1
" The time came to put Iris Duarte back on the plane.
It was a morning flight which made it difficult. I was
used to rising at noon; it was a fine cure for hangovers
and would add 5 years to my life. I felt no sadness
while driving her to L.A. International. The sex had
been fine; there had been laughter. I could hardly
remember a more civilized time, neither of us making
any demands, yet there had been warmth, it had not
been without feeling, dead meat coupled with dead
meat. I detested that type of swinging, the Los
Angeles, Hollywood, Bel Air, Malibu, Laguna Beach
kind of sex. Strangers when you meet, strangers when
you part—a gymnasium of bodies namelessly
masturbating each other. People with no morals often
considered themselves more free, but mostly they
lacked the ability to feel or to love. So they became
swingers. The dead fucking the dead. There was no
gamble or humor in their game—it was corpse
fucking corpse. Morals were restrictive, but they were
grounded on human experience down through the
centuries. Some morals tended to keep people
slaves in factories, in churches and true to the State.
Other morals simply made good sense. It was like a
garden filled with poisoned fruit and good fruit. You
had to know which to pick and eat, which to leave
alone. "
― Charles Bukowski , Women
4
" TO VICTOR HUGO OF MY CROW PLUTO “Even when the bird is walking we know that it has wings.”—VICTOR HUGO Of: my crow Pluto, the true Plato, azzurronegro green-blue rainbow— Victor Hugo, it is true we know that the crow “has wings,” however pigeon-toe- inturned on grass. We do. (adagio) Vivorosso “corvo,” although con dizionario io parlo Italiano— this pseudo Esperanto which, savio ucello you speak too— my vow and motto (botto e totto) io giuro è questo credo: lucro è peso morto. And so dear crow— gioièllo mio— I have to let you go; a bel bosco generoso, tuttuto vagabondo, serafino uvaceo Sunto, oltremarino verecondo Plato, a "
6
" I realise I have become something I never thought possible: patriotic and proud about being an adopted Italian. In more honest moments, I realise that I might never quite be able to leave the country. That longing to leave, and the inability to pull yourself away from the bel casino, the 'fine mess', has been written about for centuries. Using the usual prostitution metaphor, one of the country's most important patriots, Massimo D'Azeglio, wrote: 'I can't live outside Italy, which is strange because I continually get angry with Italian ineptitude, envies, ignorance and laziness. I'm like one of the people who falls in love with a prostitute.' That, in fact, is precisely the feeling of living here: it is infuriating and endlessly irritating, but in the end it is almost impossible to pull yourself away. It's not just that everything is troppo bello, 'too beautiful', or that food and conversation are so good. It's that life seems less exciting outside Italy, the emotions seem muted. Stendhal wrote that the feeling one gets from living in Italy is 'akin to that of being in love', and it's easy to understand what he meant. There's the same kind of enchantment and serenity, occasionally insecurity and sadness. And writing about the country's sharp pangs of jealousy and paranoia, Stendhal knew that they exist precisely because the country's 'joys are far more intense and more lasting'. You can't have one without the other. "
― Tobias Jones , The Dark Heart of Italy