sabato 5 dicembre 2009
if you want to stop your nightmares
Just drink and sleep, or try not to fall asleep
Once you have fallen
you're in the dark tunnel
where you can't move, where you can't say
"you, dark obsessions, I'll now sweep you away"
The fixed thought you couldn't move
at daylight, is there now, under his grave
survived, was nourished and grew up
fed of your effort to throw him away
Now it is his empire - when your guard is loose
he will come at night and make you his
he will flourish on your brain and corpse
and make you his
Colour voices dark and eyesights
everything it will take and turn against you
after many hours of despair
morning'd come again and find him pale
Just for a while - he's rooted on your mind
and waits for you again
to fall asleep at night
to suck your veins.
Don't sleep and make you weaker
or sleep and take some poison for your brain
kill your mind and try cover your awareness
of benzene, deathlike blanket, but in vain.
Paris 5 december 2009
mercoledì 25 novembre 2009
I have rejoiced like a Walhalla generating Gods. Really. I have listened to Aldo Ciccolini at the Salle Pleyel, Saint-Saens Concerto number Four for Piano and Orchestra.
Listening to that has been like flying - like a dream of a deep deep sllep, bur colored, peaceful and clear.
This man has conceived and performed with such a masculine attitude and a formidable control . everything was clearest and sliding like oil in the mayonnaise. He was like swinging on the notes...
Il Quarto Concerto di Saint Saens è di una difficoltà tecnica spaventosa, ma nulla era rimasto dello sforzo tecnico. Lo sforzo tecnico era stato sciacquato via, ed è rimasto solamente la chiarità e il controllo. Ha suonato in modo molto maschio, virile, su uno Stainway che aveva un suono dolcissimo, e i due insieme cantavano. Non ha paura di appoggiare le note dove bisogna, di marcare con fermezza il tema, di cantare lui setsso come un'orchestra intera, di avere voci ben superiori e voci subordinate allo stesso tempo.
La cosa più notevole di tutto il concerto è stata questa assenza di paura, questa calma profonda, questa compiutezza, ma vivente in sommo grado. Tutto era di colore caldo, dal bianco al beige al nocciola. è stato tuto un succedersi di contenuti di significato (senso Sinn), di Ragione, di chiarezza universale espletata, al ritmo del calmo respiro interiore dell'universo. è questo il motivo per cui ascoltando questa sera Aldo si aveva l'impressione di volare.
Da notare che glissava sulle scale e sugli arpeggi come se pattinasse sul ghiaccio, e quasi senza che si sentisse l'uso del pedale sotto, lo Steinway cantava come un cigno, più che pulito, come un cristallo colorato. Quando interveniva con l'orchestra, faceva come una spuma di note, come la spuma del mare, come il bianco montato a neve delle uova - tutto è perfetto, lo sforzo non è più sforzo, è quello che è rimasto dopo decenni di meditazione, di abitudine, di lavoro, quando ormai non ci si pensa più. è la sublimazione di tutto. non resta che la schiuma del cappuccino, di tutto il dolore delle piantagioni di caffè, ed è tutto chiaro, limpido, significativo, ordinato, colorato e bello nella forma.
Quel concerto di Saent-Saens ha una forma atipica, aperta, malleabile, è un'apertura polmonare, è una sera fresca d'estate con l'aria che circola - e questo suo effetto naturale dovuto alla costruzione architettonica, insieme a questo suonare spumeggiante - ma docilissimo! - del pianoforte dell'esecuzione, lo rende una manifestazione della Ragione particolarmente attraente. è di gradevolissimo ascolto.
Aldo dopo 15 minuti dalla fine era ancora paonazzo, esausto, ricaduto nell'umanità, semincosciente dalla fatica. Io stessa me ne sono sorpresa, io che pure so quanto sia faticoso suonare, con la luce calda del palco, e in più l'orchestra, e la fatica fisica, e la concentrazione, e il vestito - eppure mi sono sorpresa tanto era ordinato e controllato il tutto.
