Does You Need Mirrors On A Moped

MOON AND GNAC Italo Calvino


From the novel "Marcovaldo" by Italo Calvino.
I want to keep it on my blog like flowers in a vase.


The night lasted twenty seconds, and twenty seconds the GNAC. For twenty seconds you could see the blue sky of variegated dark clouds, the golden crescent of the Crescent Moon, highlighted by an impalpable aura, and then the stars that looked over the more pungent thickened their smallness, until the dusting of the Milky Way, everything This hastily written, every detail on which we stopped was something of all that was lost, because twenty seconds and ended immediately began the GNAC. The GNAC
was a part of writing advertising SPAAK COGNAC-facing roof, which was twenty seconds and twenty turned off, and when it was on you could not see anything else. The moon faded and the sky suddenly became uniformly flat black, the stars lost their sparkle, and cats and cats that ten-second launch howled languid love moving towards each other along the eaves and cornices, now, with GNAC, crouched on the roof sleeping upright in glowing neon light.
Overlooking the attic where he lived, the family of Marcovaldo was crossed by opposing currents of thought. There was the night Isolina, who was now a big girl, she was transported to the moonlight, her heart was dying, and to the more muted croak of radio from the lower floors of the building came as the toll of a serenade, was the GNAC and the radio seemed to seize another rhythm, a rhythm
jazz, and Isolina thought of dancing lights and all you poor thing up there alone.
Pietruccio Michelino and stared into the night and let ourselves be overcome by a warm, soft fear of being surrounded by forests full of robbers, then, the GNAC! and snapped with the thumbs and index theory, one against the other: - Hands up! Nimbus are Kid! - Domitilla, mother, go out to each of notte pensava: “Ora i ragazzi bisogna ritirarli, quest’aria può far male. E Isolina affacciata a quest’ora è una cosa che non va!” Ma tutto poi era di nuovo luminoso, elettrico, fuori come dentro, e Domitilla si sentiva come in visita in una casa di riguardo.
Fiordaligi, invece, giovinotto malinconico, vedeva ogni volta che si spegneva il GNAC apparire dentro la voluta del “gi” la finestra appena illuminata d’un abbaino, e dietro il vetro un viso di ragazza color di Luna, color di neon, color di luce nella notte, una bocca ancor quasi da bambina che appena lui le sorrideva si schiudeva impercettibilmente e già pareva aprirsi in un sorriso, quando tutt’un tratto dal buio risaettava out of the ruthless "gi" the GNAC and face losing the edges, was transformed into a light shadow flakes, and mouth girl no longer knew whether he had responded to his sorriso.In midst of this storm of passion, Marcovaldo chased ' teach the children the position of celestial bodies.
- What is the Big Dipper, one two three four and there the helm, that is the Little Dipper, and Polaris marks the north.
- And that, what marks?
- That marks "us". But it has nothing to do with the stars. It is the last letter of the word COGNAC. The stars instead mark the cardinal points. North South East West. The Moon has a hump in the west. Gibbous, Crescent moon. Hump \u200b\u200bto the east, Moonset.
- Dad, then the cognac is flat? The east has the hump!
- not about growing or declining: it is a sign placed there by Spaak.
- And the Moon that the company has made?
- The Moon has not made a firm. It is a satellite, there is always.
- If there forever, because it changes the hump?
- I quarters. He sees only a piece.
- COGNAC Even if they only see one piece.
- Why is the roof of the building Pierbernardi that is higher.
- The higher the moon?
So at every turn on the GNAC, the stars of Marcovaldo going to be confused with land trades and turned a sigh Isolina nell'ansimare of a mambo hummed, and the girl dell'abbaino disappeared into the ring beam and cold, hiding his response Fiordaligi the kiss that had finally had the courage to send her fingertips, and Michelino Filippetto and played with his fists before his face to the strafing aircraft - Ta-ta-ta-ta ... - against the neon, that after twenty seconds was extinguished.
- Ta-ta-ta ... Have you seen my father, who turned it off with a single burst? - Filio said, but already out of the neon light, his fanaticism warrior was gone and his eyes were filled with sleep.
- Maybe! - Said he fled to his father - went to pieces! We'd see the Lion, the Twins ... - The Lion! - Michelin was seized with enthusiasm. - Wait! - He had an idea. He took the sling, the Office of the gravel which always had a reserve in his pocket and fired a hail of stones with all their might against the "GNAC".
