E. Hemingway – A poem

You are not your age,
Nor the size of the clothes you wear,
You are not a weight,
Or the color of your hair.
You are not your name,
Or the dimples in your cheeks,
You are all the books you read,
And all the words you speak,
You are your croaky morning voice,
And the smiles you try to hide,
You are the sweetness in your laughter,
And every tear you’ve cried,
You’re the songs you sing so loudly when you know you’re all alone,
You’re the places you’ve been too,
And the one that you call home,
You’re the things that you believe in,
And the people that you love,
You’re the photos in your bedroom,
And the future you dream of,
You’re made of so much beauty,
But it seems you forgot,
When you decided that you were defined,
By all the things you’re not.

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Insta-Bergamo

Happy new year! 🙂

I didn’t post so much lately, but I went back to Italy to celebrate Christmas with my family and friends, and, as I took a walk in the old part of Bergamo, known as Cittá alta, I took some pictures and spammed Instagram 😛
I want to share them to show how beautiful Cittá alta is. I met many tourists that drove straight from Bergamo airport to Milano or Garda lake, overseeing this beautiful medieval jewel. I know that I’m not impartial, but the few that listened to me and spent some time there, didn’t regret it 🙂

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Pawel Kuczynski

Fine and powerful satirical illustrations 🙂

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Chicago by Stanley Kubrick

I found these beautiful pictures in an article on Mashable.
It was 1949, Mr. Kubrick was 21 years old and he was working as a journalistic photographer for Look Magazine. In this wide variety of subjects, (school children, steel workers, models, commuters, etc), I can see an exciting post-war Chicago characterised by striking contradictions, a renewed freedom and big hopes for the future.
I particularly like the first six and the portrait of the African-American family. I think, we can all agree that the kid already had talent 😛

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Autumn

That’s what I understood after last week walk with my D3000: I really need a tripod 😛

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A story that could be true, by William Stafford

If you were exchanged in huge cradle and
Your real mother died
Without ever telling the story
Then no one knows your name,
And somewhere in huge world
Your father is lost and needs you
But you are far away.

He can never find
How true are, how ready.
When the great wind comes
And the robberies of the rain
You stand on the corner shivering.
The people who go by – –
You wonder at their calm.

They miss the whisper that runs
Any day in your mind,
“Who are you really, wanderer?”- –
And the answer you have to give
No matter how dark and cold
The world around you is:
“Maybe I’m the king.”