Something's wrong. They tell me my only other blogging experience now cruising at silent altitude is an inhospitable home for poetry. More to the point, my own bigcitymartin persona is stuck somewhere between fiction and friction. Yes, personal. Yet, virally hopeless.
And I agree. Martin Esposito bigcitymartin is a neutral complex. It cannot (but has tried) to muster the thrust of an organisation, whose name must be the resultant of any harnessed good. But somehow some people escape the positive gloss a company can clothe itself in - unless we are evoking a celebrity. We are not.
One thing is certain: language use here cannot be a mere means to an end, nor an additional hobby. More like a keyhole through which the truth is gained, thanks to the interpretative (sorry) key leading to meaning.
Those who will read on and therefore have made it till here may encounter the tales of a conference interpreter and more dealing essentially with English and Italian. A composite, not splintered, identity, though this is true only in a very liquid way - more of a goal I guess. But not many tips, few links, and I'm not sure yet about the frequency either, though I'd love to fill so much of this white.
Of one thing I am certain. I care. I mean comments, mean comments too; and about the stories, necessarily rendered universal for safe fruition, but true and uncut from the cerebral cortex. I suppose it will be about belonging with only a dash of doing - others deal with that wonderfully, and I will point you in the right direction as we go along. Come here for the offline moments, like when Pinocchio needed his feet seeing to after a fire. Sat on a bench, he had to stop and take stock. What happens when you stop?
Where else my shoes will take us we shall see. Like GPS, I track in threes: the requirements of life, my travel companions, and the taste for words as bullets I just won't give up.
See you down here.