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ASTRID AND THOR ARE BACK

PART TWO   Astrid wasn’t working anymore. Work was a thing of the past; from 2066 the global workforce had been reduced to 2%. All factories − magicians hats, as they were now called − grew underground hidden by lawns and meadows, buried under hills, so that we could count daisies and look at clovers. Thor and Astrid were relaxing after a night picnic of fruit based meals and drinks for a total calories vitamins ratio of 1/100: a vitamin intake sufficient for the next seven days. Astrid was studying ‘history in the final year of capitalism and the collapse of the last empire’. She yawned thinking how oppressive work must have been, and tried to picture herself getting out of bed every morning even when it was raining but she really couldn’t.  How lucky she was to have been born after the collapse of society, as they knew it. Of course not everything was perfect, it still rained but rain was nice if you could sit in your glass-bubble roof terrace and sip tea. In a...
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WHERE NO WIND BLOWS...

I LOVE WORDS I like words so much that I had to learn a new language to double them up, so that I could write each one not once but twice. Hundreds of words,  like  people reflected in a distorted mirror, where a big man sees himself thin and a skinny woman sees herself fat. With words it was just the same, some became very long in the other language, others became shorter. It was good to have such an infinite variety. I imagined them all locked up in shining little boxes. Each word with its reflexed image. One in gold and the other one in silver. One long and the other one short. One all curled up in the shape of a half moon, the other one sitting flat in the middle. Always happy to be together. It didn't matter how big or small they were. They would always fit in the little box together, forming different shapes in a long DNA chain as strong as steel, climbing up all the way to the moon whenever I opened the little box. I could see myself walking each step till I reached t...
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Della serie: Storie principesche senza senso

La guerriera e il mago (o meglio) la guarigione della guerriera Ero seduta su un cavallo pezzato, grigio e bianco, che a passo molto lento trotterellava lungo il campo tagliando l’erba con gli zoccoli. Per non scivolare mi avvinghiavo con le mani e le braccia al mio cavaliere. Aveva un lungo mantello. Il suo colletto alto e rigido mi impediva di vedere che aspetto avesse. Volevo tanto che fosse il mago, il mago di cui tutti parlavano, che viveva sul monte e raccoglieva erbe e sassi, pietre e foglie. E se non lui, almeno un altro mago, un qualsiasi mago. E così pensando continuai il viaggio fiduciosa di essere nelle mani giuste. Ero stanca, tanto stanca. La mia armatura aveva buchi e graffi, l’elmo mi copriva la fronte e il naso, mentre il resto del volto era seminascosto dall’usbergo. Il cavallo, il cavaliere, ed io cominciammo a inerpicarci per una ripida salita, andando su, e più su, lentamente, dondolando. A volte barcollavamo e...
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