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It’s Sunday and for most we walked through a street market. It’s colourful and loud and busy, but also hot today and the sun is strong. The fruit and vegetables look nicer than in the supermarkets. We end up walking on the footpath behind the stalls, where the sellers are sleeping on their backs, on top of crates and boxes in the shade. There are dogs too, looking like they are dead from the heat. I bought a drink from a street cart. It is watermelon but maybe there is some strawberry mixed in there too. But that was later on a street corner. At the market people are selling food like pasta and meat from big plastic tubs in shopping trolleys. CG

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Somewhere in your garden is a tree that your children play on. But really it's a monument to my dead cat and to my childhood and your children climb it all the time.  CG

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чтобы описать это не

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чтобы описать это не хватит снов

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Mon arrière grand pierre

Attempt to become stone, a granite being. Granito in Italian. Luigi Granito is my great grandfather. It was the rule at the time when one is an orphan. No family = a stone as family name. To be uprooted is to become mineral. But History also has vocation to become stone. My great-grandfather he managed to become a stone without a past. In French we can use the unusual verb "graniter" to say to imitate granite with color. Granita. The crushed ice is a colorful imitation of the composite material. A memory that melts in the sun. A past to put in the mouth. My monument to sip. LT

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I came here to declare my absence. Have you ever thought about all that signs and artifacts which are left by people around? Every word posted on internet becomes something that reminds of a person. But what if that person has never existed, the fake character? The life is a fiction or I prefer to call it literature. There is enough online data already to analyse all posts and comments to imitate someone’s language, someone’s personality. Isn’t it odd that people wish to have streets or airports called by their names, while there are so much imprints of us around? Maybe by now we should erase memory instead of creating it? NC

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Kissing with stones because I feel equality between us. A body is a body is a body. I’m looking through a soft warm steel to likeness and difference between me and digital noise, between you and blooming sounds, between actions and stillness. I think every centimeter of our skin is a battlefield of space around, of pain we experienced, of happiness ever happened, of our hopes and expectations. It is formed and constructed by present times. Birthmarks prove we are born, skin proves we are alive, bones prove we will be dead. I feel this violet cloud will be taken away by our voices soon. XOXO NC

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Kissing with stones because I feel equality between us. A body is a body is a body. I’m looking through a soft warm steel to likeness and difference between me and digital noise, between you and blooming sounds, between actions and stillness. I think every centimeter of our skin is a battlefield of space around, of pain we experienced, of happiness ever happened, of our hopes and expectations. It is formed and constructed by present times. Birthmarks prove we are born, skin proves we are alive, bones prove we will be dead. I feel this violet cloud will be taken away by our voices soon. XOXO NC

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I was thinking about the materiality of unseen. What is the form of hope? How does sincerity taste? What is inspiration made of? We name these things, we share them, we recognize, but they actually exist only in our minds and mouths, when we name them. Staying in front of thousands of people, in front of bookshelves, in front of screen I see only symbols: letters, words, numbers. The only one thing I know for sure - we don’t have enough dreams to express the world. NC

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Temporality of plants is very truthful. I call it plantonic love. NC

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Step forward. Step back. You never know. You have been knowing always. Situate yourself into the position of someone who has no name, no past, no plans for future and who embodies self in the stomach zone. There was nothing before, there will be nothing after, everything is happening now. The only truth is here. Please let me know if something happened. NC

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I’ve been carrying a small blue plastic fish around with me since June. I bought it in an egg. I could make it a rock and drop it on my car. Tie it up and surround it with palm trees. Walk it through the main square. My memories ride a horse. Resting on a plinth. We can watch it from beneath. Soft stone forever. CG

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Yesterday I was in the crimson street. I have just made the connection with this war memorial that we went to in Kosovo, where the Jashari family rests. There was a path leading to the family home, a path made of red slabs (moreover quite slippery). The professors had explained to us that it symbolizes bloodshed. Now I see the crimson street like a bloody pool. I had never seen it that way. I think that the ground is a not-enough-used communication space. In my hometown I have always been fascinated by a memorial of this type. It is a single red slab of the size of a hand, in the middle of a busy street. A discreet evocation between the shops of the murder of a president with the strange name of Sadi. LT

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First of all, you must not move. Do not breathe. Be marble. Make your body of stone. Feel gray. I will not move at the beginning but I will realize that I am not made of the right material. I'll try again , I could do it maybe, at least for a day. Come on. You just have to concentrate a little more. I want them to come here to see me. But it is too anoying to stay in the ground. My legs are scratching me.
LT

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In one of the trees of the park Leb there is a panty hung. It looks more like a swimsuit bottom actually. A little further, another, lying on the ground, near Ibhm street. They stay there and freeze, graft on the surface which received them. Some of them dress the same material as the tree, as the soil. Little by little, we can't undo them anymore. Impossible to pick them up, to come and get them back. There are a certain number of them in the city. Not to the extend of looking like a voluntary and systematic gesture, but enough to notice them. I guess many of them belonged to prostitutes. Someone told me that they are like shoes we can see hanging down from electric cables. The most common explanation is the homage to a dead person but in fact nobody really knows what is the intention of the one who throws them. LT

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The other day the municipality, to close the endless debate about the choice of the name of the new street leading to the great library, decided to set up an evolving street sign. It is a bit the same system as on some credit cards: the cryptogram changes permanently for more security. I do not know if you've seen that before. My father has a credit card like that. The city council, unable to resolve the conflict on names (everyone wanting to remember someone different and all for a good reason), accepted the ten proposals that alternate each day. On the other hand, it became more complicated to find a way. I heard that residents of this street are lauching a petition because they can't get their mail. Finally everyone calls it the street-that-changes. LT

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I read an article called ‘the magic of rocks and stones’. It had blue text on a black background, but the opal I have is a fire opal that I bought in San Diego with Robin. If it were larger I would put my ear against it and listen. But it’s small and sits inside my ear and does my listening for me. I hear sounds through that day in golden light. Opal is my birth stone and with each note I am reborn. CG

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I wasn’t wearing a seat-belt, and she paid cash for the uber. We had coke zero from a glass bottle and sat around the dining room table with the plastic flowers and doilies. She kept talking about death, that she was going to die, and that we’re all going to die. She told me that she could die in peace now that she’d met me. We said goodbye standing outside and she said that she had gotten my address at some point and had wanted to send me a letter, but then she got busy and was working and sick and busy until right then. CG