Ho avuto dei sobbalzi, mentre sentivo, e degli effetti fisici e mentali strani, pelle d'oca, tic incontrollati, come quando si è immersi in un sonno profondissimo. è stato come sognare, durante quei sonni profondi che si hanno in montagna o dopo l'amore fisico, ma con la differenza che qui ogni filo di nebbia era dissipato e tutto si stagliava chiaro.
Questo genere di cose, questa cosa, questo concerto, ci mostra che la vita umana sulla Terra, e l'azione propriamente umana sulla Terra, ha un senso suo proprio e una verità sua propria. Ci mostra atresì la portata ela verità di ciò che non è scientifico e di ciò che non è "logica naturale" o suo derivato.
Ci eleva e ci richiama al nostro sgnificato di uomini, così come lo fanno i santi, i grandissimi generali, i veri amanti, Dante Alighieri.
You can hear the concert here,
1. Allegro moderato - Andante
2. Allegro vivace - Andante - Allegro
sabato 21 novembre 2009
giovedì 12 novembre 2009
sabato 10 ottobre 2009
domenica 4 ottobre 2009
sabato 3 ottobre 2009
sabato 12 settembre 2009
lunedì 31 agosto 2009
giovedì 9 luglio 2009
By Clara Schulze Italian TV news failed to adequately report on the latest scandal surrounding Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi – namely, the alleged attempt by a real estate manager to bribe the premier using women instead of money. The newspaper “La Repubblica”, which has instead extensively covered the story, also pointed out that 4 Italians out of 5 do not read newspapers, but rely entirely on TV news. This may be a common international trend, but in Italy it is a reason for worry since 85% of major Italian TV news are owned by Silvio Berlusconi himself. It is part of Italian culture to take an anti-scandalistic perspective on happenings, especially if they are unrelated to political performance. Still, it is true that the non-existence of a decent political opposition in Italy has helped the deterioration of political accountability and transparency and this has been reflected in the quality of information available to citizens. The character that media communication has taken in Italy is not consistent with the model of democratic government - it holds more resemblance to the propaganda commonly used in developing countries or in former European regimes. But this is not yet the worst that Italy can expect from media communication. English press, always keen on scandals and rumours about private life of public figures, confesses its astonishment for the fact that Berlusconi will not resign. The mere fact that the personal behaviour of a politician might or might not constitute a ground for his dismissal is central to the question. In fact, from a Berluscon-ian point of view, there is no ground for resigning. Berlusconi owes his popularity to extending his personal-style managerial ideas to public functions. People like him because he is a “smart guy”, because he knew how to make money and because he can be alien to the boring, useless State ceremonial. He is smarter, uses common sense to waive bureaucratic burdensome procedures and achieves new results, namely obtaining an unprecedented amount of funding from the European Institutions to help solving domestic issues. But, above all, he is “fun”. This is the rationale behind the jokes he is famous for during diplomatic gatherings. This is also explains some of his claims, like the pledge to reduce the number of Parliamentarians and the fact that any scandal or objection he encounters is rebuked as a manifestation of personal envy from the poorer, less successful and disorganized Italian Leftist. But, by doing so – through his anti-bureaucratic, anti-ceremonialist, private-sector approach to politics - Berlusconi is eroding the structures which are essential to modern State, and which in Italy may be already weaker than in other European countries, due to the historical fragmentation of the country and to the survival of anti-state organization within its territory (read: Mafia). When the Parliament is dismissed as boring, and too expensive, the judges are mocked, and, on the other side, Berlusconi surrounds himself with an inexistent party and insignificant or flattering co-operators, and proposes himself as a candidate not because of this program, but because of this person, then there is no point in being too surprised that he proceeds to the appointment of personal friends to public position, or that he behaves unconventionally with respect to his public role. Italians have called exactly for this, and his consensus relies on his ability to “win” external negotiation and to be “the smart guy of the group”. This pattern has a very dangerous side-effect in the long run, which is, the lack of support of Italian to their own State, which paradoxically makes the very game of Berlusconi. If you talk of politics with an Italian, most times he will encourage some form of blame on Berlusconi, he will confirm you the decline of the nation and his distrust in the State. Such attitude is unfortunately far away from humour and badly hides a growing shame for being Italian. Beware: not for having this or those premier behaving in a certain way during particular occasions, but for belonging to the Italian nation itself. The concepts of Berlusconi and Italy are now becoming blurred, in the mind of Italians even more than in the mind of foreigners. This leads to a vicious circle. The more Modern State in Italy is despised as such by citizens, the more they are likely to see its institutions from a Berlusconian, managerial point of view and accept to see them bypassed by the “strong man” initiative. What should be made clear is that the germ of the problem relies in Italian citizens themselves, who continue to choose to despise their country by voting the one who is happy to make it ridiculous. Instead of blaming circumstances and cry for secessions, they would need instead to re-think their approach and become more clear about what they want from politics. Of course, Berlusconi’s TV news will not help this process to develop.
