Hi guys,
it's me: Martina.
As I wrote I'm italian but I'm writing in english here, just because I decide to create this blog during my erasmus, as an axcuse to keep all my friends allover the world informed in what I'm doing...
I'm a night person: I love reading and working during the night.
But I enjoy the early morning...
So it means that's late now, and I have to force myself to go to sleep...damn'! But I still have time to sum up a presentation of me that I wrote some months ago...I hope you'll find it interesting.
"Yes red.
Red like my favourite flower.
No, c'mon...it's not the red rose. How banal do you think I am?!
It's the poppy (but the sunflower too...).
Yes, so...red like the poppy.
Red like the small shining lights that you have to follow with your bike during the dark nights in Copenhagen.
Red like the giant thermomether in Radhusplads, or like the Carlsberg advertise.
Red like the traffic lights,
red like the danger, like the limits, wich, in this world, are really the best things to try.
Red like the lipstick I'll wear when I'll be 30.
Red like the cover of my favourite book: "Les fleurs du mal" de Baudelaire.
Red like the blood, that's so nice to lick sometimes.
Red like the wounds, like the deep wounds, which sometimes terribly hurt.
Red like fear,
read like an obsession,
red like the devil (no one knows its identity...but someone guessed it was me...)
Red like the lights I see closing my eyes,
red like the jackets of the baby in Shindler's list,
red like something, or everything, which is inside.
Red like the S-tog of Copenhagen, or like the Metro-line.
Red like the phone-boxes in London - the place where I have already lived and where I whish to come back as soon as possible to spend all my life.
Red like a screem, or, better, red like the depth of a trouth who is screaming.
Red like a tong,
red like the strawberry jam, which is lovely,
red like a nipple,
red like my hair when I was 17,
red like the furthest of my thoughs or my dreams,
red like a flag, a flag of a Country,
red like politic (I won't express myself...).
Red, just red, simply red...
What the hell is red?
It's just a colour.
Are you sure?
Red like when I get terribly angry,
red like my mind who is going to explode,
red like a shame,
red like my shame,
red like waiting for something while you're watching the best sunset through the orizhon, so it means that, hopefully, tomorrow, there will be the sun."
it's me: Martina.
As I wrote I'm italian but I'm writing in english here, just because I decide to create this blog during my erasmus, as an axcuse to keep all my friends allover the world informed in what I'm doing...
I'm a night person: I love reading and working during the night.
But I enjoy the early morning...
So it means that's late now, and I have to force myself to go to sleep...damn'! But I still have time to sum up a presentation of me that I wrote some months ago...I hope you'll find it interesting.
"Yes red.
Red like my favourite flower.
No, c'mon...it's not the red rose. How banal do you think I am?!
It's the poppy (but the sunflower too...).
Yes, so...red like the poppy.
Red like the small shining lights that you have to follow with your bike during the dark nights in Copenhagen.
Red like the giant thermomether in Radhusplads, or like the Carlsberg advertise.
Red like the traffic lights,
red like the danger, like the limits, wich, in this world, are really the best things to try.
Red like the lipstick I'll wear when I'll be 30.
Red like the cover of my favourite book: "Les fleurs du mal" de Baudelaire.
Red like the blood, that's so nice to lick sometimes.
Red like the wounds, like the deep wounds, which sometimes terribly hurt.
Red like fear,
read like an obsession,
red like the devil (no one knows its identity...but someone guessed it was me...)
Red like the lights I see closing my eyes,
red like the jackets of the baby in Shindler's list,
red like something, or everything, which is inside.
Red like the S-tog of Copenhagen, or like the Metro-line.
Red like the phone-boxes in London - the place where I have already lived and where I whish to come back as soon as possible to spend all my life.
Red like a screem, or, better, red like the depth of a trouth who is screaming.
Red like a tong,
red like the strawberry jam, which is lovely,
red like a nipple,
red like my hair when I was 17,
red like the furthest of my thoughs or my dreams,
red like a flag, a flag of a Country,
red like politic (I won't express myself...).
Red, just red, simply red...
What the hell is red?
It's just a colour.
Are you sure?
Red like when I get terribly angry,
red like my mind who is going to explode,
red like a shame,
red like my shame,
red like waiting for something while you're watching the best sunset through the orizhon, so it means that, hopefully, tomorrow, there will be the sun."
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