list of things to do Andrea Martucci
-which is me-:
1) pay the electricity bill (past due for two weeks)
2) washing
3 ) bicycle chain grease the
3) buy Jack Kerouac biography.
4) discover what thoughts tossed into Ernesto Maria Pasquali.
Yes, because even if the biographical research, although between squeaking and obstacles, he began to outline the stages of the producer and director, it would stop powerless in the face of the impossibility mostrarene the character, weaknesses, and then the dreams of the young intellectual.
In the mists of time were the anecdotes to lord it, but as a historian would base a search on them?
"Oh yeah? And where were when there was still a chance to track down some witnesses, to collect the papers and documents, to preserve his films?" I thought.
Basking in my impertinence, I decided that if no one else in many years he had thought of telling his story, perhaps I could try I .
The story of Easter! The article by his friend Joseph Welsh was there waiting to tell it.
Lost Mom eleven years, Ernest was sent to boarding school in Aosta. A harsh environment, all uniforms and greetings in the choir, nothing particularly attractive in the eyes of a child possessed. Then transfer uncle deputy in Turin. A few dozen miles to the south, geographically, but his spirit was a trip ... revolutionary!
Bewitched by the cultural life of the former Savoy capital, in a few years became a reporter for the Journal of the People and the Press. At his pen was delegated to tell facts not in capital letters, parades and businesses Savoy, but the life of every day: those who would call anecdote, little stories, small portraits of known and unknown. Turin seemed a micro mine, wherever you turn around there was something that demanded his attention: walks to the Valentino Park, the romantic encounters between soldiers and commoners, the astronomical observatory at Piazza Castello, an excursion to the Matterhorn, the market of Porta Palazzo. Eye
fast, pen even more, Pasquali wrote several hundred articles that stung plenty of life in the details that other reporters were not interested. Of course not, they were simply shorthand of reality. Easter, however, was an author .
I paused for a moment. I needed to read those papers, but a consultation with a newspaper was not even remotely be considered.
Unpublished documents, was what you wanted, how! But there was no shining "Stock Pasquali" to reveal the whole story, and those contemplating the unpublished documents of which there seemed to be angry with me right:
"Andrea Martucci -whispered to me at all times-v uoi really know why no one has ever talked about Easter? T u find us, and we will respond. "
At that point, my delirious visions about the whole thing proved a sharp question: if I was no longer the star of a good game, how could I think you can win?
Learn a few tricks seemed a good idea, and after some mulling, I called the cemetery of Piacenza. (continued)
-which is me-:
1) pay the electricity bill (past due for two weeks)
2) washing
3 ) bicycle chain grease the
3) buy Jack Kerouac biography.
4) discover what thoughts tossed into Ernesto Maria Pasquali.
Yes, because even if the biographical research, although between squeaking and obstacles, he began to outline the stages of the producer and director, it would stop powerless in the face of the impossibility mostrarene the character, weaknesses, and then the dreams of the young intellectual.
In the mists of time were the anecdotes to lord it, but as a historian would base a search on them?
"Oh yeah? And where were when there was still a chance to track down some witnesses, to collect the papers and documents, to preserve his films?" I thought.
Basking in my impertinence, I decided that if no one else in many years he had thought of telling his story, perhaps I could try I .
The story of Easter! The article by his friend Joseph Welsh was there waiting to tell it.
Lost Mom eleven years, Ernest was sent to boarding school in Aosta. A harsh environment, all uniforms and greetings in the choir, nothing particularly attractive in the eyes of a child possessed. Then transfer uncle deputy in Turin. A few dozen miles to the south, geographically, but his spirit was a trip ... revolutionary!
Bewitched by the cultural life of the former Savoy capital, in a few years became a reporter for the Journal of the People and the Press. At his pen was delegated to tell facts not in capital letters, parades and businesses Savoy, but the life of every day: those who would call anecdote, little stories, small portraits of known and unknown. Turin seemed a micro mine, wherever you turn around there was something that demanded his attention: walks to the Valentino Park, the romantic encounters between soldiers and commoners, the astronomical observatory at Piazza Castello, an excursion to the Matterhorn, the market of Porta Palazzo. Eye
fast, pen even more, Pasquali wrote several hundred articles that stung plenty of life in the details that other reporters were not interested. Of course not, they were simply shorthand of reality. Easter, however, was an author .
I paused for a moment. I needed to read those papers, but a consultation with a newspaper was not even remotely be considered.
Unpublished documents, was what you wanted, how! But there was no shining "Stock Pasquali" to reveal the whole story, and those contemplating the unpublished documents of which there seemed to be angry with me right:
"Andrea Martucci -whispered to me at all times-v uoi really know why no one has ever talked about Easter? T u find us, and we will respond. "
At that point, my delirious visions about the whole thing proved a sharp question: if I was no longer the star of a good game, how could I think you can win?
Learn a few tricks seemed a good idea, and after some mulling, I called the cemetery of Piacenza. (continued)
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