#1: Introduction.

I've been thinking lately about many things. And that got me thinking about how it would be nice to be able to put all of those things on a page. As such, here it is. Probably a lot of different stuff will end up here, mostly related to whatever I'm insane about at the time (the ominous cave on the sea shore just whispered 'ancora una volta sto a guarda le MotoGP...' about 17 times).

#2: On Brothers.

I've been thinking a lot about Luca Marini today. I don't know. I just wonder a lot. What is it like, to know that the blood of a titan runs through your veins? To know that you could never surpass him? Never even get close? I wonder how much of Luca is nature, and how much of it is nurture. Has Valentino tried to mould him into the perfect soldier? Or, when it became clear that the cloth he was cut from was the same fabric, but a different pattern, did he focus less on him in order to work on moulding that malleable clay of Pecco into the sharp, smooth lines he now holds? Does Valentino try to protect him from the media? It doesn't particularly seem so. A shark does not flee when it smells blood. Wolves do not avoid rabbits.

As always, when I think of anything Valentino, I inevitably think of something Marc. The red string may be slick with blood, but it has never been cut. And as such, while I think about Valentino and Luca, I also think about Marc and Alex. How...Valentino was perhaps harsh, perhaps less eager to see his brother reach the top step when more worthy candidates were there in Pecco and Marco. And how Marc was the opposite - celebrating Alex's wins even when he has issues with his own race, making a point to protect him from the media even to his own detriment. I think of how Valentino tried to destroy Marc, and how he refuses to let even a hint of that reach Alex. How Alex moved in with him after his accident.

I wonder how Luca feels, how he thinks. I met him recently, and he was lovely. Polite, with eyes even more startlingly blue than they are in photos. He doesn't really look like Valentino, and I think some of that is on purpose - the hair, the facial hair, the styling and the way he presents himself. Part of me wonders whether, even if the cloth was the same pattern, whether he wouldn't take paint to it anyway. The others would see it as blasphemy. I think of Marco and his horseshoe earring, how Pecco used to have the same but took it out, secure in his championships. Marco and Pecco are not cut from the same cloth as Valentino, but their god has carefully hand-painted his pattern onto them regardless.

I think it helps that Luca doesn't share the "Rossi" name. I think Alex sharing the "Marquez" title likely does not help him. I don't know - do I ever?

#3: I want.

I want. I want so badly. A little house, in the Tuscan countryside with a beaded door leading to the kitchen. Wind chimes, spring rain, a cup of tea, the thrifted sofa I'll never replace even when I can afford it. An Aprilia that I call "my girl" fondly when people compliment her. Warm-toned fairy lights in my living room and mismatched cushions. A little cat (orange). Companionship. I want my father back, I want my mother to act like a mother, I want so desperately for my grandmother to live forever and ever. I want to hop on a 600cc and tear down the motorway at 2am with my plates blacked out. I want to go on a walk at 8am and hear the birdsong and feel the sunlight on my face. I want, right now, more than all of this, to smoke a cigarette. I want a hug. A bed that doesn't squeak quite so loudly when I move. Legs and wrists that don't hurt. To be healthier, to be more in shape. I could go on. I just want.

#4: Rosso.

I've been thinking lately about how Marc's move to Ducati is nothing short of poetry. How red has always been his favourite colour, how he wears lucky red underwear on race days only, how he won 6 championships on the orange Honda and every time pulled up to a grandstand awash with red. I just think there's something beautiful in the way he has found himself a new home, a new family in the sport, a team who are clearly just as besotted with him as he is with them and how their colours match perfectly. How good he looks in the rosso. Usually, with Italian teams who adopt the red, I push the narrative of blood. Bloody hands, bloody knees, a man (a martyr) strung up on a bloody cross, rusty nails with red flecks, spatter of red on the pavement and- well. You get the picture. But Marc's marriage to Ducati this year? Calls to fields of roses, splashes of sunset, a smooth glass of merlot, and flushed cheeks. I'm not sure I really need to say more.

#5: Like Him.

Do I look like him? Said another man with no father. I can't help but wish, sometimes, that I could ask the same. But I know I don't look like him. Nor my mother. I am, perhaps, a little thankful for this. Perhaps also a little mournful.

I'm chasing a ghost. I don't think I'll ever stop.

#6: Motorbikes and death.