lunedì 6 luglio 2009
I took some white bread and went say my goodbyes to all the grey ducks of the lake Serpentine But someone had fed them, so they'd went away thus turning that party into'a lonely stay The heat was just fading, the day almost gone the day was reflexing the mirroring sun In such pond of light was my mind then all stuck beginning to think to my old yellow duck That love which was crossing the Channel and Alps had now become weaker and come to a halt The bread that once fed all his shuddering soul now seems to this duck distasteful and cold The passion of senses will fade with the time I sit now lonely at the Serpentine The threats and the whispers now, man, come in vain The party is over, it's now time for pain Apollon and Venus had paid for this play rewarding us both with sucj wonderful days The drama is now over, the curtains now close The Serpentine rocks me, the sky smiles, all rose.
sabato 4 luglio 2009
I freed myself up and went on the couch. I slept, badly, but cleanly. I though I did not want to carry on a life like that - that this was detrimental to my time and ability to be light and independent, that I was a daylight, tidy person and had no time to waste on this shit, with a person who fundamentally disrespected me. I thought I did not want to bear this for long hours, maybe in a marriage. No. I am made for delight and mornings. I thought the circumstances had revealed his tender friendship and trust in the other woman, and his conflicting relationship with me. He had a very discriminatory behaviour with people he respected and people he didn't - his tone of voice, his arguments, his attitude and the logic he put in his words were very different in the two cases. And I was seen as belonging to the second category. I was not prepared to. I woke up at 5, 7 and 9, every time I went to visit him and he was getting slightly better each time, a bit more aware, sleep gradually lighter, always trying to hug me or happy to hold my hand, always egoistic like a cranky child. At 9:30 I felt the shiny day was mine. I got up, had a bowl of cereals, closed his doors, washed my face and trimmed my nails and got ready to go to the British Library. I got a nice message from a friend. It evoked like, day, action, delight again. On the door, I felt sorry and attracted by him and went to give him a kiss. Still snoring, half-unconscious "I have to be.....!". I left. Hyde Park had burnt, golden grass, the breeze was warm and whispering, I felt wasted and went home and I am writing.
sabato 27 giugno 2009
But instead of laughing I let myself being caught in the trap of obsession and pain and, albeit handling it decently, I could not be free until 12 o'clock.
Then I took a bath, had some trickpeas pasta with fresh tomato sauce and get ready for an informational interview with an officer of the UK's Ministry of Finance. Very nice chat, the guy seemed a full-of-humour gangster and nearly offered me a job - I had fun. I also got some watercolor to add colour to my drawings. I felt like liberated, I had wished colours for so long.
Art is the best expression of suffering and is therapeutic - this is also why (and for cathartic reasons, too) I went and watched Un Ballo in Maschera by Verdi at the Royal Opera House in London tonight.
The plot is very very easy to anticipate, and this is the main fault of the whole work, which is instead meant to be a tragic-irony display. The music is joyful, cheerful, never really dramatic - the real hero is the woman, who operates deeds and foresee or guess the future, but bound herself to non-action due o societal-imposed boudaries or restrictions (or example, Amelia refuses to reveal his husband's intention to murder for reason of "marital loyalty",albeit the designated victim is her own lover and the rler of the country). Ad men take the part of the coward ones (Riccardo abandons Amelia in troubles face to her husband after having seduced her, thus acting as a real jerk; he again opts for love over friendship and then changes his mind; Amelia's husband wants to revenge his scorn for their adultery against her, then against him, then repents when it is too late; --- gulp!) - but men command.
