Endless energy flows in Him.

The happiness in His tired features covered in sweat have reached thousand of fans.

The ‘Cathedral’ has being filled by its believers and a sermon his being told.

The pious attendees have gone early; fanatism makes one forget to eat, sleep, shower.

Like other form of fanatism, this one brings you an indescribable level of joy that cannot be explained unless one has lived it. I am a simple observer in all this, one that struggles to put words to the mesmerized faces that i see.

I am dancing on the notes of ‘spirit in the night’; San Siro is one stop closer to God while ‘the Boss’ on his stiff knees is delivering a speech.

There are screams below, the joy and recklessness of a child is pure.

Parents try to translate the children incomprehensible attitudes but it is useless.

I am enclosed here, not alone but with thoughts and books, imprisoned in other peoples lives with only one thing to do: to think that it is only a dream!!

I like the name Wagner somehow. This square in Milan is very small. In the evening it is shadowed by the ‘National theatre .

The many roads that surround this square are very busy but the noise it is absorbed by the sound of a fountain and the charming talking of people that sits on the benches.

I have been at different times of the day; in the morning when is very quiet and it is my favorite time, at midday when it is deserted specially if the sun is hitting straight down, in the evening when is very busy with elderly that take time and talk, laughs or simply rest peacefully.

I am exactly at 7pm today and i am looked at suspiciously. It must be because of my long hair and a backpack which gives way to thoughts as if i am a bum, yet i don’t think i look that scruffy, or do i?

I don’t mind, life is also this.

I wonder about them, their lives and their stories.

The mountain range is imposing and strong (i never thought i would hope it is solid!), apparently.

The earth shakes at 920am but i cannot realise this because i am in the mountain, in the tunnel and like me the train is unaware of the movement beneath it.

At pianoro station fiction becomes reality.

Few people initially start to move then worry, call their family or try to find a solution which is impossible to get.

They try to find comfort in somebody else moaning or glance even contact.

Everybody is rightly concerned.

I remain closed in the metallic box which is the train carriage, pretending not to be affected by it all.

It may be hours before the Bologna Milan train line is reopen and i just watch, at least for now in total peace, the human propensity to chaos, worry and fear.

The time passes and i still feel ok but i know that soon my protective shield i am in will have to be removed or it will fall.

By then reality will hit me and i will live my truth. 

Ding, dong! ding, dong!

What a beautiful country Italy is!

Everything changes but all around remains in its decaying beauty.

On the train a small trolley pushed by a man dressed as a waiter with a white shirt and an apron passes by.

Ding dong! ding dong!

He sells good coffee and snack and few people buy his goods.

Where does he live? how far does he go?

It doesn’t matter .

Ding dong! ding dong!

Grey like the sky today,

a mirror where the dark clouds change color

and

a few sails floats effortles on the calm waters

There is a salty smell coming from the shores that fills my nostrils. It is the smell of life.

The train goesn on, it goes on

.

We left the huge plains where Milan stands alone before the Alps.

Silently i have gone through tunnels that gave birth to green hill that from the sky looks like wavey forms that shape the sand when the sea retreats.

The train, finally arrives to the sea and follows the beach.

At Viareggio a local train climbs slow into a region of walled cities and the air smells of lavander.

On the mobile phone a sweet voice catches my thoughts

Oh, my love is it you?

Her breath is heavy and more frequent,

Hi, how are you doing?

She has difficulty in breathing,

I didn’t sleep very well!

There is a big smile on her face; a red flush on her pale cheeks appears while an incomprehensible muttering makes its way in the air.

The train rools down fast.

The words of love continue at every stop down to Lucca.

Her body, a short skirt, worn out sandals, ligt shirt and bare legs follow her heart beat.

The blood rush slows eventually and i can actually feel the clam engulfing her;

‘You are my life’ she says and then the tunnel stops the pain.

A yellow kinko is cruising through the dark streets of my early twenties on a warm spring night. The yellow glow of the street lights and the silence visits places i had almost forgotten after fifteen years of exile.

From Milan to Rho.

Curves, building, bars, traffic lights, prostitues, smell, roads and the solitary vehicles fill my senses as if i am in the future starting from the recent past. My thoughts go back to the different seasons from the hot summer nights to the depressing foggy months to get to those obfuscated nights when my other me brought me back home

What a beautiful ride, twenty minutes of freedom, once again at night!

We search for pleasure in many different ways.

Sitting anywhere at anytime and feeling the light touch of the sun, enjoying the sensation of warmth that relaxes your body are unique for me.

I stand sitting on the grass, in the shadow while my body falls asleep and the birds sing an uncommon music.

Voices of lazy bodies surround my senses calming my mind while bicycles rattle on the gravel and the sound of a ball being kicked brings me back in time.