xname

The fact is that consciousness is by nature the locus of an illusion. Its nature is such that it registers effects, but it knows nothing about the causes. The order of causes is defined by this: each body in extension, each idea or each mind in thought are constituted by the characteristic relations that subsume the parts of that body, the parts of that idea.

When a body 'encounters' another body, or an idea another idea, it happens that the two relations sometimes combine to form a more powerful whole, and sometimes one decomposes the other, destroying the cohesion of its parts.

 (More)

PRIMA PUNTATA

Stanza ghiaccio riflette cristallo, luce immobile macabra e ferma.  Se l'istante mi sfugge io torno, con valigie su rampe di scale. Un aereo poi rotola via. 

SECONDA PUNTATA

Sii felice mai stai ben attento, a non far arrabbiare gli Dei. Di soppiatto ti guarda la vita, carne viva ne strappa a brandelli. Scivolando su un arcobaleno, tichetichetitichetitac... Sembra proprio la bella Signora, che mi segue porgendomi l'ora.

TERZA PUNTATA

Vedo un teschio e cavalli al galoppo, occhi atterra e bulbi svuotati. Senza collare il vecchio Signore, cerco gli occhi del mio padrone. Venerato compagno di strada, che la vita mi sbocci da dentro, se tu non sarai mai piu' con me.

QUARTA PUNTATA

Figlia, bambina particolare, tu cresciuta per strada nel vento. Io comprendo cotanta paura, vuoi la fine di questa tortura. Consanguineo con gli occhi negli occhi, occhi scuri ed occhi profondi, miscelando la droga parliamo, e affondiamo la vita nel piatto. 

QUINTA PUNTATA

Che l'amore mi venga vicino, perche' il sesso mi piace e mi stufa. Guardo un corpo disteso nel buio, ma nel sonno io sono con te.

ULTIMA PUNTATA

Ora inizio a gridare la mia ira, il minotauro dov'e'?

Io mi giro e lo vedo passare, e invece non c'e'.

Ora lacrime vogliono uscire, ma la vita che e'?

Prendi l'esser che tanto piu' ho amato, colui che non ho mai salutato.

Se la morte tu senti arrivare, se lei vuole qualcosa da te...

Ora lascia, il mio cuore e' scoppiato, solo il vuoto silente ha lasciato.

'They've Got A Bomb' is an occasion for showing our support to victims of massive and blind bombing on Gaza, and also against the experimentation of new american weapons over disarmed populations. The new nickname of the bomb is DIME.     

 (More)

Ed eccoci tornati in Olanda, Ubik ed io. Un viaggio a fari spenti nella notte attraverso l'Europa ghiaggiata, la pioggia la neve e la mia collezione di bestemmie. Ci siamo persi in Francia, in mezzo a crepes e pezzi di stronzo. Ne siamo usciti, per arrivare a Kanne, la nostra ghiacciata nuova casa in campagna!

 (More)

There has been a time I was seriously wondering "Who am I?"

Sometimes I see people at this stage, and I feel maximum -extreme- concern for them.

My mum used to be a busy lady, four children and a full time work, plus a social life. I often talked about abstract systems to her, while she was cooking. She used to wear her coat, while cooking, or that's what I remember... She was so fast, that I am sure more than once I had to ask her to take off her hat, while cutting onions. I was very small, probably seven years old, when, one day, in front of the fire, I told her: "Mum, I think I know about my future... I will travel a lot, and write, and..."

"Oh, that's a journalist, do you want to be a journalist?". I said: "Nooo, that's not what I am, that's not what I mean...". She called daddy, smoking in front of TV, in the next room. "Yes, if you travel and write, you'll probably be a journalist". My brother came, so tall. He started to laugh at me: "Ahaha! Babele will be a journalist!". No matter what I would say to defend my profession, they could not understand. "But I will write... not only text, something else, something more..."

I could not explain. I became sad, no one understood me, I had a vision, thus I didn't know  much about it. I felt lonely, and I refused food. As ever, I didn't sit in front of TV, but hid beneath the table, reading a book.

Years later, I was almost eight-teen. I ask around: "Who am I?"

No one answered. I ask my teachers, always the same answer: "You can do what you want." My favourite teacher, the one I would trust, spent few words for me, while I'd run after him over the corridors, repeating: "Maestro...". "You can basically do what you want. You can be a doctor, a scientist, a criminal, a bagger, also a thief..."

Some days later, I decided. We met again, in the same corridors. I was collecting the papers to leave the school. "Have you decided what to do?"

"Yes, I will be an artist."

"Ahah! That's difficult, that's the most difficult decision. Good luck."

Ciao...

I left.

I am speaking English... All of a sudden I have the impression I am speaking Italian, it feels as natural and familiar. I question myself. I keep speaking, I have the impression i am talking a language I do not know, but it still makes sense. I am talking to someone, I think I am speaking English, but in fact I am speaking Italian. I think I am thinking in Italian, but in fact I am thinking in English. I talk on the phone, I want to speak Italian but I cannot, I speak Eglish and my mum understands. I am in Italy, I enter a sigarettes shop. I ask for a tram ticket, and make a joke about the weather. I though I was speaking Italian, but no one understood, in fact I was speaking English. I try again, I get the tram ticket. I walk away, I think I am an idiot. It's just a Glitch, another glitch!

Writing on a blog is a technique to anchor ourselves to something imaginary like a net page. When i feel completely lost, i try to grasp the immaterial spiting myself in the direction of the wind. What will come back to me, and whether it will, who knows.

 (More)