In the picture: Reclining Woman by Damien Hirst from his “Treasures from the wreck of the unbelievable” Soundtrack: Maltese: Il romanzo del Commissario (click here to listen) As the day had progressed the bleak weather had done its part and now she was in one of those dreadful moods
Soundtrack: Within Temptation “Edge of the World” (click here to listen) “What’s going on?” The boy was nearly hysterical. The man in strange clothes, the kind the boy had never seen in his young life, shrugged. “When time surges happen nobody knows what’s going on. All you know, although with
“The House of Visible Thoughts is a dangerous place.” “Why? What’s so bad about it?” “It’s a place where reflections live,” he said softly, shaking his head and turning away. “It used to be a place…” Silence swept away his voice like a sudden gust of wind. “What… place?”
He walked into her line of vision, stopped and studied her for a while baffling ten hells out of her as to how he could even see her through both panes of the glass and pitch black shadows. And yet he was holding her in place with invisible hands, head
Walk with me to the places you dare not imagine… The darkness is back. Anybody surprised? No? Good. When darkness falls over Venezia, there is a good chance you might find me wandering the streets of Dorsoduro. It has become my favorite sestiere ever since I spent a week there
She was standing in the room flooded with light that felt as corrosive as acid. Breathing was difficult. And yet even the acid light couldn’t burn out the truth that lied naked in front of her. The deed had been done. It’s consequences irreversible. The pallor whiteness had taken over
I sit here fighting the most ridiculous feeling in the world that just refuses to let go of me. Why am I still thinking about some guy I glimpsed for no more than few minutes, if that much, on some campo in Venezia and photographed just because he looked so
Venezia loves theatre. Venezia is theatre. Venezia is theatrical and I love her for it, because I am dramatic. And the streets around La Fenice theatre are especially magical in this regard. Im normally a tad afraid of the dark, but I am unable to resist nightly walks through this
That November morning wind barged into Venezia and ran through its calles, fondamentas and canals at the speed of 35 km/h, rattling window blinds and tearing umbrellas out of the hands of the unfortunate ones who for whatever reason were forced to be on the streets. And said wind had
Ritornerai, ritornerai da me [Marco Mengoni “Ricordera l’amore”] Basically this was what Venezia was whispering in my ear all the time since March, her voice sweet as honey, soft as a velvet rope. I knew that I would return, I always do, but I wasn’t certain it would happen again