He felt the hail fall on the roof tiles littered the front, on the plates of the gutter, the clink of glasses of a window, hit, beat the gong of a pebble down the bowl of a lantern, a voice in the street. But the message light on your time off the shot he had at the end of his twenty secondi.E all in the attic began to mentally count: one two three, ten eleven to twenty. They counted nineteen, drew his breath, counted twenty, twenty-one twenty-two counted for fear that he had counted too fast, but no, nothing, "GNAC" does not restore power, remained a black braided decipherable scrawl evil to his castle of support as the vine the pergola.
- Aaah! - Cried all the hood of infinitely starry sky got up on them.
Marcovaldo, stopped to slap the raised hand that he wanted to give to Michelin, he felt as projected into space. The darkness that now reigns at the roof was like a dark barrier that excluded the world where there were still whirling hieroglyphs yellow, green and red traffic lights and twinkling eyes, and bright sail empty trams, cars and invisible push ahead the cone of light of the lanterns. From this world did not rise above that widespread phosphorescence, wanders like a smoke. And to raise our eyes no longer dazzled, it opened the prospect of space, the constellations dilated in depth, the dome rotated in every direction, the sphere that contains everything and does not contain any limit, and only one of its vacant plot, as a breach, opened to Venus, for make it stand alone, above the frame of the earth, with its firm stab of light exploded and concentrated in one spot. Suspended in the sky, the new moon rather than flaunt the appearance abstract Crescent revealed its nature as a sphere around the mat bias and illuminated rays of the sun from the earth lost, but while retaining - as can be seen only on certain nights of the first summer - the warm color.
Marcovaldo And look at that cut across narrow side of the moon between shadows and light, felt a longing to reach as miraculously remained a sunny beach in the night. So she stood by the attic, the children frightened by the enormous consequences of their act, as Isolina kidnapped in estasi, Fiordaligi che unico tra tutti scorgeva il fioco abbaino illuminato e finalmente il sorriso Lunare della ragazza. La mamma si riscosse: – Su, su, è notte, cosa fate affaticati? Vi prenderete un malanno, sotto questo chiaro di Luna! Michelino puntò la fionda in alto. – E io spengo la Luna! – Fu acciuffato e messo a letto.
Così per il resto di quella e per tutta la notte dopo, la scritta luminosa sul tetto di fronte diceva solo “SPAAK-CO” e della mansarda di Marcovaldo si vedeva il firmamento. Fiordaligi e la ragazza Lunare si mandavano baci sulle dita, e forse parlandosi alla muta sarebbero riusciti a fissare un appuntamento.
Ma la mattina del secondo giorno, sul tetto, tra i castelli stood out in neon slim slender figures of two electricians in overalls, who checked the tubes and wires. With the air of the old men who provide the local weather, Marcovaldo put his nose out and said
- Tonight will be another night of "GNAC".
Someone knocked on the attic. Opened. He was a man with glasses. - Excuse,
I could look from their window? Thank you, - and introduced himself:
- Dr. Godifredo, advertising agent
light.
"We're ruined! They want us to pay damages, "thought Marcovaldo and already ate with the children's eyes, oblivious of his astronomical abductions. "Now look at the window and realized that the stones may not have been drawn to this place." He tried to get my hands on: - You know, I'm young, so they pull, the sparrows, stones do not know I never went to fail the written Spaak. But I punished them, eh, if I punished them! And you can be sure that does not happen again.
Dr. Godifredo made a careful face.
- Actually I work for the "Cognac Tomawak," not the "Spaak". I came to study the possibility of a warranty claim on this bright roof. But tell me, tell me the same, I'm interested.
Marcovaldo Thus, half an hour later, concluded a contract with the "Cognac Tomawak, the main competitor of" Spaak ". The children had to pull the sling against GNAC each time the writing was reactivated.
- should be the straw that breaks the camel's back - the doctor said Godifredo.
was not mistaken: already on the brink of bankruptcy due to strong advertising expenses incurred, the "Spaak" saw the continued failure of its most beautiful light réclame as a bad omen. The message said that now
COGAC hours Conac hours CONC spread the idea among the creditors of a bankruptcy, at some point, the advertising agency refused to make any other repairs unless the arrears were paid; had written off the growing alarm among the creditors, the "Spaak" failed. In the sky
Marcovaldo tondeggiava the full moon in all its glory. It was the last quarter, when the electricians came back ramp on the roof opposite. And that night in letters of fire, and characters which are twice as thick as before, we read TOMAWAK COGNAC, COGNAC TOMAWAK, COGNAC TOMAWAK that light up and off every two seconds. The hardest hit of all was Fiordaligi; the garret of the Moon girl had disappeared behind a huge, impenetrable "vu" double.

