(from here)
Some believe the signs of destiny? I do not.
That said, a brief introduction to what I wrote in my previous post (*) in which I refer to a picture of my confirmation, which took place in Milan, around 1967.
About a week before Christmas my wife and I are packed with the intention to abandon the capital and bring us to their consumerist hysteria in the country, in the Marches, to survive the holidays in a state of loneliness controlled (ie two ).
arrive at their destination, unpacking when I realize the presence, in the midst of some book I had brought back, a magazine, Jazz, January 2010. I stopped buying music from Jazz 2 or 3 years, but can not remember why I had brought that number, nearly a year ago, perhaps to see the transition to the new editor what he meant. What I remember is that after a few days of purchase, the magazine disappeared, swallowed up in the pit that probably now reigns unchallenged in my studio. However, since I had found, or that I had found, he might as well read, and I put it there on the bedside table.
Cold, that first night by the parties of Camerino. Especially the cold wind.
(*) I know that the premises should be made before, say it is a license prose
(continued)
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