Sometimes, thinking about the difficulties of my life, I just relize how all of it was.
Born in such a little village, on the tip of a mountain, in the most problematic family of all there, and contain all the clears wickedness they had on me (and my family) just because I was not too stupid and not too ugly to make them laugh about myself as they wished, has been not easy to manage out.
Those Monsters (how should I call them?) did not let me get almost anything I worked for so hard: a real position at University, because I did not have a raccomandation; honest support as a poet, for the same reason; and finally, poor me, I also met some young, terrible doctors I trusted who demage me havely in my health in a very sinister way.
Anyway, sorry for this a little pathetic confession, but let me say that, in any case, at the moment I am still alive and kicking as I can… still building hopes in a honest and empathetic way towards the next and myself… I am still resilient and “digging some good turf” (a good, missing Master would have used this verse to describe a deep search…).
In other words, I just wish candidly say that being Menotti Lerro has been the most beautiful and terrible thing which could occur to a white/black soul in this world.
Edinburgh, 28/06/2025 (M.L. personal Diary)
