Numbers, words, and schemes. Every day I have breakfast with the count of the dead. There they open with the dead here and here with those there. The virus belongs to everyone, it lies within everyone. We are one body. I capture some screenshots of the infinite visual book. Change language again and I enter another aesthetic world, the timeless cinema of Bela Tarr, in black and white. Yesterday I drew by hand the plan for my new studio. The showcase, the store, and the back room. It is already a mythical space in personal intra-history. The plague is on the loose out there. I measure the walls with the short ribbon. I transcribe the numbers on the black laptop. Space is somewhat more compact but very close to the scheme. The total surface including the store is eighty square meters. Today I will draw some furniture, the most relevant. Accompanying me, of course, is my round table, which has been with me for forty years. The fence is the new gym. Each space digests and synthesizes objects. I wake up. I turn on the two lights and the radiator. I make coffee. While it leaks I pick up my bed, which always ventilates during the day, every day. I brush my teeth, groom, and dress. I take the first coffee cup and put the computer and mobile to charge. I come out masked to the bakery. I buy a sweet puff pastry, another salty one, and a loaf of wholemeal bread, which is sliced. When I return I do the handwashing protocol and throw away all the containers. Every two days I go to the supermarket to buy tomatoes, cheeses, and assortments. When I come back I make a second coffee and turn on the computer, I put audio with news in Italian. I open the email, the translation program, Word, TXT, Trello, and some others. I do my first stretch of the day, usually legs. I edit the texts of Marisa's memoirs, revising syntactic and semantics. I write some emails. I edit some posts on my blog. I take a longer pause after the morning session, eat my pieces of bread, second stretch, and second coffee. I see some longer movies. I write down ideas and write. I speak on the phone in the afternoon. I start the new day listening to Jaques Brel, a genius of existentialist song. I continue with an interview with Samuel Beckett, perhaps my most cited author, who explains the synthesis of his method. Astrid Lindgren recites a paragraph from her children's book Mio min Mio, which I started reading in Swedish at the age of seven. Jaap Bakema, professor of urban planning in the 60s, tells his idea of the city, the layers. By night I check some news again, do the third stretch, and have a small bite. At midnight I set the layers of comfort for laying down. Pillows and heat. I watch the last film and repeat some sentences.
