Proprieta Privata How many times have I passed this corner? Never knowing until today someone has a claim on it. This is so very much Italy to me. Everywhere you go houses and businesses behind gates. The delineation of space clear and without question. People living in TV news fear. The Crises! the Gypsies! the need to protect children from the boogeyman! Maybe Im just a fool. In the first weeks of my Italian incarceration-- I posted a poem with a picture of the key to my front door. Alberto, the flat owner, had a fit. Jay, he said, what are you doing? People will figure out where you live, they will make a copy of your picture and bring it to a key maker! All your things will be stolen, you might even be raped! This, despite the fact that two more locks need to be broken even before someone can make it to my front door. Back then I was still grateful for a place to stay-- I took the poem off Facebook. Now I whack Alberto with a barb every now and then. Foolish man, I say, really, who would want my box of vino and my shattered iPhone 4? Via Fasolato is the street of my flat. You think you can take me? Bring it on. I know we have to be wary. Whenever I travel I do so with a dose of reality. I just cant figure out why its so important to claim a corner all of us walk on. Proprieta Privata, in heaven are there places like that? And the heart-- if its behind a gate is it really safe? Wouldnt it be amazing if the only key we ever needed was the understanding required to decipher the hieroglyphics of ancient civilizations-- on the walls of caves that have no doors.
Posted on: Wed, 12 Mar 2014 07:49:10 +0000
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