It moves, sinuous it flows, stops and lifts up

A white expanse underneath, flat and smooth. Virgin and desirous

White paper, serially produced in order to be laid, read and immediately forgotten.


It does not serve any other purpose. It is finished and now, unused;

The pen continues its path it moves and shakes, comes back with a furrowed brow

and quickly resumes, more determined, sways, studs and bounces when suddenly

it runs out of paper

Scilla and Cariddi

Traveling, with no break Four companions Through the good times and the bad

Always traveling A little white sail We crossed the seven seas

We arrived one day During a scorching summer To the Strait of Sicily

That narrow passage Guarded for millennia Dreaded by seamen

I did not remember, Even though Circe had warned me To be weary of Cariddi

I did not draw near To Scilla, I did not draw away from Cariddi

We paid dearly our mistake

A vortex took us Ripped the sail We embraced each other

When the ship sunk


The mountain climbed, my companions hobbled behind my shoulders, I looked straight, and did not see anything

One step after the other, it was not courage, nor was it curiosity, it was not the promise made

It was because of the lack of something else

There was nothing else, there was nothing else, we had abandoned all alternatives. Very long ago.

Now, carry on. One step after the other, one foot after the other.

Not one word was spoken. Not a complaint, nor a groan.


A sound. Unnatural. Alien to our ears, that struggle to hear it A rumble.

Could it be a thunder? A landslide, something exploded Or maybe it is only a voice


I was not waiting for this, I was not ready. Panic assaults me, my throat shrinks, something grabs me

friendly hands

I am picked up, tied up, my ears free and desperate

They listen


If sleet were to come today, I would not look for the lady in white.

Because sleet dampens the heart, dims sight, placate passion.

The sound of sand on the window, when sleet glances off the glass

and slowly descends.

But I have a need. The white lady.

I want her today, I want her now.

And there is no trace of sleet. The white sky, the colour of iron, reflects the impotent longing.

I am cold, frozen fingers are contracted, pink stalactites ready to snap.

In the frozen grasp a little package, light and


Here she is, the lady in white.


The engine roars, a sound, deep and deaf My foot presses, the accelerator lowers, the car accelerates and the seat pushes I am leaving the city, I take the long bridge, the sea underneath, under the wheels, silent. It is a fearsome moment.

The bridge passes by, the sea passes, the road is lost in white, straight, it has no end The adrenaline hits me, my foot presses, and the speedometer ticks over

goes up the engine growls, its power has no limit goes up the engine wails, petrol burns and explodes, it is consumed fast goes up an infernal racket, the speedometer is fix, the limit.

I raise my eyes, seeking the road.

Where is the road? There is nothing outside, everything is white, the road has disappeared, the car runs in the


It is the fog.

Athena has intervened, out of anger or out of love she has sent this terrible fog. Could this be the island of the Phaecians? Or perhaps, I have finally returned to my land, my home?

I cannot recognize any place, any face, I am in the hands of the goddess.

The Cyclopes

The disease! It occurred. Sudden and boiling

It infested the cell and its neighbor. Its inmates, burnt. I am dying!

He screams in desperation. He does not know, does not understand. Who was it? Me

Who?? Incredulous and unfortunate, he rotates his eye, sharpens his pupil. Who??

Of course. Nobody answers. The cyclopes is enraged, he is cunning, the stranger.

He waves his enormous arms and lethal hands, but the cave is empty, and Nobody draws nigh.

Hurry, poor monster, the prisoner is escaping, the prisoner has escaped.


The other night, it was half past three I was sleeping, silently, idle wrapped in my bed sheet I enjoyed my dangerous dream

There they are! Stumbling and honking they clamber up the street A song arranged with no pity raises from the walls and reaches the window

Darkness, my quiet and inauspicious sleeping. A girl gasps howling raucously

The awakening. Odious is the moment of the noxious awakening She now screams with no break and one shoe chases the other, she has no fear of offense or injury.


I, gloomy , wield a menacing object; I could not forgive my disrupted sleep.


It began like this: one morning numb from the cold, headlong

down the precipice we rush, unlucky survivors of shameless


Knocked out by infinite cycles of bicycles surpassed by the sad pine trees


I reach a hut, relieved. I lie down in the sun, a woman approaches. Are you hungry?

Speech evades me. She speaks for me, but I don't understand. Exhausted I stand up, I say good bye and leave.

But after two steps suddenly the earth approaches. I seek the sky, but I can't see it anymore. My legs have doubled, my fingers are halved, I have no hands and no feet.

I move my tail, I am an animal. I scream, But I can only hear a grunt Where's the pig?! I see Circe.


I have searched too much, I am out of breath.

Like when the Indian chased the buffalo, He runs granting himself no truce On the American Prarie, and exhausted

Relinquishes his prey, and sits

Crossed legged. Lights the fire, prepares his cot, and thus proclaims the end of his day There is nothing left to do, nothing left to say No one with whom to speak

Here, I sit On my couch, in my living room, in my house. It is six o'clock, the afternoon is finished There is nothing left to do, nothing left to say No one with whom to speak

Gaber would say, the moment has come, You should shampoo yourself. Gaber sang of a tedious day, no way out, But a warm shower, and some white foam.

My ears feel muffled, I have no desire, I have wasted this day.