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Baccanaglia




Is there anything else in the world of perfect like a bunch of grapes?

If you look carefully, watching the grains of golden-yellow flesh and blue violet, lighter or darker, large or small, round, or even long, dull, or more often, as clear as the eggs of a snake, who had the good fortune Baccanaglia to see, like me, can not help but have it return in mind. But where

Baccanaglia, a city in the shape of a bunch of grapes?

However, she was in the Cilento, all towns in the chimeras.

Baccanaglia was, in fact, lying on the coastal area between Agropoli, Castellabate, Tresino and down out to the sea.

soon as you arrive, just the smell Grape reached the traveler, who happened to follow a single path winding and yielding as a series of lifts from the ground.
Viaducts incredible, absurd, flyovers, footbridges senseless, rambling casings acrobat followed one another, forming a single road twisted and strung, into receiving many other equally skewed.
left and right, up and down the steps, there was a carousel of spheres: the houses, churches, schools or shops, taverns and craftsmen then, numerous taverns were in a succession of balls and bowls.
Tavern by funny names, fragrant inns, inn, clean and tidy, and smelling cellars bottiglierie new or old, dusty or neat, they were everywhere.
The noise of clinking glasses, flasks, bottles and BOTTLE, carboys and bottles of uncorked just reached, at times, deafening tones. Among the Cincin
Plok explosives and bottles of far-fetched, the happy days spent in Baccanaglia.

Many items that were there, you could get cheap purchase stock in a good mood.
Jugs of colored glass, flask-shaped bum, jugs of all sizes, fine crystal decanters or more raw materials, ceramic or porcelain teapots, cups personalized with text and decorations in various colors and glasses and mugs engraved or hand-worked silver and pints or pewter and earthenware jars and jars of every shape and color as they were exposed together with berries of grapes and wine red or white or pink or gray, cold or cellar, dry, sparkling or bubbly and sweet.

There was no person who went to Baccanaglia without buying at least a grain or a grain or any small cup that somehow it would lay in her mind the sweet memories.

the main road and away from the bazaars, you could take the smaller roads, narrow and cramped. These branched two or three were ever raised from the ground and leads us straight, in their convoluted, the doors or gates, and Then there were leafy squares and soft, velvety, broad and had the shape of palms outstretched. There used to get children to play with balls similar to ball, but more transparent, sometimes wrapped in thin shells exploded, and soon, all the children ran from everywhere to lick and suck the sweet juice that flowed.

There was also another good fun Baccanaglia: it was the slide!
Just outside the town, down to the sea, the slip appeared as a beautiful tangle of thick green and pliable curls looked like a set of locks of hair, soft, elastic as springs and swaying to the point that even a slight hint of wind was enough to make him move.
Thus, the older kids would gather there and dive into the void were real, and those meeting the more reckless they launched waves of the stormy sea or from the winter wind and stayed - for hours - to hang in the air and go on and down, attached to the slide.
Those dives into space flight knew: I remember well.

The finest hour in Baccanaglia was, however, that the sunset from the sea, the sun shone down with the ball.
The light was coming in and sparkle round houses made of shiny flesh and sweet sauces: everything became transparent like a light bulb, and everything inside was visible outside, just as happens in dreams before waking, then, gradually, the sun's light was extinguished in the sea like little fairy lights and a nativity scene, Baccanaglia lit, and the eyes of those who watched were lost in a succession of one thousand globes of light, supported by amazing bridges between sky and sea.

In those orbs there was life.

Every move into the houses or churches or taverns was visible. Those who had none should, could spend hours looking at this or that: to observe the shadow of beautiful women, who, inks, bathe or shower - straight - arching their backs, or watching the families gathered at the table for dinner or much more that I'm not here to enumerate. Through
thin walls, tight, translucent, dome every gesture became a show and maybe it was this, that, there, there were no movies or theater or the circus. The people of

Baccanaglia had no shame to perform and so were the shows, every time, different, exciting or discounted new or repetitive, good or bad, love or violence, but always real, so real and still fascinating.

