onethousand lines interweaving through walls and buildings, crossing and hatching new, speeding slowly to poke holes through bricks as paint crumbles. this is the image that comes to me as i walk off the 75 at piramide. this is all, and maybe it is the effects of a lingering (anthropoclaustrophobic) sense of disorder.
[he bops, he skips, they can't help looking, what are they thinking?]
the country has disappointed me, i refuse to be governed by a human joke.
this is a cut out square of sky, one of the many because i have not seen the bigness of it in a long time, and to tell the truth i often forget to look, which is a shame. aloe vera signifies the coming of sunny days and the greeness of green. rome is a gigantic square mass of stone with soft corners. it is the humming of old men at 3pm, when bodies rest post lunch. rome is a complex network of messy lines that somehow makes sense, it is also the vaporous bleached hair of ucranian women on the train, the broken fiat that rests like an extinguished soldier at the end of my street, the even mat of pine trees above my head, the burning in my eyes. rome is dust and thickness of dirt like a carpet over everything, it is fluidity and stagnant water, it is open and indifferent, it is the aridity of cracked gesso and the whining of sickly love songs in bars, it is breathing and resignation, it is the wide stride of the evening and the bumping of bycicles on mosaic streets, it is a child and an old man competing in amicable insults. rome is unbearable and incoherent and a mother and a whore dressed up like a queen.
here is a paper boat floating in schweppes residues.
last week i exhibited in a place called lanificio 159, an old wool factory. the paintings will be posted here soon. here is the space.
a new project of (music video) director vincent moon, the 'concerts a emporter' (take away shows) presents a whole range of so very very great gigs in motion, music taken out on the street, and what pleasant music it is.
now you can find all your favourite indie bands AND the creme de la creme of the so very fashionable 'indie-balkanic love affair' bands like the great beirut on one fantastically conceived webpage!
here is the english version, take-away shows by blogotheque.
and up here is a video preview of what awaits you who enter this genius world of genius music videos, this video is by A Hawk and a Hacksaw, i like them a lot.
tra stradine tortuose, si aggira.
a fearless green potential.
(tu vois? les signes du temps? c'est maintenant le temps!)
between twisted alleyways and dead ends
they ate cake
messily.
(verde que te quiero verde)
Donne! E’ arrivato l’arrotino!
Arrota coltelli, forbici, forbicine, forbici da seta, coltelli da prosciutto!
Donne! E’ arrivato l’arrotino e l’ombrellaio!
Aggiustiamo gli ombrelli! L’ombrellaio donne!
Ripariamo le cucine a gas! Abbiamo pezzi da ricambio per la vostra cucina a gas!
Se avete perdite di gasse, noi le aggiustiamo! Se la vostra cucina fa fumo, noi togliamo il fumo della vostra cucina a gasse!
Lavoro subito e immediato! E’ arrivato l’arrotino!
Notte! E’ scoppiato l’accendino!
Colora stornelli, barbe, merendine, frappe di gaeta, pastelli da farabutto!
Nonne! Ho pranzato da Santino, Aldo e Caio!
Sospirammo tranelli! Il tabaccaio dorme!
Arrostimmo le galline al das! Pensammo sogni da marinaio per le morte galline al das!
Se amate i polipi di Grasse, ditelo a Giustiniano! Se la casta velina si tuffa, poi le diamo il grumo delle galline al das!
Sonoro e bulgaro il commiato! Fossi nato in un giardino!
her hands poised in the air around an imagined body, her body spun round and round upheld by the empty figure, shoes took the lead as they bent and unfolded and stretched along the floor, the music, the music. she liked to dance, alone, she liked to dance.
there were violins and cellos, how they filled the room! how they moved her feet that day, how everything was filled with oxigen and light, for that instant containing everything.
le mani circondavano l'aria intorno a quel corpo immaginato, il suo corpo ruotava e ruotava sostenuto dalla figura vuota, le scarpe guidavano, piegandosi e dispiegandosi e allungandosi lungo il pavimento, la musica, la musica. le piaceva ballare, da sola, le piaceva ballare. c'erano violini e violoncelli, come riempivano la stanza!, come muovevano i suoi piedi quel giorno, come tutto si riempiva di ossigeno e luce, in quell'istante pieno di tutto.
Le ho scritto una lettera.
Mi e' sempre piaciuto scrivere lettere. le parole sono un corteggiamento violento. entrano dentro la carne di chi legge.
Le parole scritte fanno paura.
Ho sempre pensato che quando si scrive venga fuori il ritmo dell'anima; quando si parla si mente, quando si scrive no. Non e' possibile. E' come tirare fuori da se qualcosa di vitale e spaventoso, come un organo spiaccicato sulla carta.
Incartare un fegato e spedirlo, questo e' scrivere lettere.
(Simona Vinci)
I wrote her a letter.
I've always liked writing letters. Words are a violent courtship. They enter the flesh of those who read them.
Written words frighten.
I've always thought that writing releases the rhythms of the soul. When we speak we lie, when we write we don't, It isn't possible. It's like extracting from oneself something vital and terrifying, like an organ splattered on paper.
To wrap up a liver and send it, this is writing letters.
(Simona Vinci)
when one discovers that the accordeonist in one's favourite gypsy ensemble is also a student at one's english school one can be pretty excited.
nanni moretti in what is probably the best scene in italian cinema. (from the film 'bianca')
this space is currently serving as flickr i think. images, images, less babble.
one love indeed. this took place in the vicinity of udine, in the north of italy.
and yes, my boots were too heavy for reggae, for the first time.
