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July is the month when I was born.

In Italy, the light-hearted July means sun, hot, sea and happiness, yet these pictures are not cheerful and careless at all.

There's also a reference to Sylvia Plath's "Poppies in July" poem.

The title of this poem is itself ironic, because it's not about a hymn to nature, but an hallucinatory projection of the landscape oh the speaker's mind and dark emotions.

Hallucinations, blood, red, profanity, hell: poppies become uncanny symbols of the gloomiest and darkest secrets.

July as the weirdest and sinister moment of the year and that is the moment when I was born.


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