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were two hours waiting for something to happen. The apathy and silence of our new friends in New York were infectious. In return, the dancers' asses tobagonians pleasant tremors were due to my lower belly. There was a big parade, West Indian carnival parade, which ran from early morning round in some areas of Brooklyn. Feathered half-naked characters simulating sex acts and voodoo witch doctors, all to the rhythm of reggae and drum and bass. Between them and the cameras of the curious were cordons of policemen dressed in blue. The atmosphere, I must say, was highly artificial, heavily controlled and the joy kept below the level of intemperance. A festive mass with overabundance of males to females, abundance of males and females over-abundance of guards for all.
looking for fun, but I became convinced that a party increasingly militarized and full of passive people who take pictures will never be a party.
-decontextualizes If these photos, the people who will not be able to do anything but be fascinated. I know, the parade is boring, but check out weirdos, just add a few funny caption and you're done. " These words were Silvia
of a piece of truth, the truth that lies behind the occasion to show a condom to an unsuspecting child and tell him which is used to treat the blisters of the feet, he can not help but believe and be fascinated by such a prodigy.
decontextualise to appeal. Take a reality more or less consolidated, clean shades of dull or unpleasant and present it again in a far away place. No matter that the place is physical or conceptual matters is that the new reality is perceived as such.
While I was thinking these things, trying to avoid the gaze of Brian apathetic, Silvia had launched with his camera in the midst of all the other passive observers. At the same moment my thoughts strayed to a speech that Charles I had alcohol a few weeks before in a club full of old Italian-Americans for only drunks watching porn: "Dear Mario, is an illusion, America is all an illusion, you think to buy something for $ 10 and will cost $ 15 instead of, read a newspaper to praise a company that has paid his taxes to fund social and think, damn this is a serious company, but if you have the chance to combine information, you can find that it was simply a tactic, a dirty tactic to get tax relief and make this' action in an act of social solidarity. "

Contribution of view: "Elegant n.2 warfare" by Antonio Riello

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What I like ...


looked like a seagull that stood out horizon. Enormous wings embraced the whole view of the spectator.

As a painter, now traced the outlines of the figure in front of him. Gaunt face, lips swollen, yellowish skin. My eyes follow her fingers ch moved around his figure reflected in the mirror.

What he liked his condition?

The fact that all the reports he had created were fantastic. The fact that they were part of a painting as compared to real life. The fact that we feel so superior, so perfect, while talking to someone. The fact that we embraced in that idyllic condition, with projections that he gave of himself, and yet despised. The fact of being so far away from himself, from the world around him, without even having stepped out of his room. The fact that we feel every part of his body slamming frantically, as if they break away from him and was projected light years away.

As if everything were synchronized to their needs. And yet ... was a wild beast collapsed to the ground.

It all seems so fake. Now, as moved by a primordial need to survive, waiting for his executioner steps to allay his instincts, he stops davati the mirror

realizes that his enormous wings seagull became thin arms and the viewer it is setting his own body is asking for mercy.

Contribution of view: "Zuert die Fuß" Martin Kippenberg, 1990

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This discussion goes back to some 'time ago, when I lived in hope of learning the art of tightrope walkers.

"The warmth of the fire is if the horizon is just survive. My fingers are intertwined on a piano as your keyboard. But my music is drowned out by background noise that takes over. It has no rhythm. And so my time is marked by a non-rhythm. My spirit danced on this wire so thin at a rate that ordinary mortals can not know. For them, my music is silence. "

That network below the rope, which provides protection when you are a beginner, now no longer there. I was so used to his idea, some time ago that I forgot that it had been removed. The my body on the rope, did not make it to offset the double standards that were in balance the stick in my hands is not always our experiences can load balance the mutability of events.
And here I am now sipping a glass of wine, waiting to make its appearance at my door that vial carrier of the idea of \u200b\u200bthe world that everyone wants to give us.

Contribution of view: a work inspired by unknown "Portrait of the Journalist Sylvia von Harden" Otto Dix, 1926

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The sculpture, stone Carovigno, is the "Pieta" in an original and unique. Jesus is lying on the stones and the Madonna, somewhat stylized, manifested in all its pain.
Here are some pictures of the details of the sculpture.

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This wall has never been so white ...

these shadows flee I see around me. Through their faces with their eyes, hole eyes.
Do not stop, continue to go through and trampled feet. Do not make me space. I choke, I shake and I push against them. Yet the square view from here has never been so strong. Snapshot. Perhaps all properties. Maybe it's all so quick to jump behind the time.

What I just did not. It is not blood, not dust. It is not life, not death. Neither beginning nor end. Neither right nor wrong. I could not call it liberation, not I call it a cage. And 'anything that might not be. It 's all that is hard to take shape, because a form you should give it to him when you see it all so at the mercy of the movements of others. Hard to explain.
I move.
There is only a little water to wet 'lips. I can not swallow.
Gino says that sharing makes reality, what is not ... and then all this I see, you see, around me is a big fuss, a hornets' nest, a gas chamber ... A quiver
tells me it's time to go back ... back ... but only to evoke this vision.

