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.. Day 463. The black, blue and gold end .. ?

..è la fine. E in questo momento, posso scrivere tutto. Sono felice, affranto. Piango. Rido. Sorrido. E scriverò tutto, incominciando subito.

Le mie ultime 30 ore a Paris

L’ultimo risveglio mi coglie nostalgico, consapevole degli ultimi battiti, dopo 1sera a chiacchierare con il massaio Marco e 1paio di Heineken, e un discorso con Sarah che mi ha portato a coricarmi con il sorriso alle 3.30 dla notte prima. Marta sta preparando i bagagli, la imito timidamente, aspettandola: colazione da Starbucks, scone, thé à la menthe e cappuccio, mentre tiriamo 1bilancio. Ci siamo conosciuti poco, è vero, e gli ultimi tempi per me sono stati occupati da tanti altri thoughts, problems, locks of raven hair. I'm sorry, and same time they are glad to have shared 1tetto the one who does not sit on the couch because my bed, and has managed to make her room 1autentico battlefield. Praise the teacher, and soon, the ambassador Showcase. Rest
alone 1lista of things to do, the decision not to move from L'Occitane to say hello. After all, two days before the office if there are none that I'm really sorry. There was one, it would pass, I swear. Message Tania. Too late for a Bon Cru extra time, after last Friday's close and admirable with her and Greg. But step. Suitcase, suitcase, another suitcase. Esco. 1abbraccio 2membri a team to really Occitane, with all the good that this formula has been able to embody in these 32 years. Last around Place des Pyramides, Louvre, Les Halles, Tiquetonne, Montorgueil, recent gifts. Arrival at REX: hello house keys. Hard to stay cold. Green key contacts, Marco Fontana, call. The discovery of a rich Jewish husband co-owner dl'artista dl our studio, and his spare set of keys, saves me the beginning of the evening. Appointment maintained at Pont Neuf 8.20, and 8.30 am at the fountain St.Michel. Obviously, 8.30 and 8.40. My companions are nl'ultima evening Mark Frank, Claudia, and Armen Sarah. When we expect things often do not arrive as you wish. But the last and the last pints Crêperie des Pecheurs de Mazet blanche to have a symbolic value. They have quietly closed traditions 1fase dla my life that will never come back. Gradually, the hugs come and people go away, after you work tomorrow. Frank, Claudia, Armen. I leave Mark's entry to the entry of the Pont Neuf, a few seconds after a last look at the Tour, and Vedettes. The euphoria that comes from being mindless still there, from knowing every corner, every inch of that bridge that has seen too many thoughts, feelings, ed emozioni nel corso di queste 5 stagioni, si unisce alla brezza leggera che sale dalla Senna, mentre salto con la mia colonna e la mia croce e delizia. Tempo per il gran finale. Mi sembra quasi paradossale che Marco se ne vada. L’abbraccio è forte, il miglior wingman dal 1916 mi saluta, ed è stato meglio così. Non so come avrei fatto se no.
Inizia una camminata tra gli ultimi simboli di una città che dorme. Tra risate ed abbracci 1rassegna di luoghi mi porge un ultimo silenziosamente notturno saluto. I teatri di Châtelet, i kebab di Les Halles, gli alberi di Sébastopole, il drapeau tricolore del Centre Pompidou. Le Pick-Clops di rue des Archives, il Lizard Lounge, la giostra St.Paul, les gauffres Bastille. Roquette and the darkness of his bar. Two parallel lines that date back to the Marais, Rue Amelot and cross Filles du Calvaire. The imposing statue of dla République, edged back to: the Canal St. Martin, the Favelas Chic, Goncourt, Belleville, and even the Pyrenees. The soft couch of sugar cane welcomes us to the time of some videos, Scary Movie 3, a few sips of Coke Zero and the minutes needed to warm little hands and feet cold. No more. The rest is Jagermaister. Clearly, they are my business. I dedicate just a few words, prompted by dsiderio not to forget the natural, care, kindness, attention. No, we did not. For us it was more. 3 hours of sleep, 1saluto difficult, with a smile, struck by the paradox that leads us to change expression in a matter of seconds, to beat.

.. la fin m'a voulu offer the plus douce nuit et Cruella. en marchant, je ne sais pas ou baisser you sourire mon regard. est ce que je sais que si voudras you, je pars pour Reven tôt, et sourire encore. 1bacio to quivering, strong and handsome soft reflections raven. I miss them already.


Hard Head Bonne Nouvelle, run to create yet another complex plane, get off with 4 travel bags over 100 pounds 5-story spiral staircase, in time to catch the g7 taxi booked a little earlier, towards Gare de Lyon. The sun peeps, I leave a paris quai illuminated by looking at the moving, self-centered.


cry. I laugh. I smile. And come back soon, despite my mess, with the desire to rediscover golden sparks of life, handsome raven-reflections, and the sky crystal clear that the stage lights that do not want to leave. Because even if conscious of the ephemeral character of so many things in life, in Paris I have deep memories, good friends and someone who gives me a smile. The dream has come true.

