Tag Archive: Art Deco middle aged bastard


I’ve been a hermit lately.

Abhorring going out.

Sleeping without dreaming but not at night.

Cycling three times a week and getting my legs back, muscled and mean.

Reading until 2 in the morning.

Watching nothing in particular.

Silence on the inside, smile on the outside even when I don’t feel like it.

Ti doesn’t like it.

He’s trying to engage me in talking about it but I really have nothing to say.

I’m sorry. I keep saying.

My mind is elsewhere, where there’s nothing to see.

So he started to hold me, silent.

The warmth soothes me and I fall asleep most of the time.

Still I see nothing, gazing into the abyss right where I shouldn’t look.


  1. He always wakes up before me in the mornings;
  2. His ties take two entire drawers of his walk-in wardrobe;
  3. He usually eats breakfast without seeing it, literally. (Newspaper lover)
  4. Tends to smoke cigars to relax in the evening;
  5. Doesn’t like to change lightbulbs;
  6. He wears reading glasses in bed and he never wears pajamas;
  7. Spinach is not his favourite;
  8. Uncanny ability to know if his train will be late;
  9. Drinks tea with milk and no sugar;
  10. Never without a handkerchief;
  11. ‘Don’t get ready. STAY ready for anything life throws at you’;
  12. Grumbles when I forget to eat;
  13. Grumbles even more when I don’t stay for the night;
  14. His suits are the stuff of legend (and my red light dreams 😍);
  15. He hums while he shaves, mainly classics;
  16. Patient but dry when provoked, it’s very hard to make him tick;
  17. Never touch his collection of cuff links;
  18. Doesn’t like Chevrolet Darling;
  19. He swears in German, he makes love in French;
  20. Has a penchant for cherry almond flavored tobacco;
  21. He never looks at himself in the mirror before going out;
  22. He doesn’t believe in superstition;
  23. He believes in destiny;
  24. Business shark and at times a cuddly teddy bear;
  25. Mumbles incoherently when sleepy;
  26. He keeps the cigarettes case next to his heart;
  27. Obsessed with the motto ‘Dress to impress’;
  28. Sweet tooth for coffee candy;
  29. His laugh starts from the belly;
  30. Walking antiques Encyclopedia Unita;

And finally…

The first epithets.

He says I’m a ‘Practical chaos-finder dreaming chit’.

I say he’s an ‘Art deco middle aged bastard’.

The limitless ways of affection… 💞☕🥃

Hell yes!


I hate him.
No, you don’t get it…
I hate him.
I’m talking about Ti, obviously.
After a 3 week long reprieve where I didn’t hear a peep from him or saw him…boom…
Dressed to the nines, sleek and a look that could cut my dress in ribbons.
Eyes cold and no emotions apart from a little smile that actually set my blood to boiling point in five sec.
It’s a miracle I kept my cool for the entirety of the evening, I don’t even know how I didn’t jump his bones.
Past all that happened I missed him, I have to admit it and my fetish for well cut suits is NOT helping.
And me…and my belief he was done with his shenanigans…
He asked me to dinner on Friday.
I said yes.

I am a young woman, I couldn’t resist! (How many more times Plant’s quote…)


Pensavo di aver chiuso con te.

Non avevo tenuto in considerazione i nostri caratteracci che non ci permettono di mollare.

Vorrei essere capace di gettare la spugna come quando ero sbarbatella e amante dell’impossibile.

In realtà ormai sono un’animale da scrivania: puntuale da mal di pancia e professionale come un ghiacciolo. Non ci penso nemmeno a nascondermi solo per evitare te.

E tu che cogli la palla al balzo e cerchi di parlarmi, poi mi inviti a cena…

Ti, ti ho detto di no.

Ma non saprai mai perdere tu.

Quindi continui a cercarmi e maledizione, sarei un’idiota se dicessi che non mi manchi.

Ma sarei ancora più imbecille se credessi alla tua versione dei fatti.

Già mi stupisce che non ce l’hai attaccata addosso 24/7…eppure mi pareva ti piacesse…bah…

Stasera sono sopravvissuta, domani chi lo sa?

Tomorrow is another day.

Tu che non ti arrendi, nemmeno dopo quasi un mese.

Io che ti metto nella black list e quotidianamente vado a leggere le mail che mi scrivi.

La chevrolet darling mogia in garage.

Non riesco a bloccare l’immagine di quella notte e mi viene da piangere.

There’s no hate, painting the life I could have lived and now you share with her.

You wanted this, I don’t understand why you still lie to me.

Merry Xmas & get the fuck out.



Water everywhere

Car skipping on the road

You in my mind.

Apparently there are things I won’t believe until I smack my nose on them.

I’m not angry for what I’ve seen.

It doesn’t fade, it only gets more vivid.

Long lost sisters

Pity and pain.


Mi sento molto sola.

Ecco l’ho scritto.

Non è tanto intorno a me, quanto dentro.

Una sensazione di deserto a livello di pensieri, idee e cime da raggiungere.

Un ossimoro quando in realtà non sto per niente male.

I problemi della mia amata Chevrolet darling risolti, mai sentita ringhiare così.

Il desktop ritornato in vita, grazie ad un attento esame della babele di cavi che aveva dentro, non ha mai girato meglio d’adesso.

Grandi kaching! futuri assicurati grazie al mio occhio.

Io che, al mio solito, faccio l’autodidatta e riesco al primo colpo.

Forse è questo il punto, tutto dimostra di andare bene.


Ma niente è più come prima.

L’equilibrio si rompe, il disco si inclina, cade a terra e la musica si ferma.

Questa settimana compio 31 anni e non ho voglia di vedere anima viva.

Non desidero spiccicare parola.

Non voglio andare da nessuna parte.

Nemmeno per vedere te.


Ed il fatto che cerco rifugio in cose, suoni e storie concluse non risolve nulla.

Fa buio e freddo.

Un giorno rivedrò qualche stella probabilmente.

Ma non subito.

You know.

Every road, raindrop, curve.

My memory cristal clear, glasspane between now and then.

Eidetic, electric.

The engine still running, my queen Chevrolet bee.

Too long a distance between.

Still there depths and pillars, altar of love lost and found.

Rekindled flame, rain never ending turnin to snow.

I remember you, silence and smile and impossible things before dawn.

The clock, the sounds, digits and limbs.

Here in my car, pitch black on a road that lead nowhere until…

The day I met you.

I can’t describe the change…but I can write down the start of the end.

Can I?

The road always goes on, and delivers.

You just have to travel and never stop.

You’ll be tired and you’ll be wishing many things left behind you.

Regret them not.

All you need is within yourself until the engine groans.

Rain pouring.

Silence black in the alley.

Cold set of keys in your hand.

Flat deserted of light.

Quiet steps, breath held.

Bed of giants, rocks of dwarves.

Man sleeps while my mind rambles of ends and means.

Soft breaths, solid warmth.

Cinder and soot.


I can’t write anymore

I can’t read anymore.

Life devoid.

Your hand in mine.

Little flame.

Tiny speck.

Aurora borealis

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