in the garden of the house close to me somebody is growing the sunflowers... they are so big that the windows of that wooden house are hidden from the sight of the passers-by. but today as i looked at their yellow faces looking down i felt that they are leaving... it might be the last sunny and warm days in new england, although the weather here changes every day and after the chilly evenings last week, this weekend brought a relief. maybe the whales have not yet left the shores of boston and we could go to watch them... in october they go away and come back only in spring... i have never seen a whale...

today was the first time i said no. i didn't go to boston, even if ksenia invited me to the common to read my book there. "basta!" about the zapatista rebellion in chiapas, mexico, which is not the romantic indians fighting for their rights but much more and much less at the same time. it's complex... yesterday at harvard bookstore there was the biography of subcomandante marcos on the same shelf with eight-hundred page long books on che guevara. this reminded me of bologna and the subcultural marxism there, of the power of che t-shirt and of the italian communist songs we used to sing at nights. i miss italy. this is not the first time i think about that. something more than just missing europe. italy was very beautiful. i don't abuse this word. it was beautiful in the sense that it was aesthetic... the renaissance florence or medieval ravena, vast vineyards of toscana and small towns in the colline of romagna just above forli... there is something beautiful in the way italians eat and in the way they dress, also something more in the way they chat in the market... and it is rich beauty. i felt it in my blood. even being sad and lonely there is part of the beauty that surrounds you. nostalgia comes along with the cultural heritage... deep thoughts walking down the silent dark streets of the old city... it is not that beautiful to be sad in america. imagine some small town somewhere in the midwest which you definitely see in many movies and someone sad there... it would hurt because that saddness is not the same as the beautiful italian longing for home... maybe that's the reason my letters from italy were nice and here i can't write the same. or i couldn't. there are some places which have become so dear to me that i could spend an evening just walking there all alone... boston downtown... and especially cambridge...



yesterday on my way back from the bar at one at night i was thinking about that. sad because i had to go home already but tired as well... we only met at eight or so with karima, ksenia, diego and andrea and sergio, who are also chilean, to go to one irish pub for some guiness or wine and then to another bar where we had to separate. and i only had one glass of grapefruit juice. one friend of ksenia's who is a filmmaker came to join us. it turned out that he is of italian descent and can speak italian but with the weird american accent. he told me that bologna is all full of communists which he doesn't like... and he is able to get tickets to the rolling stones concert... and he also praised american burgers... you can get the best in los angeles but also the ones from boston are better than anything europeans have ever tried. ksenia had two last night but i wasn't hungry. however, i still remember the burgers from the place ergys took us some weeks ago. that was good.



on my way back sitting in the bus i wanted to write something in the new notebook i got from the harvard bookstore last night. it is a moleskine, the legendary notebook originally made by small french bookbinders and used by picasso, van gogh and hemingway... no in stores again after someone in milano decided to renew this traditional design. i bought it for my field-notes, for anhtropological observations once i finally meet the armenians and the turkish... or for some other spontaneous thoughts which are always better than all the pre-planned essays. however, last night i did not have a pen... so my thoughts sank into sleep on the bus home... just to wake up and realize that there is the red big moon to guide my way to highland street.