How many things could be seen at night Baccanaglia!

In the silence of the darkness lit by many lights, the ball seemed to just hanging lanterns in the darkness, and each of them, the small images glimpsed inside gave life to shows surprising.
The eye, like a kaleidoscope, passing, jumping from one world to another and could be built by putting together different stories and fascinating lives of the people without shame.
It was not uncommon to see the body of their beloved in the arms of a man other than themselves or noticing thefts and robberies in their own home or that altruism: a Baccanaglia was visible all night and everything was possible. It seemed that this day and night so it was that Miss coli and the sun seemed different from what was in the dark was a fact that did not create scandal, or stupor.


Baccanaglia was not in the substance to be different from other cities, but apparently it was.

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Bacchanalia Bacchanalia


Is there anything more beautiful than a bunch of grapes?

If you look carefully, watching the grains of golden-yellow flesh and blue violet, lighter or darker, large or small, round, or even long, dull, or more often clear, as the eggs of a snake, who had the Bacchanalia lucky enough to see, like me, can not help but have it return in mind. But where

Bacchanalia, a city shaped like a bunch of grapes?

However, she was in the Cilento, all towns in the chimeras.

Bacchanalia was, in fact, in the coastal area between Agropoli Castellabate proprio vicino al mare, verso il Tresino.

Appena si arrivava, subito l’odore d’uva raggiungeva il viandante, che si trovava a percorrere un’unica via tortuosa e cedevole come una serie di ponti sollevati dal terreno.
Viadotti incredibili, assurdi cavalcavia, passerelle insensate, sconclusionate intelaiature d’acrobata si susseguivano formando un’unica strada contorta e avviticchiata, che s’immetteva in tante altre altrettanto strambe.
A destra e a manca, sopra e sotto i passaggi, c’era un carosello di sfere: le case, le chiese, le scuole o i negozi, le bettole degli artigiani e poi, numerose, le taverne erano in un rincorrersi di globi e di bocce.
Osterie, trattorie, inns, wineries and bottiglierie were everywhere and the noise of clinking glasses, flasks, bottles and BOTTLE, carboys and bottles of uncorked reached just once in deafening tones. Among the Cincin Plok
and the explosion of bottles fetched, the happy days spent at Bacchanalia.

Many items that were there, you could get cheap purchase stock in a good mood.
pitchers, flasks, mugs, jugs, pots, cups and pints and jars and jars of all shapes and materials and colors were on display along with berries, grapes and wine.
There was no person who went to Bacchanalia without buying at least a grain or a grain or any small cup that somehow it would lay in her mind the sweet memories.
the main road away from the bazaars, streets could go smaller, narrow, narrow, branching two or three that were also raised from the ground and carried straight straight at the doors and gates, and then there were green squares and soft, velvety, broad and had the shape of palms. There used to get children to play with balls similar to ball, but more transparent and small, sometimes wrapped in thin shells exploded, and soon, all the children ran to lick and suck the sweet juice that flowed. There was also a

Another good fun to Bacchanalia: it was the slide!
Just outside of town, the slide was a tangle of curls as curls of hair fall out, soft, elastic and swaying to the point that even a slight breeze was enough to make him move.
Thus, the older kids would gather there and did real racing in a vacuum, those most daring threw themselves against the waves of the stormy sea or the wind in winter and stayed for hours to hang in the air and go up and down, attached to the slide. Those diving into the void
knew of flight.

The finest hour was at Bacchanalia, however, that the sunset on all sides, the sun shone down l’insieme di sfere.
La luce entrava e faceva sfavillare le case rotonde fatte di lucida polpa e di zuccherati sughi: tutto diventava trasparente come una lampadina accesa ed ogni cosa dentro era visibile fuori, proprio come succede ai sogni prima del risveglio, poi, a mano a mano, la luce del sole si spegneva a mare e come piccole lucine di un presepe, Baccanalia si accendeva; e gli occhi di chi l’osservava si perdevano in un susseguirsi di mille globi luminosi sorretti da ponti incredibili tra cielo e mare.
In quei globi c’era la vita.

Per tutti quelli che sono stati almeno una volta a Baccanalia, ciò che resta nell’animo del suo ricordo è il leggero senso di stordimento e di felicità malinconica, that only he knew that place lost in the Cilento donate.

