell has a firm consistency that are no longer able to recreate in my head - I feel as if they were shrinking lungs can suck it.
I feel sick, so that for a moment, I suspect - or relief? - That I was really sick. I set out in his direction, no longer driven by its smell, but by his presence, and when I feel I be right in front, someone whispers in my ears:
- Since I first met him, I only wanted to meet you again.
For a moment imagine-believe-I hope they are the words she is speaking to me, it takes me a few seconds to realize that is what I told her.
silence, if not intrusive underground casino.
Silence if not what does not give response to my confession.
Silence, the best and worst answers.
Silence, which weighs and I bend my head down.
I would turn around and leave, but the legs do not want it to soften more than there on the spot.
is only due to the nth and nth stop braking, taking advantage of inertia, I can get back on my bike. I do not know what I'm going to stop going out, but I do not give much. I let myself be carried away by the crowd that comes from sound, and I paste them as my tongue on the palate dry. The voices of the people is a vortex which does not have the strength to expel me from the smell of that woman. Indeed, his memory is now even more powerful and vivid as if it had still ahead. Again I can not control the legs, either. And even his hands, none of the three. Yes, because only now I realize that close to my staff, there is a third hand, I feel the same my not-as those attached to my arms. With an extreme effort to touch the third hand, date back to the long arm of denim jeans and, at the shoulder, my fingers found the same soft and stringy substance tested from my cheek five days ago.
And that's where I understand that the only reason why the smell from the subway seemed more real, it is because it is real. She is in front of me.
smile, or feel more like my mouth is distorted into a kind of smile out of control. I would understand if she is smiling, but I did not dare to touch her face. Let me know what he thinks, but says nothing. It has a regular breathing, as fresh as a glass of water. Only the veins of his hand on my pulse with a slight acceleration. The bulk of the crowd takes away its mass roaring like a summer storm. We basically me and her.
- Because before, in the wagon, did not you say anything? - I ask, trying to contain a tone that I get sweeter than expected.
She raises his hand from mine. The act terrifies me. I tell her;
- No, sorry. Not accused of anything you wanted ... It was just to tell you that ... not that I do what I did ... Come here before you and tell you all those important things ... maybe you have considered the exaggerated by a well you've never seen before ... Gave you trouble?
you stay in front of me, I still feel the smell and the warmth and breath, but he does not answer anything.
- If it's for something I said, please excuse me. - I beg you, now defenseless.
Nothing, she says absolutely nothing. I insist on not going crazy:
- But the 'something, please, for me it is already quite embarrassing cos-
I feel his fingers back into my hand, more something light but edgy. A folded note. I open it and lay in the palm of my left hand while I touch her paper with the index of the right, which has the she wrote something, kicking a lot for me to read it. I love this shade of complicity between us even before knowing what it says. Then, focusing despite the excitement, I read: P

erdonailmiosilenzio, masonosordo - mutadallanascita: nonpossorispondertio at least nonnelmodoincuitutias breasts. C os ì cometuriesciavedermi, m a i n u n m o d o t u t t o t u o . A p r o p o s i t o , i n q u e s t e m a t t i n e i n m e t r o t i h o o s s e r v a t o , d a l o n t a n o , m a s e n z a p e r d e r t i d i v i s t a . S e m b r a v i p r e o c c u p a t o , a n s i o s o , c o m e a l l a r i c e r c a d i q u a l c o s a . O d i q u a l c u n o : u n p o c h i n o h o s p e r a t o c h e f o s s i i o . N o n s o p e r c h é , n o n s o d a q u a n d o , f o r s e d a s u b i t o . M a a p p e n a t i s e i a v v i c i n a t o p r i m a n e l v a g o n e , l e g g e r t i l e l a b b r a è s t a t o u n p o ’ c o m e l e g g e r t i n e lcuore: hocapitochiaramentech eincontrartidinuovoer chevolevoanch NASA or 'me. . . why are there ò chemihaidettosarebbes tatoquellochetiavreid ettoio, sesoloavessipotuto. Omunque C, C arla Iosono.

- I'm Michele - I try to say stumbled back into my own smile.
Hold out your hand in front of me, in a vacuum, and now that same emptiness fills the hand of Carla. Then on the back of my leans like a butterfly even his left hand. Both my guide somewhere upwards until my fingers do not land on a smooth surface, although a bit 'tight. I move the pads on that I recognize as his cheek, and suddenly I feel them sink down a hill, soft, wet, revealing a corner of his mouth. Runs through them all, his lips coming down and back, and realize that Carl is smiling. And trembling. I discover so helpless melts: chest, knees, ears are a single, fluid thing. And my fingers are melting away the skin of the face of Carla, as well as now she rests her hand suddenly, gently on my cheek. Its scent, now, I feel familiar, and this excites me even more, because it is How to rediscover from scratch for every passing second. And I spend a lot. It will pass several more.
Carla and I are blind, deaf and silent, but we are all of a sudden the same liquid and therefore we do not need to look for, or give us an explanation. Not anymore, at least.