misses Georgia? (Pace Wm. Nelson.) Notwithstanding: this linguistic isolation is killing me. It was easier in Africa, where I couldn't even TRY to speak the language, and simply gave myself over to books and solitude. But solitude in Rome, like anywhere magical, is a dish of parsley and salt, of water and sand. A double negation: restricted to small talk and that incompetently. The only people who have time for small talk are gods and ghosts. And to imagine a language is to imagine a life-form. So with a 1000-word vocabulary and a tongue lacerated with conjugations and declinations, I'm the ghost of an idiot.
La parlata è come la faccia: la nostra caratteristica più ovvia, di cui siamo il meno consci.
5 comments:
What's a motherfucker gotta do to get a link to his blog on yours, G? Have a pretty banner?
Being distanced from the US has had only one odd net effect on this end: a newly discovered appreciation for west-coast hip hop. "Gin and Juice" makes sense now.
- Jules
good post! very funny!
Oh sigh, the perils of being a gallivanteur. Georgia misses your big mouth.
Patrique,
how was the world cup title celebration over there? Are you still alive? he he he
Sebben crudele!
Mi fai languir!
Sempre fidele!
Ti voglio amar!
Go dawgs!
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