* Later that same day the

girl who smelled of honey and smoke sat at the desk and lit fires to the town. She had Bianca start at one house and work in a descending circle, burning it all down. She then collected the papers in a stack, tied it with ribbon, and placed it in a box she titled Light Box.

(Shayne Jones)

* A poem from Nonno Guido for you, Martina.

This poem has been on my beloved Musante picture frame for at least one year now, I used to read it once in a while, it was one of the sweetest things I have ever read and it's a poem from my grandpa.
We used to write to each other often, old school letters with a stamp and everything, I would seal mine with  sealing wax, red, or purple, cause grandpa understood all forms of art.
Sometimes I'd put pictures of my London life that I had printed and hand-cut for him and not long ago he had found one and he put it in his lounge, next to all the the ones he liked the most: it was a picture of me and my mum near the house of parliament when she came to visit me in London.

We stopped writing letters to each other when I was working too hard and doing ridiculous hours, but it was always on my mind. I need to write to him, I'd think, in the middle of some job or travel, but just wouldn't do it most of the times. I have no regrets, he knows how much i loved him, but tonight unspoken words are on my mind and in this case, like in others, they are a reminder of how much i hate them.

Unspoken words are always damaging.
Tonight I don't want them, It's too lonely here for unspoken words. Tonight I want to hear the ones that make me go home in a heart beat.



"A poem from Grandpa Guido for you,  Martina: Your return to London."

The plane has landed
on time, by memory,
and in London has landed
your young story.

Another flight, another journey,
your english life
preceded by wisdom
through your courteous emigration.

A wanderer's path
that blossoms with time:
the Patience, the value of
wanting to know more.

But already your thought comes back here
where you turn your face,
while up north flies
your sweet smile.

Guido Montana

(I miss you so much.)

* The past is a grotesque animal.

Drew once shared this song with me.

* August 19th, 2010. The Distance.

Cards of a woman holding a shield. 
And a man, holding a shield. 
There is an angel between them, pouring water on the dirty shields that fell to the floor. 
They can only find each other through Distances. 


I go away,
I look back.
I leave footprints in the sand: signs of thoughts that felt like warmth.
The field is too vast and the sea is too far.


So i go again. 


The footprints washed away. 
The warmth taken by the northern wind.
The man swallowed by his field.

* His heart beats.

I took this photo at Big Chill festival, it was one of those perfect split seconds to be lucky enough to catch.

I love it so much i probably cannot explain... It's purity, happiness, bliss, unawareness, desire to be back to that special place, for one split second.

Thank you little kid for this picture, i wish i could find a way to give it to you.

love,

Martina.