They can dispose of women's life, and can shout them to obey.The music is humorous, and full of the rose side of life - a sort of "la vie en rose" in opera. Is also filled with irony, light irony which breaches into tragic irony as the character begin and continue not communicate effectively, not to trust each other any more. Anger, mistrust, bad communication are the roots of all tragedy. I know that tragedy is more "interesting" than peace, but this is valid whilst we are at the theaterm and not in our own private, emotion life. I cried because I saw myself - miscommunicating and at best seeing the trouth when it is far too late. Goodnight.
domenica 7 giugno 2009
May peace descend as a balm on me, on him, cure our wounds, balm our souls. Bring him happiness and strength, and the pleasure to understand others. Bring me strength, peace and resilience. May I be your living sanctuary, God, be able to pardon and make justice. May my body and my soul be an hymn to beauty and powerful peace. Help me remove pain and fragility, blood and irritation. May my tears be pearls and my hands be swans. Bless him, God, and borrow him your strength and your powerful sight. Pose your hand on your daughter, and let her be your messenger of happiness. Sia fatta la tua volontà, Amen
sabato 30 maggio 2009
- Eating habits: she is not constrained by the notion of "portion". She does not care of a packaging, uses to eat like a little mouse, just scraping what she needs in little quantities, and as soon she feels this is sufficient, she stops and stores the rest. She substituted the quantity with the flavour, thus fucking a million-year genetic inclination to store grease and sugar for future famines - which is nowadays the reason for which half of the planet is overweight. She eat spicy things, fenel, salt, ayurvedic, herbal-based Indian tricky foods.
- Clothing habits: she has no more of what she needs. She always uses a pair of sandals which does not harm her feet, although of no particularly high-quality. She has one pc cover which suits her two laptops (did she do this on purpose, of buying two same-sized laptops?). Her house has no garments in excess - but everything is covered by a full-coloured, lavishly indian piece of clothe - another way of substituting abundance with flavour.
- Storing habits: she has plenty of things, which occupy all the space available for them. No interstices. All things are amassed in a rationale way - her way of finding things is deducting where they are, rather that having them visible because of the plenty of room which surround them. Another way to avoid resource scarcity. She never leaves her space without putting things in order - "it drives me nuts to come back in a messy room". She puts little things (needles, coind, medals) in little boxes, she uses plastic containers which are orderly filled until the rim with logically connected objects. Not to speak of her computer desktop, of course.
- Thinking habits: I feel in her brain there is no that much space for distraction. No pain. No divagation. No phantasies. Never blue, never grey. She has been intelligent enough to make silence within her and recognize what she loves to do - and to detect also the "spy" which reassures you that what you recognize is actually what you were looking for. She said: "you know what you love because it brings you to a different state" - "I do not want to do anything else while I am doing that (=my favourite activity)... If you do not know what you like, you are lost".
lunedì 25 maggio 2009
...just, with another spelling.
He used to be the best friend of my boyfriend - then we split up, but they did not. Why am I telling you about that? Well, first because he is a poet. Argh! A Poet! How can you dare to say that?
I suppose that, if you insist in calling yourself a poet, you actually have much better chance to become one (i.e. to be publicly recognized as one, then to believe you actually are one yourself because of that), thank if you don't.
This guy happily writes and does anything with paper, colors and fiber, and pots, including keeping a cultivated garden (I mean -plotted - not a garden of poets of course!) and cooking whatever they grow in America. This guy has probably a soft heart and some sensibility, a very high opinion of himself nor he is immune from the playful, naive attitude which is the greatest asset of Americans vis-à-vis average Europeans, and their major pitfall if they compare with the best among us. Here a practical example in form of a quote:
...Today my name is Reginald. Why Reginald? I've always wanted to be a Reginald. Goodbye.
