I live in NY, at least for the time being. Of all the places I've
travelled, the one I miss the most is Los Angeles, so you can call me a Californian. An old poet I knew once told me that the birthplace of an artist is forever unknown

 

• In third grade I wrote poems
• In 7th grade I wrote my first complete novella
• In high school they taught me that writing is a pipe dream
• So I became a university professor
• Now I wrote all the time, but I my works were for experts only
• One windy day, as I drove through Iowa, I wondered why I...
• So I knocked at those dreamers' door and said "please, count me in"

In Italy we call them Cantastorie, Storysingers. Homer was one of us

We walked with our lutes and guitars and dried up pencils, we sit now on a rock, or cafe stool or just the dusty road. We rarely believe in our journey but on we go.

Crowds gather for a moment or a century, sitting aorund a fire, a boiling pot, an auditorium, and listen about the hearts of kings and queens, and pirates and true loves, and heinous crimes.

 

Then when we lie alone at night, dragons and robots sing us to sleep.