Paul Panzacchi: The moon, the finger and the curiosity
Appointment with the literature Author. Moda e Style introduces you in the words of Paul Panzacchi. Happy reading.I was son. Now I am a father. It’ a beautiful thing I had been told. Not. It’ much more than beautiful. Too often in discussions focused on "beautiful" without knowing exactly what we are talking, but this, today, is another story. I talk a lot, I, with paper and pen, with tastiera, little with the sounds. I write about jet, so I have no filters either in writing, so as to take away the ambiguity of "Writes to put filters in thoughts disordered and perhaps inappropriate". It’ nice to live so.
I am a father, I said. It’ that's nice, I said, water and, more than beautiful. Why is that? Not for the conventional, not for the trivial, not for the future, not for the perseverance of a species that condemns other, not for machismo (we have a female and female wanted it to be strongly), not for gifts, not for anything that might come to mind in the first thirty seconds of a frantic brainstorming.
For those who can not be, for those who can not do so as he would like, for those who can not play with the kids, but must travel with their lives on their shoulders and try to get it as the dawn of the next day, that life.
We are privileged, we're evil of our sick, in a film that I loved one of the two protagonists would say that the best football league you've only thanks to the existence of dozens of leagues of shit. True. Our glass bells are beautiful, wipes clean and at the right point, because the rest of the planet is in the open, polluted and flounders in our waste and in some spinner cannon.
I am not a moralist. Not an opportunist. Not a careerist. I just completely open the window of my daughter's room and looked in the direction she leads with her little chubby showed me, an indefinite point beyond the horizon of my prejudices of the man to whom he sent the tie too tight little blood to the brain.
I am aware of one thing, however, curiosity has been my salvation, the glass slipper at midnight of my life I lost on the stairs toward what is best, curiosity made me look out of my bell and not the finger of my joy.
My daughter, a year, crawling and already teaches me. As well as myself, it could happen to you, clenched jaws, take a smile, but of those lovely, do not know at what time will the train.
I have just arrived in a new world and I want to share with you, I want to explain what it is curiosity. Look over, not my finger.