I find myself elaborating upon this guy much further than I would be normally expected to. Warum? Because I would like to be a writer, but I have - among other factors, always been dragged back by the idea that, if you are not very very good, you shan't dare to call yourself an artist. I have been very far from the idea "Uh? An artist? Here I am!". Doing that, I have just lived in fear, and withdrawn myself from what I am born for. I mean, having a job which is not too bad and brings bread on the table, is one thing; restraining from your most acute - and innocent pleasure - is another, and has a name: it is a crime
I find in this guy an example of what I could have done - and could be now, well-connected with other soi-disants poets, teaching creative writing in a University! Well, who is going to declare me a laureate if I am not overtly ready for the step?
Second, I find shocking that this guy has not settled-down yet, despite he is in his thirties. Good news - he can stand it, and this is possible. I am very open to the influence of what I think he is, as I reckon in him many feature that I think I know very well, some patterns that I already isolated in a boyfriend. It is surprising by the way, how many US people share such patterns, so that they might be an anthropological character: a sense of adventure, a sense of empowerment (even if not very well justified), a stubbord denial of cultural desolation of some environments, loneliness-proof, and so on.
Third, I dreamt of him last night, in a very playful mood. We were in the US attending parties and speaking and beeing good friends, as in Dead Poets Society, being amidst the snow, and looking for my boyfriend, without hurry. I felt respected.
martedì 19 maggio 2009
Somethig senseful to say? Ask me to be hosted! If you subscribe to this blog, and your little face appears on the right hand side of this page, you will be entitled to author a post on this blog. Think about it!
lunedì 4 maggio 2009
I left today a person that I cherished, for which I felt something, and which I felt, felt something for me. But. This person is not free.
I read about two lovers who are re-joining again in America after one year of separation. But. I have nothing like that.
I have a person who just do not care. I feel ready for loving and being loved, but I am here, alone.
I am frustrated about that. This is gloomy.
Love is any of a number of emotions and experiences related to a sense of strong affection and attachment. The word love can refer to a variety of different feelings, states, and attitudes, ranging from generic pleasure ("I loved that meal") to intense interpersonal attraction ("I love my boyfriend").
lunedì 27 aprile 2009
- A swimming pool season ticket, the most useful thing you can bring with you when you wake up
- "What colour is your parachute?" a book by Mr Bolle on how to find your dram job, if any.
- "Mental Training", a book my prof. Tupperware, the inventor of plastic cans, on how to suppress thinkings which tend to bog us down
- alcohol and friends
...any other suggestion? This database will be updated on a regular basis.
mercoledì 22 aprile 2009
martedì 21 aprile 2009
So I resoluted to take this as a chance to think over my adventurous life, with the aim to try to make it even more adventurous, and to seed the seeds of success. I have thanked my emplyers for what they could give me, I have bought myself a cheap but nice printer, named Clara, super-efficient and still smelly of plastic and petroleum just as babies smell like an internal organ when they see light for the first time.
I resoluted to give myself a routine during the future days I will be home alone looking for myself, and some exterior targets, so not to lose sight of the time, and not to lose my mind. This is the same psychologist recommended for the victims of Abruzzo's heartquake in Italy
I decided that:
- I will go to swim every day at 8am
- I will lose 5 kilos, together with a friend (but still, 5 kilos each!), by the 10th of July
- I will keep track of my experience on this blog, once or twice a day.
Why all that? To add even more crap to the overwhelmed web and give away my last piece of privacy? Well yes, also. But not only.
- I think this can help me to get a sort of routine
- I think that this will force myself to make the point of my situation requently, therefore better monitor my mood and better think where I am pointing
- I think this will satisfy my exhibitionism, a bit like the "romanzi epistolari" do (the novels which consist in a fictional exchange of letters)
- I think I will feel less alonw, because I will communicate in writing
And, for my fellows:
- I know that I am not the only one, so, let just me do the coming-out first, if this can help you. I am unemployed, but I am good, beautiful and passionate
- I give you the chance to have your say in a blurred life
- I give you the hint that you might also want to employ me...
- I can exchange experiences
domenica 19 aprile 2009
Finally, it teaches how stupid people can be, just being violent, and not listening. Inaction is also a crime, and compliance against oneself as a crime. Miscommunication is the cause of many many deeds.