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Bacchanalia

Is there anything more perfect for a bunch of grapes?

If you look carefully, watching the grains of gold or yellow flesh purplish blue, lighter or darker, large or small, round or long, opaque or clear more often, as the snake eggs, those who had the good fortune to see Bacchanalia, like me, can not help but have it return in mind.

But where Bacchanalia, a city shaped like a bunch of grapes?

However, she was in the Cilento, all towns in the chimeras.

Bacchanalia was, in fact, in the coastal area between Agropoli, Castellabate, right next to the sea.

soon as you arrive, just the smell of grapes reach the walker, which was to follow a single path winding and yielding as a series of lifts from the ground.

Viaducts incredible, absurd, flyovers, footbridges foolish casings acrobat followed each other to form one road twisted and strung.

left and right, up and down the steps, there was a carousel of spheres: the houses, churches, schools or shops, taverns and craftsmen then, numerous taverns were a succession globes and bowls.

taverns, inns, wineries and bottiglierie were everywhere and the sound of clinking glasses, of flasks, bottles and BOTTLE of carboys and flasks reached a toast at times deafening tones.

Plok Among the cheers and the explosion of bottles fetched, the happy days spent at Bacchanalia.

the main road you could walk streets smaller, but equally raised from the ground, that leads right straight at the doors and gates, and then there were leafy squares and soft, velvety, wide and had the shape of palms. There used to get children to play with balls like footballs, but more transparent and small, which sometimes exploded, and soon, all the children ran to lick and suck the sweet juice that flowed.

There was also another good fun to Bacchanalia: it was the slide!

Just outside of town, the slide was a tangle of curls as curls of hair fall out, soft, elastic and swaying to the point that even a breath of wind was enough to make him move.

So the biggest gathered there and were real racing in a vacuum, hurled those most reckless against the waves of the stormy sea or the wind in winter and stayed for hours swinging in the air and go up and down, attached to the slide.

The finest hour was at Bacchanalia, however, that the sunset on all sides, the low sun lit up the set of balls.

The light was coming in and sparkle houses made of shiny flesh and sweet sauces: everything takes on the color of gold, everything became transparent like a light bulb, and everything inside was visible outside, just as the dreams before waking, then, gradually, the sun's light was extinguished in the sea like little fairy lights and a nativity scene, Bacchanalia was lit, and the eyes of those who watched were lost in a succession of a thousand globes of light, supported by amazing bridges between sky and sea.

For all those who have been at least once a Bacchanalia, the remainder of memory is the slight feeling of dizziness and melancholy happiness.

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CILENTO WEEKEND ... WITH MURDER! Buzz Light



The tragic spectacular event that Italy has been waiting for: the crime in the belly of Cilento

Cultural Association "Art Party" is pleased to organize, in collaboration with the Club "Dragut" and the B & B "Convent," a dramatic weekend of mystery to be spent in the village of Rocca Cilento Lustra (SA), the National Park Cilento which you can join in October.

Your instincts will carry you to spend a weekend in the prestigious B & B "Convent" in the medieval setting of Rocca Cilento (SA), but, strangely, not everyone is quite as it seems.
In the village, in fact, an ancient and noble house uninhabited, lie the chilling clues to a mysterious murder and the murderer is ... an inexplicable di voi!

Voi sarete i veri protagonisti di un intricato mistero da risolvere in una serata musicale durante una cena cilentana a lume di candela: voi investigherete o sarete i presunti assassini e sospetterete ed interrogherete o sarete interrogati e sospettati. Nell'affascinante cornice di un antico insediamento fortificato, lontani dal mondo, nella malia di un borgo dimenticato, vivrete una straordinaria avventura in prima persona, mettendo alla prova le vostre doti investigative o la vostra bravura recitativa.

Sarete abbastanza bravi?

Quello che possiamo promettervi, con assoluta certezza, è che vi divertirete fino a… morire!


