Tag: pure

— Read the First Chapter — — Read the Second Chapter — — Read the previous part — — Read in Italian — The crowd Every human being and every culture which learned how to avoid stepping on the grass, must learn how to live together with solitude as...

Souls (Alive) Death, souls, escape and truth So many pieces of this story seem not to match, as they were a complicated w/b puzzle. We have flashbacks accounted by a crying grandma ashamed of herself, suicide offices and souls hidden inside cut fingers. A story of souls? Little by...

— Read in Italian — — Read the previous one — The encounter The colours and the sounds are fading away, colours in the eyes of a man drunk of life. He drops the bottle and P-ach-sh...

— Read in Italian — — Read the previous one — At the market Markets are complex places, full of colours and voices. Sometimes theatre and cinema try to replace the murmur of crowd just saying Walla Walla All together. But if you have experience of markets, you won’t...

— Read in Italian — — Read the previous one — A corpse that speaks Do you believe in reincarnation?...

— Read in Italian — — Read the previous one — I’m a humble wristwatch Time Time is just a matter of rhythm. The bigger is the space, the easier is to see that movement stretch until it dissolves completely. Here, then, in this small controlled space, time seems...

— Read in Italian — — Read the previous one — A patient certainty Between one of the few certain things you’d find in your existence, believe me, you must add the 8.05 of every Monday morning. In a red bricks buildings with a noisy neighbourhood, an alarm awaits...

The suicide office — Read in Italian — — Read the previous one — The lights of truth The stairs reflect a yellow light, even though today for S. they’re whiter and more lucid than ever. The shadows itself seem to be colourful, all colours coming from a wonderful...

— Read in Italian — — Read the previous one — The soul of a salesman Oh how easy is to follow a salesman, when you’re at his feet. It would be more difficult if I was a glove, lost in between one shake and another in a cold...

— Read in Italian — — Read the previous one — Searching for the salesman Glassy eyes, like the ones emotionless of a big doll. The guy, as everyone always calls him, is looking motionless at the door. No, it’s not an entrance or an exit what he’s searching...