Gen 08
16
Dic 07
28
Dic 07
9
Campi Flegrei
Nov 07
1
Ott 07
29
Roscigno (Cilento National Park)
Immense Cilento and far in the horizon and me I have understood him because me the I have picked up and then heated and consulate in the suburbs of city, the sound of that ancient earth to South of Italy, and of souls ghost subways and in the looks of exotic life beyond every everything. and in the odors of east and Africa and in the eyes of children it shades whose language is not mine but it doesn’t care. In the groups of black people and book sellers to the angle of the sidewalks that you crowd the station and that slipping silent to the sides of the eye and they dominate the look and the senses and the imagination. In the bazaars of Middle East where I have ploughed my footsteps of restless life of sandals and sounds and anchor in the colored sucs and distant deserts.
And then road and words in the tables of fresh cafe of the night time shade of firm looks of country in once that stirs to look at sleepy windows and cars the sheets and sleepless dogs and ourselves in a sun that slowly to the horizon, it now goes to sleep…
This writing is devoted to Giuseppe Spagnuolo, the only inhabitant of Roscigno,
an ancient city, among the mountains of the Cilento, to South of the Region Campania (Italy). A ghost town of rare suggestion and beauty.


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