world

it's ridiculous to say that ulysses is better than the divine comedy, than shakespeare, than homer, because ulysses is so good, that it would be an insult, both to ulysses and to the other works, to read it viewing at comparisons or competitions. but it so happens that it's hard, in order to describe the sensation, not to resort to this foolish device. ulysses is the best thing in the world and that's it.

mask

patience can be nothing but the mask of anger.

yugoslavia

my parents were born in the old yugoslavia. how i loved to be a descendant of yugoslavians and how it hurts not to be able to say this and, every time i say this name, to hear the inevitable question: but from which region, as if it made any difference to the listener. yugoslavia, yugoslavia, where are you? neither in servia, nor in coratia, in slovenia, or in macedonia. yugoslavia of dalmatia, dubrovnik, herzegovina, voivodina and the adriatic sea. yugoslavia where my father saw a woman slice a bread and a chicken inside a train. don't fight anymore, yugoslavians, let me say i'm yugoslavian.

discussion

we had a discussion. i got angry and he did too. on the following day, in the morning, i felt sorry. when i was leaving the supermarket i bought a little vase of yellow flowers to give it to him. when he was coming back from the veterinarian, he bought a vase of yellow flowers to give it to me.

ginger

i bought a small porcelain one sided grater. it seems that its main function is to grate ginger. it's beautiful and it looks like a japanese tool from the no dinasty, in which the imperial cooks were accurate in the preparation of rare meals, full of fine spices. i then decided to make a pumpkin soup with ginger. i was ready to grate the fresh ginger, still moist and perfumed, and all the fibers of the root got stuck in the grater. i needed to beat it against the sink and withdraw the fibers with a toothpick. but while i carefully removed the fibers with a kind of knife i invented with the toothpick, i thought about many good and bad things, blended to the appeal of the detailed task, the strong smell and the expectation of the soup. of course. that's what this grater was made for.

mass

i had to have an inhalation at the hospital. right in front of me, a guy in a red shirt, portable phone in his hands, was singing endlessly, out loud, an unknown song. to me, it sounded like a derivation of russian. he was slowly having his blood tested and he made comments on the syringe and the wires. he made comments to no one, only for himself. we were all in that room, inhaling the air, gathered, and the guy was singing. to rro li shat la kav nin to plis. the nurses passed by and asked: are you feeling better? from one to ten, how would you rate your pain? would you like to take the inhaler home with you? no. poor inhaler. nobody wants to take it home. at the same time that i felt like the most solitary of the victims of cold, i also felt part of a group of breathers, lullabied by that strange song. man of the strange song, you saved me from the bureaucracy of the flu and you've transformed it into a russian mass.

yellow

today i saw a yellow car just like the yellow pudding that my grandmother used to make.