E la vide abbassare gli occhi per non farsene accorgere, e poi ancora, sconfitta e fatale, ritornare con gli occhi negli occhi che la sorpresero a guardare. Guardarsi, estirparsi l’anima, entrarsi dentro, dipingersi addosso i pensieri più segreti.
—  Luigi Mancini - Un bacio in sospeso
The distinguishing characteristic of the dandy’s beauty consists above all in an air of coldness which comes from an unshakeable determination not to be moved; you might call it a latent fire which hints at itself, and which could, but chooses not to burst into flame
—  Charles Baudelaire, The Painter of Modern Life

Valletta is a tiny capital city really. You can walk right across the peninsula in a matter of 10 or 12 minutes. Funny thing is that people tend to stick to the main roads; they huddle together and scour each and every shop they encounter, they stop and chat, they grab a coffee, and sometimes they veer towards a public space in search of a free Wifi connection. 

The side streets, or the outskirts of the city belong to the locals, the explorers, the wanderers and the flaneurs. I guess, each of those descriptions could or would suit me. Because, in all honesty, every spare moment is an occasion - an opportunity to switch off, change mode, and embrace my inner tourist - a side of my personality which is constantly gnawing at my insides, begging to be released. 

This green and red door - seemingly abandoned - are found in one such side street, a deliciously short and inclined stretch of road which is unspoiled, which remains untouched. It is one of a few spots which I gravitate towards whenever I crave some familiarity, and some oneness with the city.

Valletta, Malta

The flâneuses I found, the ones I wrote my book about, go walking in cities, but often with a purpose: to throw off the weight of their families, their husbands, their social roles, to explore who or what they can be, traveling around the world feeding off the chemical reaction, the flinting spark, provoked by the encounter with the foreign city. Flâneuserie—to coin a term—is about women moving from being looked at to looking. Through movement, we assert our subjectivity. The journalist Martha Gellhorn’s travel writing and war reporting, for example, is an engaged form of flânerie: she passionately believes that what she sees must be told. But how does she see it? By wandering around cities, reporting not on the great currents of history, but on everyday human life, writing “from the ground up.” The flâneuse is someone who gets to know the city by wandering its streets, investigating its dark corners, peering behind its facades, penetrating its secret courtyards. Rather than wandering aimlessly, like the flâneur, the most salient characteristic of the flâneuse is that she goes where she’s not supposed to.

I believe Hermès’s artistic director when he says that, in the nineteenth century, the flâneur challenged commercialized ways of being in the world. But today, as the flâneur is co-opted out from under us, the flâneuse is the more radical idea.

—  “Radical Flâneuserie” by Lauren Elkin for The Paris Review

Medellín está encerrada por dos brazos de montañas. Un abrazo topográfico que nos encierra a todos en un mismo espacio. Siempre se sueña con lo que hay detrás de las montañas aunque nos cueste desarraigarnos de este hueco; es una relación de amor y odio, con sentimientos más hacia una mujer que hacia una ciudad. Medellín es como esas matronas de antaño; llena de hijos, rezandera, piadosa y posesiva, pero también es madre seductora, puta, exuberante y fulgurosa. El que se va vuelve, el que reniega se retracta, el que la insulta se disculpa y el que la agrede las paga. Algo muy extraño nos sucede con ella, porque a pesar del miedo que nos mete, de las ganas de largarnos que todos alguna vez hemos tenido, a pesar de haberla matado muchas veces, Medellín siempre termina ganando. 

(1er parrado del 10mo capitulo de Rosario Tijeras)  .

Originally posted by elamormasgrandelplaneta

adaptedstory  asked:

Hey :) I'm planning on taking a trip to Paris in April. I've loved the idea of doing it since I was about 14 years old. Do you know of any good books about Paris for me to read? Hunting them down have been surprisingly difficult.

Hey! That’s so exciting! Paris is a beautiful city. Make sure to check out Shakespeare & Company bookstore. 

I haven’t read many books about Paris, but here are a few that I found.

Shakespeare and Company by Sylvia Beach (I read this one and I enjoyed it).

    The Sweet Life in Paris by David Lebovitz

    Lessons in French by Hilary Reyl

    The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery

    A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway

    The Paris Wife by Paula McLain

    Paris to the Moon by Adam Gopnik

    The Flaneur by Edmund White

I hope this helps and that you have an amazing trip!

Does anyone else have any recommendations?

Lui era il più solitario del gruppo di amici. Lei era la protetta di un padre e di una madre. Le grida, il sindaco, la banda, il prete, i parenti, i pianti, e fra di tutti quei tanti, due metà s'incontravano per la prima volta.

Un bacio in sospeso - Les Flaneurs Edizioni



I know life is weird and that you often lose yourself in the seemingly pointless flow of everyday life.


Take a short moment and breathe. Look at the details around you. If there is sun, face is and let it touch your face. If there is rain listen to the small bodies of water around you.

Halt the illusion of time for a while and appreciate the world around you.


Beauty is still out there….if you look for it.

anonymous asked:

19, female, 160cm, dark hair dark eyes. Living in London, English major, really into languages and embroidering. We can be flaneurs together, visit secondhand book and record shops, then hang out at home with coffee and ice cream! At one point we can mute the telly and do silly voiceovers. Then we'll take a nap on the couch in the late afternoon, when there are little golden rays of sunshine filtered through the curtains and into the living room.

sounds like fun