I do not claim that my speech becomes a reality. There can be no sharing when you are the passive observer of your folly.

Contribution of view: the cover of the book "Choke" by Chuck Palahniuk, First Anchor Books Edition, 2002

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I'm tired of seeing my face


I'm tired of seeing my face.

Contribution visual frame of the television series "Twin Peaks" David Lynch, 1990-1991

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-Vagabond-Confessions of a liar

Try to do the same around the whole night, you have a fixed reference point. It will be an old bitch eyed ingialltiti sitting on a planter intent to look at his feet. Do not ask what he thinks, he's just staring at his feet. If do not believe it try to play the role of exclusion. All spring. Do not you care? Then you will never understand who makes the void.
Trust me, his distrust towards you is higher than what you may have towards her.
In three days I slept seven hours. I'm really tired. I do not know why I'm doing it myself, now there was only the insistence of the usual fear of failure. The feet are wet, my shirt is wet, the hat as well and the shorts. When you have thoughts related to survival and basic necessities the rest is superfluous, so it's obnoxious, irritating. E 'in this way that makes the difference. With distance from the judgments of others, with present themselves and only themselves, without role models. The judgments of others can create but also destroy. The indifference to the judgments of others could create a zero point fixed and changing, but in most cases disappears. To reach this place physically inconceivable not need to belong.
Loneliness starts from silence and goes on a lie, this is the homeopathic drama of my life. Trying to cure a disease by injecting continuous doses of the same virus that caused the disease. Lying to get to the truth, there is no other solution.

Philadelphia, August 18, 2009

Contribution of view: "Untitled" an anonymous friend, in 2009

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a matter of habit-

If you're used to smoke cigarettes, tobacco will never pass. Or rather it would, but only out of necessity.

The reason why you move from one stage to another disease that compensates for the emptiness of the spirit and the full body is what you need to eat slowly, otherwise it would burn so fast. An act so dirty. So violent. A physical violence. A hidden pleasure.

Drain. Empty cigarette lighter that you, who keeps combustion for your will. Not because it wrapped in circles of tar.

absorb your body, drinking. Do not acid vapors exhaling.

I'm used to approach the fire to evaporate quickly. And him. Blows. Breath of nitroglycerin to feed the flames. For food.

Warms my skin. Warms my breath.

dazzles my eyes.

Contribution of view: "Que me veux-tu?" Claude Cahun, 1928

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INCIPIT-Confessions of a liar

Menstruation had not, I told you the opposite because you do not want to confess that he had fallen again. Idea of \u200b\u200binnocence. Now you know and know well that his blood has bewitched me, it was mixed with mine and in my veins enhancing my heartbeat. The same blood that I left on my belly for three days, a kind of ritual, a tattoo that I surrendered the sacredness of that moment. Although, in retrospect, there was little of the sacred, at least in place. A dingy couch in a big room useless. An architectural delirium of my parents, a place that was to be a little flat for my grandparents, but the ups and downs have become a closet. There was everything in that place, from figs Aunt Yolanda shoes and soccer balls to my brother, a small refrigerator without power vacuum left in the center of room with the door open for air to do that, orthopedic mattresses and set aside everywhere, a cat litter, cardboard boxes full of books in high school, tournament trophies tressette, two benches made of elm with a table attached to my father in his term bricoleur from layoff. In short, the emblem of my family room, where different things can be put together without a sense and where this juxtaposition of useful objects and useless does not scare anyone, but contraio becomes the symbol of a philosophy of life and time to abandon 'waiting. On second thoughts, this might be a reflection of the brothel masked depression of my mother, but this will tell later. My friend, this is only the beginning, I told you many lies behind these lies and there are other secrets they keep lying, but open your ears and listen to what I now tell you. The secrets are well guarded, especially if they are offered by a chronic liar. From this point on, you have agreed on a voluntary or not to perpetuate this secret and those who will tell you, you be a liar. Do not break the pact of silence, you'd need a good strategy and a strong logical architecture to make it seem real that I hide from a life skillfully. In this field I am the master, I may change the reflection of your image, so just listen. After my death, if it pleases you, tells all that was and did not appear, that never happened and it was believed and what could have been, it was not. [more]

Casalbore January 3, 2009

Contribution of view: "Slander" by Sandro Botticelli, 1496

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words

words have no eyes or legs,
not have mouths or arms,
have
viscera and often no heart,
or have very little.

you can not ask the words
to smoke
but can make you more pleasant
wine.

and certainly you can not force the words
to do something you do not wish to do
.
you can not overload.
and you can not wake them up
when they decide to stay.

sometimes
words will treat you well,
depending on what you ask

to do.
other times,
treat you bad,

whatever you ask him to do
.


the words go in and out.
sometimes touches you

to wait long.
sometimes do not return
back.

(...)

words are not
for all.
and for the majority,
There are only

for long.


words are one of the greatest miracles

to
world
can illuminate or destroy

minds,
nations
cultures.
the words are beautiful
and dangerous.

(...)

(Charles Bukowski, the song of fools)