by Lorenzo Piccoli
These last two days have been very slow. Gianluca and I have devoted the last two days to a complete otium, something I am not really used to any longer. Not long ago I was reading a superb novel whereby the author was wondering whether the pleasure of slowness has disappeared. Where has it gone? And where have they gone, the amblers of yesteryear? Where have they gone, those loafing heroes of folk song, those vagabonds who roam from one mill to another and bed down under the stars? Maybe they could not be happy in this world. In our times, in our minds, otium has turned into having nothing to do, being frustrated, bored; and people are not capable of perceiving it as the fragile, delicious feeling of simply being outside time.