Dear Franco, You don’t know what a comfort and what sort of happiness you gave me with your letter. I have been on the point of answering a thousand times to the one in which you alerted me to your illness and have never been capable of doing so, not from cowardice but from selfishness. Perhaps I was happy, who knows, I don’t remember. Now that at least potentially you too are at peace and full of life I can treat you as an equal and reply to you even in the maddest. The first thing to say to you is this: I feel as never before my friendship for you, I very much desire to see you. . . .
I have come to the end of that period in life when one feels wise for having overcome crises or satisfied certain terrible (sexual) needs of adolescence and of first youth. I feel like trying again to give myself once more illusions and desires; I am definitely a little Villon or a little Rimbaud. In such a state of mind if I were to find a friend I could even go to Guatemala or to Paris.
For some years now my homosexuality has entered into my consciousness and my habits and is no longer Another within me. I had had to overcome scruples, moments of irritation and of honesty . . . but finally, perhaps bloody and covered with scars, I have managed to survive, getting the best of both worlds, that is to say eros and honesty. Try to understand me at once and without too many reservations; it is a cape I must round without hope of turning back. Do you accept me? Good. I am very different from your friend of school and university, am I not? But perhaps much less than you think . . .
Dear Franco, thank fate for your reappearance (by the way are you bald? I warn you that you reappeared to me “blond”), I am full of freshness an expectancy. An affectionate hug, Pier Paolo
Pier Paolo Pasolini (1922 – 1975) was an Italian film director, poet, writer and intellectual. Dear Franco [PIER PAOLO PASOLINI TO FRANCO FAROLFI, Casarsa September 1948] : SOURCE: The Letters of Pier Paolo Pasolini, Volume I: 1940–1954, ed. Nico Naldini, trans. Stuart Hood (London: Quartet Books, 1992)