Fabrizio Ulivieri - Content Creator

  Davanti a un corpo mi meraviglio Ogni volta senza parola guardo Con amore - come padre il figlio.

  Se è vero che amo te Allora davvero tu sai Che si apre fra me e te. Ti amai e mai t'ingannai. Nel riso, dolore e pianto Cosí andai e sempre sperai. Ma davvero tu amavi tanto? Or che vai da solo e distante Ora che bisogno te accanto. La notte verrai un istante? La fronte mi accarezzerai? O a guarirmi ancor titubante?

  Many times I’ve listened to Paolo Sorrentino, the film director, talk about boredom, which he ultimately sees as something positive in human life. A creative act, in the end. I’m not sure I agree. When you are bored, you lose the creative force that generates motivation, or even anxiety. When you are bored, you drift. You float. You remain alive, but with a sense of disgust. At least that’s how it is for me. I am bored, that is, I am disgusted, with this world of lies and emptiness, of cultural emptiness. Ninety-eight percent of what is published, posted, or produced is crap, or at best inane chatter. And because I am bored, I lose the sense of my own existence. I lose the meaning of my everyday life. Of course, this cannot be merely personal. I believe in the Zeitgeist . What I feel and think today is not what I felt or thought twenty years ago, nor what I will feel or think ten years from now. Time changes us, unavoidably. We think, and we are, according to what the esprit du t...

  Chi eravate? Chi siete voi stati? Tu e lei create - due macchine perfette Da un logos divino a voi doni dati. Meraviglie tenevate e ben strette In vita cosí gettati - a esistere E al mondo consegnare benedette. Il ricordo di voi voci sapere Che appaiono dal nulla e al nulla Ritornano per sempre a cadere. Il logos divino di lor si culla II suo frutto a me talora appare Ma poi scompare e il suon ne rifrulla Nel vibrar d'aria le vedo vagare. Per quanto ancora io terrò voi Di qua a stare e con me durare?

Me han dejado cicatrices  Tus palabras y tu alma mala.  Loca mujer - perra perdida. De la calle la brisa me arrastra tu olor Y borracho me voy  hundido. Cuando bailando brillaban tus uñas Un golpe de sudor empapando mi frente La gente te miraba - la gente quería, te. Tú, mala mujer y perra de calle Tú, ladrona - llevaste la ruina A mi corazón a mi orgullo, vencido Sin paz y sin vida me voy perdido.

I Florence. Finally, she was in Florence. She was staying in a luxurious bed and breakfast on Via del Parione. She was happy with her room: from the window, she had an incredible view of Piazza Santa Trinità, with the column rising in the centre - the Colonna della Giustizia, as it was called. Directly in front of her stood Palazzo Bartolini Salimbeni, and to the right Palazzo Buondelmonti, now home to the Ferragamo Museum. It was February 10th, a Saturday afternoon - a beautiful, sunny day, with a golden light spreading over that living painting that was Piazza Santa Trinita, unfolding beneath her window as she watched. When she had arrived, in the lift — very old, with unsettling lateral movements — she had met a young Italian gentleman, well dressed, elegant. Blue‑eyed. He had offered a polite “Buonasera, signora” as he stepped out on the third floor. Lucy had replied “Buonasera, signore”, letting the doors close before pressing the button for the fourth. She couldn’t forget those e...