English writer Robert Graves, in his "autobiographical" journal of Emperor Claudius, tells the tale of Tiberius who, wanting to punish the world after his own death by unleashing upon it the destruction and havoc he couldn't bestow upon it whilst he lived, made the insane Caligula his heir.
This was to be the direst form of punishment he could think of ("Rome deserves you, Caligula").

Watching the unseemly tourist hordes wash upon Capri, in relentless waves of crass, I find myself entertaining thoughts of mass-destruction, thinking there is something to be said for extermination. All as an aesthetic construct, you understand, since I am not likely to become master of the world, with power of life and death, any time soon.
So your sorry asses are safe for the time being.
(The next day, blocked in traffic on the Amalfi coast road, the same thoughts entered my mind. Buses after buses, including a huge Benz "Bustouristik" out of Bomlitz, Deutschland, or some such hole that should have been bombed more in WW2, all stopped on this narrowest of roadway so as to permit their clientele to shop for trinkets and feed themselves at some roadside trough! And everybody else be damned!!! Thankfully, a repose for my pained eyes in this traffic hell presented itself in the form of a good-looking Milanese couple in a shiny, sporty, red Alfa-Romeo roadster convertible, equally stuck but seemingly unperturbed, as they unknowingly reenacted for me scenes of a long-gone Italian Dolce Vita, enraptured in each other's gaze, high above the splendour of Positano!).
Already, I hear some of you exclaiming loudly in puzzlement and dismay.
The warm-hearted liberals: "But these people have rights, too, you know. They may be ugly, fat, loud, ignorant and tacky to no end, ludicrous and an eyesore, they DO have a human soul breathing and yearning within. So you should be tolerant of your brethren's faults, and in the same way you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, do not judge the person by its exterior, however repellant it may be, blah, blah, blah..."
The realists: "Who the fuck do you think you are, asshole??! You're just another one of these tourists, with your camera and your Ray Bans!!! If you hate tourists so much, stay at home!!!"
To the liberals, I say this: the book analogy may work for some books in some cases. But do I really need to know the throbbing prose hiding within the lurid cover of these Harlequin romances (the kind your mom reads with her dildo while your dad is out drinking with his football buddies), to know all I need to know.
And, in our tourists' case, when you strip all the outside accoutrements, however sorry or semi-cool they may appear, what are you left with? A Nobel prize litterary genius, a composer writing operas and symphonies inspired by your mind and erotic aura?? Nay, to say truth, it's the same old dull stockbroker or used-car salesman you're mindlessly dating these days!
And, here and now, they're polluting the natural marvels that are Capri and the Amalfi coast, making it look like a Labor Day weekend on the Jersey Shore!
To the realists, I say: I may be a tourist in these parts, but I take public transportations, I stay at friends instead of giving business to one of the zillion hotels disfiguring the landscape, I don't take photos of my fat wife, and I look cool in Ray Bans!! And I live in Paris, the number one tourist spot in the world, so were I to stay home year round, I still wouldn't be able to escape THEM!!!

L'humble maison et les jardins d'un autochtone heureux, sur la Via Tibero, à moins qu'il ne s'agisse de la Via Matermania, j'oublie!

Villa Jovis.

Atop Mt. Tiberio sit in antique splendor the remains of Tiberius' villa, wherefrom he ruled the Empire, trying to beguile but a little the gloom and weariness of his declining years, having grown hopeless of all but oblivion, finding solace and a momentary swelling of his flaccid pulses in the spectacle of little boys and girls, frolicking nude in the gardens as if they were wood nymphs, thereby assuaging his gymnosophic seclusion!
In much later times, Christian zealots wanting to establish in yet another place a beacon to their shallow superstition, erected a chapel to some obscure San Fernando, where once Jupiter illumined the thoughts of Augustus, Tiberius, and subsequent Imperators.
Not wanting to leave well enough alone, a huge and ugly bronze statue of the Holy Adultress has been dominating the landscape for the past twenty years! Taking a cue from Leibniz in thinking their world the best of all possible, Christians have continued leaving their deplorable imprints upon all things, and in the fashion of turds, have so far managed to keep rising to the surface!!
Turning my back on the sorry constructions, I ambled back and forth between the ruined cisterns and the slave quarters, the guards' rooms and the Imperial apartments, soon finding myself on an umbral terrace beneath pine trees, hidden from mortal trespass, where Trasillus the Imperial astrologer, wearing the seer's Utter Black, glimpsed at the star's mysteries. And, having pored over tablets and parchments of archaic cyphers and runes, devised arcane thaumaturgies born of his mantic arts, meant to calm the monarch's fears, and wash away anguished visions of impending doom from these old eyes, filled with the vainglory of madness and bale...
Two hundred meters above the sea, as its waves lap at the cliff's base, I also let my mind drift back to olden times above the surf, when galleys and xebecs, dhows and fellucas from unknown isles and outland horizons beyond the morn', fearlessly plied the turquoise main, returning from shores of camphor and sandalwood, their oars silently cleaving the weltering waters of Mare Nostrum, their holds filled with the treasures of far kingdoms beyond the bourne of sunrise.

Pas loin d'Arco Naturale, cette autre baie et ses yachts, vus d'une élévation d'environ deux cent mètres sur un petit chemin entre Tragara et la Grotte Matermania!

Near Arco Naturale is this other cove, the yachts looking small, but only looking it, from about two hundred meters up, from a small path between Tragara and the Grotto Matermania!