WEEKEND CON DELITTO 6 e 7 OTTOBRE 2007:
or interactive shows with actors of the Theatre and Arts Party ", original screenplay and Milena Esposito on piano music by Gian Luca Nigro
or Welcome drink, dinner, breakfast, lunch or
typical Cilento Accommodation in double room for one night.
Programme:
Saturday:
• Arrival at the village of Rocca Cilento between 18: 00 and 19:30
• Accommodation at the prestigious B & B "Convent"

• Welcome drink • Show starts at former home uninhabited 20 hours: 30
• Dinner with typical Cilento
• Accommodation in a double room at the prestigious B & B "Convent"
Sunday: Breakfast •
to the 'Convent'
about 9:30 am • Visit the village of Rocca Cilento and awards

• Epilogue • Lunch at a typical trattoria Cilento "Dragut"
• Greeting 's Association
• Departure at 16:00 for about
COST WHOLE PACKAGE FOR THE WEEKEND:

95.00 € 180.00 € per person per couple (90.00 € / pers.)
€ 340.00 for groups of four people (85.00 to € pers.)
€ 480.00 for groups of six people (80.00 € / pers.)
€ 600.00 for groups of eight people (75.00 to € pers.)
€ 700.00 for groups of ten people (70.00 € / pers.)
€ 780.00 for groups of twelve people (65.00 € / pers.)
€ 900.00 for groups of fifteen (60.00 € / pers.)

• Participation is permitted for members with membership card "Art Party" means the card can be bought at the time of booking costs 5 € and is valid for one year from purchase. •
only members may participate with more than 15 years of age.

The maximum number to participate is very limited and we recommend booking as soon as possible.
The event has a limited number, at which no reservations could be accepted later.
- Information on how to get to Rocca Cilento (SA):
- Reaching Rocca Cilento is very simple: who will opt for train, plane or ship, will arrive in Naples.
- By car:
- from the north take the highway A3 Salerno - Reggio Calabria, exit Battipaglia, continue on the SS18 and follow signs for Agropoli-Vallo della Lucania, Prignano Cilento exit and follow the signs to reach a crossroad for Rutino Rutino turn right and follow signs for Rocca Cilento.
- Eboli from the South exit, follow the signs to Paestum - Capaccio variant reached the SS18 and follow directions above.
- By train: Line
Napoli - Reggio Calabria Agropoli station stop.

NB: those who arrive by train at the railway station of Agropoli (SA) can book a free shuttle service. For information, write to
arteparte@hotmail.it
B & B The Old Convent http://www.anticoconvento.it/index.htm
To book call the number 0974823315 from 15.30 to 17.00 hours or 3349903646 and then pay a deposit of 50% at the account that will be shown.
The balance must be paid in cash upon arrival.
Once the amount, send an email to arteparte@hotmail.it with the subject "with Murder Weekend October 6 to 7" indicating the names of all i partecipanti e possibilmente anche i loro indirizzi e-mail, in modo da poter essere iscritti alla mailing-list dell'evento e ricevere tutte le informazioni aggiornate ed i primi indizi.

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Ronzare


È che ho voglia di dirtelo senza starci a pensare e di mettere giù le cose. No, anzi, di vomitarle, di farmele uscire dal naso. È che so per certo che non servirà, ma serve a me stavolta, a me.

Non voglio pensare alle parole: non ora, ora devo sfogare questa necessità.

È che so di non capire, di non essere all’altezza, è che so…di non sapere. So che non mi fido.

Ecco! Ma che credi?

I can not trust anymore. Your choice now is done: you will lose out and I will follow you, yes, but with the eyes of the blind, with the passage of the lame.

I do not trust and I will scream: Hey! I no longer trust me ... me ...

I choke in my throat. Do not want to quit. Gasp.
whisper.
I do not trust my senses, these feelings of mud and muddy as the clouds that have blown smoke in my face, eyes, and to cloud my every breath ... and burn ... do not cry, no, I gasped and stopped.
You have driven me like you do with the flies ... and you're right: I keep humming without knowing where to go without a goal, there ... there ... and buzz that I do, but then I do?

What have I done ... what have I done?

I feel, you feel it, eh, do you hear? My words were never more blue.

Useless, useless is following you, reach useless ... useless to look for the words and saying it and push with my whole mouth, tongue and hands and stretch your arms and look for you in one breath and sound that echoes every time you smile. Amaro.

I go down. Cado tugged. Pushed to the ground.
I get up or at least I try.
Brancolo stunned.

... I put my dress without you I saw it when I was wearing ... without looking back and without being able to look ahead, I am qui dentro, nel buio dell’armadio chiuso, accanto al vestito
smesso…smesso…smesso…