If you say loneliness to me
If you say loneliness to me
Words: Stefano Maria Palombi Visuals: @aladin
If you say loneliness to me, the first image that comes to mind is a man, no longer young, not yet old.
A handsome guy. In a laundromat at The Mission, in San Francisco, California. The laundry machine has finished its job and he now folds up with care, or rather with know-how, his spotless clothes.
I was there, surrounded by my children who still breathed every breath in unison with me. I was there, with a young and beautiful woman with black hair and a permanent declaration of love for me.
At times, at the time, I suffered from many-ness: because I, all too often, was us.
And yet that man folding those tee shirts, those work pants, those pairs of underwear, I remember him well. There was no one at home waiting for him, I could have bet my home on it. No one would have ironed his shirts, that's why he folded them carefully. At least he wouldn't have felt that thing missing.
Know what? I tell you that loneliness strikes those who are courageous. You aren't afraid of it. You don't let it decide things for you. You say, either all of love or the most female of women or the friend who's a brother or the life most like life, or nothing.
And when the nothing comes, you are there on the street, alone, waiting for it.
You extend your hand to welcome it and you don't know that you will never again raise a hand to wave it goodbye.
Alessandra was my wife. She had a sister, Enrica, I had known her since we were kids. Cancer literally consumed her. Despite her firm intention to remain on this earth.
The last book she read, amid atrocious pain and useless tranquilizers, was mine.
Alessandra told me that, on one of the last nights, she woke up screaming. She was aghast, she was dying. Then, as she struggled to regain her breath, she told her she was afraid, afraid. I wasn’t there. But I swear to you that, in the days that followed, I wouldn’t have been able to swear to it. It was as if I had listened to those words with my own ears. And seen that terror with my own eyes.
I don't know what is happening to me, but I think it has to do with a dearth of kisses.
I think it has to do with that man in the laundromat at The Mission, in San Francisco, California.
Se mi dici solitudine (Milos, 2013)
Se mi dici solitudine, la prima immagine che mi viene in mente è un uomo, non più giovane, non ancora vecchio. Un bel tipo. In una lavanderia a Mission, San Francisco, California. La lavatrice ha finito di fare il suo lavoro e lui ora ripiega con cura, anzi con maestria, i suoi abiti senza macchia. Io ero lì, circondato dai miei figli che respiravano ancora insieme a me ogni respiro. Io ero lì, con una ragazza bella e giovane, con i capelli neri e una dichiarazione permanente d’amore per me. A volte, a quel tempo, soffrivo di moltitudine. Perché io, troppo spesso, ero noi. Eppure quell’uomo che piegava quelle magliette, quei pantaloni da lavoro, quelle mutande, me lo ricordo bene. Non c’era nessuno a casa ad aspettarlo, mi ci sarei scommesso la casa. Nessuno gli avrebbe stirato le camicie, ecco perché le piegava con cura. Almeno di questo non avrebbe sofferto la mancanza. Sai che ti dico? Ti dico che la solitudine colpisce i coraggiosi. Tu non la temi. Non lasci che sia lei a decidere per te. Tu dici, o tutto l’amore o la donna più femmina o l’amico fratello o la vita più vita, o niente. E quando il niente arriva, tu sei lì sulla strada, solo, ad aspettarlo. Le porgi la mano per darle il benvenuto e non sai che la mano in alto per dirle addio non la solleverai più. Alessandra è stata mia moglie. Aveva una sorella, Enrica, la conoscevo fin da quando eravamo ragazzi. Un tumore l’ha letteralmente consumata. Nonostante la sua ferma intenzione di restare su questa terra. L’ultimo libro che ha letto, in mezzo a dolori atroci e inutili calmanti, è stato il mio. Alessandra mi ha detto che una delle ultime notti si è svegliata gridando. Era sbalordita, stava morendo. Poi, mentre cercava di ritrovare il respiro, le ha detto di avere paura, paura. Io non ero lì. Ma ti giuro che nei giorni seguenti non avrei potuto giurarlo. Quelle parole era come se le avessi ascoltate con le mie orecchie. E quel terrore visto con i miei occhi. Non so bene cosa mi succede, ma credo abbia a che fare con la mancanza di baci. Credo che abbia a che fare con quell’uomo nella lavanderia di Mission, San Francisco, California.
SMP+ Stefano Maria Palombi. Copywriter, creative director, director of commercials, documentaries and art films. Creator of photo books, websites and exhibitions. Writer and poet. www.stefanopalombi.com @aladin #art #arthoe #afropunk #slumdog #style #divinations #design #typography #fashion www.instagram.com/aladin
Concept: SMP+ and LOLA LOLA Experience + design A multidisciplinary design group focused on crossmedia branding, hybrid communication languages, service design and the design of new “information experiences�. www.lolaetlabora.com