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The maze branching into other lanes, this is not yet but soon will be a blind alley. Continue through here:

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labyrinth

For four months I have done nothing. And for another, to graduate in Arts, I mean little in the end, even just on the surface. And I mean on the land surface. Everyone has their own way of shifted (say a friend of mine who has just married) between the mainland and the sea. Everyone has their own way to tell when it's time to return to the sea, as no better than Moby Dick Melville describes incipit:

"Every time I perceive to pose a scowling lips, every time I go down in the soul like a damp, drizzly November, every time I find myself involuntarily pausing before funeral homes and leave behind to all the funeral I meet, and especially whenever my hypos get such strong in me that I need a strong moral principle to prevent me from stepping into the street and methodically on the ground throwing his hat to the people, then decide it's time get to sea as soon as possible. This is my substitute for pistol and the bullet. With a nice gesture philosophical Cato throws himself on the sword: keto keto I put myself into the sea. There is nothing surprising in this. If only they knew, most men eat at one time or another, each in its size, more or less the same feelings that I have I to the ocean. "

Now, in these months I spent time with many people. Among these people there are my best friends, strange people, foreign community. Strange to themselves, strange between us, that another strange encounter. Yet there is something common, which allows us to use words like faith, family (for those who did not had a normal, or as an alternative to it), but this town define d (n) homination - because it is something that dominates us and we appoint, any more than we master and we name him - is difficult. I speak of my friends, but is a reflection that each can spend with their own, it is a fact of everyday life, which continues to amaze me. In

Duepuntozero thought - one that threatens assomilglia in writing, to Orwell's Doublethink - it happens you are looking for something, possibly on Wikipedia, and then t'incammini for a link, as you would for a secondary path in a medieval town, you know, Siena. So as you try your Piazza del Campo - in my case the meaning of "proprioception" - end up wriggling linkettino for a small blue says: "Labyrinth".

And you discover that there are fish in Africa that have at their core a maze (labyrinth), a body that also allows him to breathe air, di trascorrere un po' di tempo sulla terra. Eccoci, penso. Siamo noi, questi piccoli animali a bocca aperta. Così quando penso a R., che - pesce piccolo e muscolare - si spinge all'aperto, nelle pubbliche relazioni, nel precariato, nell'ansia da patentino sociale, vedo le branchie chiuse, e il suo labirinto in azione. E poi Z., che - mentre in mare scrive pensieri con piccole bolle, inventa lessico, produce parole, e tutti lo ascoltiamo in cerchio - sulla terra riproduce parole che non partecipa, grazie al suo labirinto riesce a non vomitare in faccia ai clienti l'inchiostro tossico da cui si sparpagliano i manuali universitari, gli opuscoli per ditte navali, i ciclostilati dei partiti. Et cetera et cetera. Quando li incontro, in superficie, vedo the features contract more or less, depending on how long missing from the sea. We do not say much, we say goodbye to the gills narrow, sure to meet again on the seabed. And I think that after all our labyrinth is an organ that we have built touching each other, which allows us to feed stories to bring to the sea. The labyrinth that we are protecting us. The labyrinth is a bit 'everywhere, from Australia to Bologna, from Paris to Finland, reproduce, alter climate and habits, the only way to recognize and touch the belly. If you experience strange cunicolanti cartilage, offer water - verbal or physical - and if you see his face relax, open strange slits on the sides where they exit from strange voices, strange talk like a waterfall bolle, eccoli.

Avviso ai naviganti: ci si vede in mare!

Wording To Write On An Engagement Card

Sheep in the fog

Sheep in the fog

The hills step off into whitness
People or stars
Regard me sadly, I disappoint them

The train leaves a line of breath
O slow
Horse the colour of rust

Hooves, dolorous bells -
All morning the
Morning has been blackening.

A flower left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far
Fields melt my heart.

They threaten
To let me through to a heaven
Starless and fatherless, a dark water.

Pecorella nella nebbia

Hills intrude into whiteness. People or stars

look at me with sadness, disappoint.

The train leaves a line of breath. O slow Horse

rust color,

Clogs, painful bells -
All morning the Morning has gone
blackened. A flower

neglected.
My bones rest, the fields
Far I melt the heart.


threaten to recruit up to a sky without stars
no father, dark water.


Sylvia Plath, Lady Lazarus in and Other Poems, Mondadori, Milano 1998, € 7, 80.

