Status Updates From Fuochi

I don't bear happiness well. Lack of habit. In your arms, I could only die.

There is no sterile love. No precaution can avert it. When I leave you, I have deep within me my suffering like a sort of terrible offspring.

he envied Hector for perfecting this masterpiece: only he, himself, should have torn away the last veils that thought, gesture, the very fact of being alive, placed between them, in order to discover Patroclus in the sublime nudity of his death.

Absent, your face expands so that it fills the universe. You reach the fluid state which is the one of ghosts. Present, your face condenses, you achieve
the concentration of the heaviest metals, of iridium, of mercury. This weight kills me when it falls on my heart.

Absolute love, striking its victim both as a disease and as a vocation,