Throughout the morning of October 10 I did nothing but listen to new albums by Radiohead and the bitter, one after another, almost as if it were a rosary. Pearl after pearl, filling dozens of boxes of books in a dilapidated warehouse in the center of Macerata. A former manger for horses where time seems to stand to the years of Gutenberg and the first printing with the smell of paper books that gets right into the body, like the cool humidity of summer makes it the ideal retreat. The music comes straight from the computer screen, the only element of a technological environment, otherwise pre-modern. The chimes of the clock tower from the nearby square mingle with the sounds of "in rainbows "between boxes and bows, while Thom Yorke's voice fills the large warehouse space, he takes the flight over the thoughts that today speak of" everything I need, " of everything I do now stay here instead of counting the copies of "Fishing in the mid-Adriatic" to send to some kind of library in northern Italy.
This weekend there is also to avoid another fight, the outings seem to come on purpose to get back to reality, the last months of 2007 which does not yet know how to pass, but at least they have already found their soundtrack ideal. And beyond any personal problem, this is always a good start.
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