I've been thinking lately, a lot, about motorbikes and death. About the reasons we ride, the reasons people will go 200 without leathers, the reasons they black their plates out and run, the way everyone I know who rides has lost someone on two wheels. My gran brought it up with me, on the phone the other day -
"You do know that it's more dangerous than a car, right?"
And I replied of course, of course I did. And I do know that, everyone does. I think that's part of it, though. When you get on a bike, even one with low power, you know there's just a little more risk. The veil is thinner. In the dead of night, you can almost hear the other side over the screaming wind. People will put their leathers on to honour the people they've lost, the people who lived and died. People will go out and feel the sun on their back and feel just that little bit more human.

I think what i'm trying to say is this: death likes motorbikes. But, for those minutes before she reaches for you, you'll have never felt more alive. And that's reason enough to keep riding, to me.

#7: Yellow chrysanthemums.

A wedding venue decorated in yellow chrysanthemums - "slighted love". He doesn't know that's what they mean. You do. It's a small victory, when all is said and done. Not one you'll tell him about, not one worth fighting over. But they're present in every picture, you make sure of that.

#8: Volevo essere un duro.

"Living life is child's play - that's what my mom used to tell me as I fell from trees".

I liked quite a few Eurovision entries this year. Volevo essere un duro was my favourite by far. It, perhaps, wasn't a Eurovision song. But it was absolutely one of the most meaningful and beautiful songs there. I was already a Lucio Corsi fan before, but now he's one of my top artists.

I'm terrified of moving back home. University is over, and I'm moving in 9 days. I'm turning 23 in 7 days. I'm not sure how to face either of these facts, really. I'm going to a funeral in 2 days. I feel, sometimes, as though I'm barely holding myself together. If you know me, you'll know exactly what I'm doing to cope with all of the change and the pressure and the stress: thinking about literally anything else because it's sustainable for me to do so right now (and smoking a little weed and drinking a little liquor in the evenings).

I like to think of myself as a well-adjusted person. I try my best to be kind, and if something happens that upsets me I'm not one to start an argument about it. It feels like, lately, people have been trying to provoke arguments with me - perhaps not intentionally, but it feels that way nontheless. I don't know. It's not something I've engaged with, it's not something I will engage with. I'm not sure if it's the combination of losing two people very dear to me in a short space of time to cancer, but I think. Well. Losing two people very dear to you in a short space of time to cancer certainly gives you perspective on what's important to you. And it certainly reminds you very quickly that it's not worth fighting for those who don't want to spend time with you, or fighting those who wish to fight you.

The weather has been warm, the sun has been shining, there are two magpies who play in my garden that I blow kisses to when I wash my dishes, a wasp landed on me the other day and didn't sting me, and I get to see my cat again in 9 days. Life has been hard, life has certainly not been the child's play Lucio's mom told him it would be (my mother did not, but I also did not fall from trees often). And yet, I've been happy. Happier than ever before, to be honest. I hope it stays that way.

#9: Poetry.

For the first time in a very long time, I've been struggling to finish my poems. I'm not sure why, and I'm not sure when it'll go away. But for now, I'll share a little piece below I'm not sure I'll ever finish. It's not my usual style, and I'm not sure if I like it or not:

There's a dead woman's books in my wardrobe
and I've got no space for my clothes
she didn't come as a shock to the system
but I wish I had space of my own

I asked her if she could please move them
and well, she didn't reply
but I heard the sound of rejection that night
as I stood and stared up at the sky

#10: Idols.

If your god isn't looking, you can sometimes get away with quiet worship of another. Even if two titans have been at war for years, moulding yourself in the style of them combined will always be better than one. Safe to say, I've been thinking about Marco Bezzecchi's new friendship with Marc Marquez. And listening to 'enough for you' by Olivia Rodrigo. Need I say more?

#11: You.

The other day, you slipped back into bed and pressed a warm coffee into my tired hands. Milky, two sugars, just the way I like it, and despite it all, I smiled. Threw an arm over my face and felt you kiss my neck, right over where I have a freckle.

To be known in this way...is not something I take lightly. And I know you just the same - I could pick you out in a lineup from the curve of your spine alone. I hear your voice in the wind, I see your smile in the sun, and I feel the ache in your bones when it rains as keenly as ever. I know you, and you know me. I am you, and you are me.

#12: Me.

I've been thinking lately. Perhaps "driving myself crazy" would be more apt. I've been driving myself crazy thinking about you, and about me. Us.

Doesn't it sound nice? Us. My heart certainly seems to think so, although I stopped trusting that years ago. I won't trust it this time, as I know it wouldn't work in the same way you do. But, I suppose it's nice to think about. That there could be an "us", if we let it.