Fibromyalgia. Nerve Pain. Joint Inflammation.


1. 3 flower candles.

2. 1 Picture.

3. Mini Umbrella.

                                                                                                  4. 9 Metal Tea Tins-  I have been a high-level consumer and lover of tea. Now of course I pay attention to anything that is "drug" like, so I fill the boxes with herbal tea, plants that I mostly collect myself and dry properly, or that I get from my "druid" friends from Italy, France, Germany. I have been married for 23 years to a very knowledgeable "druid", and learned a lot about phyto-therapy. I also consume green tea from Japan and puer tea from Yunnan.

5. 1 fan.

6. 1 postcard.

7. Paracetomol tablets.

8. 1 Bell.

9. Lap top.

10. Mouse.

11. Pad.

12. 4 Books- The Museum of Unconditional Surrender, by Dubravka Ugresic.

Build Your Own Independent Nation, by Sakagushi Kyohei.

Multicultural Japan, Edited by Denoon, Hudson, McCormack, and Morris Suzuki.

Giapponeserie, by Antonio Marazzi.

13. 4 notebooks- Now my pile of notebooks. They contain my dreams. I always try to write them, when I wake up... It is a struggle, because sometimes for the physical pain I must struggle to move, and then I forget most of the details of these dreams or nightmares. But when I can, I collect the "fragments" of the dreams. Since many years. It is material for my creative writing.

14. 1 pen.

15. 2 pictures- 

The picture with a couple is my mother, as young as 19 years old, with her first boyfriend, at Villa Borghese, a beautiful park in my hometown, Rome. This picture deserves some lines. It is also healing to watch at.

It has always intrigued me: it is so beautifully shot, there is a sense of intimacy, I have always asked myself, who could take such a picture? It seems to me very professional, but then, it is not posed. However, it must be posed, but in a sort of "natural" attitude, telling them not to think of the lenses? As I child I stared to it for long minutes. I knew that he was not my father, but when asking my mother, she was not remembering at all that situation, she always said: "It must be one of my admirers", and of course it seems to me that she deserved to have them, since she looks so unpretentiously pretty! And elegant. But now, to a closer look, I see her mostly looking as a Native American or Pueblo girl, brought to Italy and dressed by her mistress, something like that. I perhaps exaggerate a little. But it is an image of otherness tamed.

 In a way her bodily features are so incredibly natural, fit, tanned and her hair unkept almost, as if she belonged to wilderness; a mysterious statuette in a museum? Or a goddess of fertility from ancient Mayan civilizations? And then a dress anf shoes that reminds French films from the end of the 50s, Nouvelle Vague-like… What a contrast! My mother indeed was of an artistocratic family, in Italy, but she became orphan and spent her adolescence in a boarding school led by nasty catho nuns.

In that picture she is curiously staring to a duck, or something in the water of that pond, out of frame. He is talking to her peacefully, it fascinated me to think of it, who knows what he is explaining, pointing out… it arouses our senses, curiosity, and we are suddenly out of time. There in that moment of intimate exchange, before the voyeur who took this beautiful photo, in the click of that unique "naturally-posed" semi embrace, a sense of deep togetherness. Even if fictional, for me it happens now and again.

I feel hold on my waist, like her. When I am in pain, I look for the strong Paralgine forte 500 mil, something that is consider for reason a drug, and then I stare at that picture, that gives me a sense of peace. My heaps are often in maximum pain when sleeping and waking up, like if I had two nails in the femurs.



16. Stack of ticket stubs.