(instead of the canvas is Rothko, Black and Grey)

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Torsade

"The truth is that the scientific way of looking at a fact not is how to look like a miracle. "

L. Wittgenstein

are in the arcades, with the shopping bag in his right hand, a nuisance. And there is a January intrusive, vulgar, they force you cold in a speech at a shelter. The trajectory of a game anyone have the right or left, that look a spit of thirty centimeters, that before drying increases the cold. But this is the time when my day as a half-plane. Between six and seven is the paralysis that look. Today, unawares, catches me in the street. I go out from the arches, fifty yards from the house, the legs are the first sign of the event. As hot water, which is open from the inside, rises to the head. The head falls, relies on a few muscles. And it's like it would break his neck, as we opened the neck Polyphemus eye, wide, a synesthesia, in which the view is mixed to the air, more space. The tear is a contrazione della metamorfosi, il suono che avverte che ora il cielo cade nel collo. Gli occhi normali si vergognano. Un po’ di sangue, prima che cicatrizzi sporca la nuova retina-trachea, nutre un immagine di cielo, la realizza.

(Questo scrivevo lo scorso Gennaio...)

Second Hand Camcorder

A game of chess simply looking













"My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.

"Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.

"What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?

"I never know what you are thinking. Think."

I think we are in rats' alley

Where the dead men lost their bones.

"What is that noise?"

The wind under the door.

"What is that noise now? What is the wind doing?"

Nothing again nothing.

"Do

"You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember

"Nothing?"

I remember

Those are pearls that were his eyes.

"Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?"

But

O O O O that Shakespeherian Rag--

It's so elegant

So intelligent

"What shall I do now? What shall I do?"

"I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street

"With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?

"What shall we ever do?"

The hot water at ten.

And, if it rains, a closed car at four.

And we shall play a game of chess,

Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

"Ho i nervi a pezzi stasera. Sì, a pezzi. Resta con me.
Parlami. Perché non parli mai? Parla.
A che stai pensando? Pensando a cosa? A cosa?
Non lo so mai a cosa stai pensando. Pensa."

Penso che siamo nel vicolo dei topi
Dove i morti hanno perso le ossa.

"What is that noise?"
The wind under the door.
"And now what is that noise? What is the wind doing?"
Nothing again nothing.

And you do not know
"Nothing?" Do you see anything? Forgot
Nothing? "

I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes.
"Are you alive or not? Nothing in your head?"

But
0 0 0 0 Shakespeherian That Rag ...

so elegant So intelligent
"What shall I do now?" What shall I do? "
"I shall rush out as I am, and walk the street
"With my hair down, so. What shall we do tomorrow?
" What shall we ever? "
The hot water at ten.
And if it rains, a closed car at four.
and play a game of chess ,
Pressing lidless eyes, waiting for a knock at the door.

From TS Eliot, A game of Chess, in The Waste Land , BUR, Milano 1982, p. 91. € 7, 23. (The translation is, however, taken by a couple of sites, because I go a bit 'in a hurry. However, the one of the BUR, Alessandro Serpieri, is better, and still believe that more careful in' apparatus critical. )

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"The rapid rise of the stock also has to do, I fear, with confidence in our language; recently, the contours of real wars and other barbarities have been betrayed by the words, perhaps, we hope to find the truth just by looking. "


From R. Adams, The beauty in photography , Boringhieri Bollati, Torino 1995, p. 23.

(The shot above is my San Martino di Castrozza at the outdoor concert by Vinicio Capossela, with Paevl)

Crib Tent For Uneven Crib

You can lick it?

"Io capisco che esistono due tipi diversi di amore. C'è l'amore che dura per sempre. L'amore del matrimonio coi figli che crescono e si fanno la varicella e la scarlattina, con la vacanza al mare con la roulotte e il mutuo agevolato per la casa. E poi c'è l'amore che è una cosa di un attimo. E' come quando casca una stella cadente, che pure se sei uno scienziato che studia lo spazio pure tu esprimi il desiderio. Per quell'attimo che casca la stella, non ti metti a fare le teorie sulle stelle spaziali. Davanti a quella stella pensi al tuo desiderio come quando eri ragazzino. E io capisco che l'amore mio e di Marinella è proprio di questo tipo, l'amore di un attimo. Capisco che prima che Marinella smette di ridere I will have to ask you something. Only one in our love that lasts a second. I have to ask before you stop laughing or else my love will be forever shattered, shooting star will already fall.
ask him if "I can lick? naked ... I can lick you?"
But she replied that "... no. It makes me sick if you lick me." It stops laughing. "

From Celestine A., The Black Sheep , Einaudi, Torino 2006.