This profile eludes any exact and energetic judgment. Being a naturally disciplined man, I will restrain my ease and my terrible audacity, so that only the agility of my pen and a certain perspicacity come to light to illuminate it. I will not express any interesting anomaly, any hidden angle of his soul or his affairs. Please, no one believes that I am going to show the slightest musty aspect of this Spanish politician. I detest sensationalism, which would transform my text into a corny and easy half-tone. Journalism is the literature of the moment and, in it, there is both danger and glory in being delicate.
With slow and rare gestures, Alberto is a master of composure meticulous A keen and penetrating observer, confinement is your best ally. A man of assured gesture, he possesses a certain classical gravity. Willpower is a fundamental element of his success, becoming the path to follow to achieve millimetric precision. Each thing, each idea, each argument must be in its place, it must be weighed on precision scales finer than those of the “gold weighers” of Metsys, because it must have its carats, its importance and its faithful contrast. At first glance, he likes to find the revealing angle of things, and he generally succeeds.
No flashy or excessive detail breaks his strict appearance. Free of all superfluous hair, the depth of the light blue of his gaze captures all the attention. Too bad his eyes are covered with glass. I affectionately invite you to put your contact lenses inside your retina permanently, you don’t know how comfortable and aesthetic it is. Their eyes, soft and curious at the same time, caress, question and scrutinize everything around them. His nose, correct, reminds me of the words of the poet: “My soul is immersed in perfumes, like that of other men in music”. His mouth has a soft line, sealed by a fine humor.
A few days ago he was drinking a small glass of Bordeaux from Bercy, which, along with the Chianti, made him want wines from Vesuvius and Etna; it was a French wine served at the bar of a Roman bar. His interlocutor had eyes of the same color, she looked at him in a curious and profound way, perhaps too insistently. “Giorgia, I want to have more international notoriety.” He spoke in a brief and ceremonious manner. He used chosen words, which he pronounced in an unmistakable tone, as if he were invigorating them by giving them a cabalistic meaning. Their looks and smiles enlivened the dialogue with content. “You lack a little originality,” she dared to say.
The once rosy tint of her cheeks offers changing nuances. Time ennobles her appearance, giving it an almost liturgical character. If mysticism is understood as the positive pole, sensuality would be the negative pole. I do not know what the Lord will think of this. Feijoo. What I suppose is that he would recognize the charm of the Parisian Balzachia, full of finesse and coquetry, but personally, he would prefer the Venus de Milo. The warmth of all my theories is intuitive, it is protected by my taste for periphrasis. I can hope for no more honorable response to this text than a silent grimace from the protagonist. Each of us magnificently and humbly fulfills his predestined role. My symphony is finished today, be kind, as I have been.