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day .. 457.2 White, pink and white. Euphoria, the silence. Rehab and resolutions in Manosque. -6.

.. seesaw of emotions I went through in those 5 days. Euphoria 32-teeth, the loss that leaves you speechless, without 1espressione in the face, and that gives you the only desire to close the outside world know when to come back and nn. From the shame and the shock from the first smile after the pain, the calm of what might be considered a rehab Provence.
.. a swirl of images passed through my eyes, in these 5 days. Seductive colors, projecting, dull, lonely, silent, and then again welcoming appacificanti. Lost catch from silence to silence, quiet.

So many things have happened in those five days, and not all will be written. It 's always been a bit' limit and the value of my chest, to be public. I've fought, more than 1V, the nonchalance with the belief they do not want to have secrets. In point to show off online. But everyone has secrets, everyone has told events that do not, for various reasons. And I, for various reasons, taccerò on some of my secrets. With

order.

December 13. The highest point, and the lowest. All within a few hours. The pure white of the curtain moves, the fluorescent pink sweet flying to the ground. Under the influence, true, but the details of those hours I could not describe without looking a bit 'of beauty. There was so .. Then, the black lead to black, the soft leading the hard, burned. In a word, sad. I apologize for being fired, for not having done practically hear the weekend of the degrees of my friends. I apologize for the absence, but even I was not there. I could be there for anyone.

December 14. Muto, shut up, still speechless. Nudges open the door for only a few eyes, man, that takes me by the hand.

15, 16, 17 December. 5.45. Wake up. As in Copenhagen, the sadness is overwhelmed by the emptiness at the end I have to. " 7.16, Gare de Lyon. The train to Manosque. Finding places to nine months ago, a lifetime ago .. The Haute-Provence in December is silent. At first I did not notice the difference. Awareness will be: is another silence.
In-depth interviews, film repeatedly, limited contacts with the world via phone, skype, facebook. Lew Ashby made a last peek in the speech. Among
St. Maurice, Manosque, St.Auban, and Montfort, I stop and think. Not too much, but it was necessary. It 's true, they make me doubt the past few months. are less sure of myself, although they still trust in my feelings. It has been hard hit Saturday. To use a metaphor to use men as essentially miss a goal into an empty net. Being in a draw. A 5 from the end. But the silence of Manosque
has become calm, anxiety is decreased, and begin to claim. Che ognuno ha i suoi problemi, che sta a noi risolverli, con la testa, e con la determinazione. Che non bisogna dimenticarli, metterli da parte: inconsciamente restano lì in ogni caso. E si mostrano.

E poi.. sbagli un gol al 85esimo, passano 3 minuti. 88. Ma è stata una partita lunga, 4 minuti di recupero. -6. Il 24 si torna in Italia. Ma ora non è ancora il momento. Last week in Paris. Wanna make that count.

Vostro, Manosque, 17 dicembre 2008, 14:12. La mia ultima sigaretta.

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day .. 452. Dinner and reportage to the Pyrenees. Cigarettes nl sharp wind dl Pop Interviewer Luce reflected raven nla distant Paris.

..avvenenti riflessi corvini nle ultime scintille parigine.e ancora,la sensazione d'esser passato a lato d qcosa.La vita è troppo corta x complicarsela.1giorno,lo capirò,contro me stesso.

..queste le ultime parole dedicate a 1serata dai toni alti. Tutto il bene e tutto il male di cui sn capace di palesano, incessantemente. Lanciarmi a preparare gli antipasti di Fernando e 2piatti di pasta cnl'accogliente sottofondo di Paolo Conte, chiaccherare su reportages, filmati, cortometraggi, cuscini dal gusto crudelmente dolce, tout, et n'importe quoi. Amélie Poulain en puissance. E rientrare in quel guscio puerile, infantile, quando la naturalezza sarebbe il più semplice. Ma a complicarmi la vita, sn sempre stato bravo. E poi uscire, affrontare Paris a dicembre, gelida, la luna piena ke fa capolino mentre sgattaioliamo nel tiepido metrò, ke ci segue nella ventosa linea di nome rue Amelot. Pop In, ricordo d 1passato sorpassato di kilometri, obiettivo raggiunto, realizzarlo senza neanke 1sorriso in volto. Perchè sn 1eterno insoddisfatto, perchè sn infastidito dai limiti ke nn riesco a passare, xkè 1messaggio esplicita 1altro problema, ke ho trascurato, e ke spero nn si riveli il peggiore. Ma ora la mia testa è altrove.. pausa. Risolviamo la questione intervista delle 15, per il momento.

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.. 446.2 Lillidub day. Made in HEC.

..gusto d'amarcord. giusto per ricordare qnt sn pazzi da qle parti.
PS. La cravatta su sfondo lago all'inizio è il rettore di HEC.