U ejja Silvio, come out.

Gay men would have been through all the hell we’re discussing.

Oh no, the young gay men will take on the scowling now that they’re free. To scowl.

Mur arah. X’affarijiet dawn.

The Maltese are not materialistic, if anything they suspect of its associated sinful qualities. Hence either indulge like there’s no tomorrow to invert it into hate.

Materialism in Malta remains the realm of sociopathic intellectuals and lately psychopathic individuals.

And don’t blame the Church. Whatever is worth protecting was its design, down to the way fields were terraced.

The basic ABC of materic, material and materialistic an unknown.

‘…Something else which immediately identifies a Maltese person abroad: the blank look, as though they are walking through their surroundings in a disconnected bubble, seeing but not registering, there but not connecting. It’s fascinating….’

I always made it a point to buy the Corriere to bury myself in its spread before approaching check in at Malpensa. Never, in five years, did I get used to the mood pervading the queue, boarding area and aboard the apron transit coach.

From non-verbal coordination to that tense sensation, call it venial pique. It’s where even eyeing a seat is a weakness. Just take it.

It becomes manifest trying to walk down a narrow pavement. I had some pretty tense moments getting used to that taparsi ma jarawkx.

If you find it fascinating, you should try giving way to someone trying to come out of a side street into a jam.

It is getting better, the number of people who’ll acknowledge is on the increase, given the increase in perceptions lately.

But still, there’s a considerable number of people who think smiling or signalling thanks is verboten.

It does not correlate to age, gender or finances.

I think there’s grounds to investigate the possibility of mass psychosis, maybe manic depression. Italian friends invariably mentioned it, from the hotchpotch of styles polluting substance to the passive aggressive attitude of people supposedly enjoying themselves in clubs. Then they’d try to read road signs and would volunteer the answer.

An illegible language should not exist, it defeats the purpose of bringing its speakers together.

Just following any discussion to what supposedly makes us Maltese makes me want to roll up in the foetal position. It will invariably take on two opposed fundamentals; what matters is that there be left nothing in between.

Even when there’s no need to, the attempt to distort the subject becomes the agenda at all costs. The object of discussion here is architecture in its alien form; manipulation of empty space to cause chords within to resonate.

It’s not even horror vacui at this point, it’s Victorian clutter and useless junk to fill the nation’s emotional void.

I mean, politicising geometry or feeling entitled to the monopoly of public space is ridiculous, refusing to recognize the weakness for killing discourse, cheating it of any content, is an urgent matter to consider.

Piano challenges us to experience the space first, the graphic, mechanized erosion of the building’s ‘sterile’ walls, oh look, it looks just like St.James, second.

Take in what it actually means, we have no alibi to refuse the future.

Those whose j’accuse is the absence of the gate never decided which gate. Even because they couldn’t get themselves to propose the restoration of something which never existed in this republic. That would make it a replica of someone else’s Malta.

Can we please decide whether we’re here to stay?

Someone tell these hawkers the space is there for them when they choose to be themselves and not perpetually at the lower end of the trade.

There’s this fragility in our mental composition that must be tackled. Mainly because the challenges that lie ahead are all similarly related to the constraints we refuse to consider.

That we not lose those dear mqaret, which by the way, someone please specify which vast expanse of date palms makes the maqrut a local delicacy.

Onto the mix of cultures then. That it never digest to assimilate into result. Jaded, dazed and confused.

Wait for Muscat’s monorial.

Baxxter, I repeat, your perception of gay people is so stereotypical, bordering on homophobic. Veru miskin.

Normal man? Do you mean like that Mellieha guy who ran over someone because he called him gay?

Explains why you seem to have a high number of gay followers actually.

http://youtu.be/krN4keGopHE

You’re so right. I play “Spot the Maltese” with my twelve-year-old daughter at Heathrow, the winner claims his prize when we reach the gate and you get positive confirmation.