Part I. The Disorder of Things.
I've never been able to keep a diary ordered, which rarely even talk about my days, or some important event which I want to remember, a day away. I never had the discipline to collect useful and secure method with the aesthetic details needed to draw the scenes, as I would expect from a skilled storyteller. I have always given more importance, in my notes, those words that seem more full, more adapted quickly to sketch the ideas that I want to keep the thoughts and feelings experienced in billions of fleeting moments of imaginative inspiration and entropy.
I find difficult to disentangle the chaos of my thoughts. I find it difficult to catch them one by one, then tell them ...
The music is so, if you take it on the fly. The music is so, if not grab escapes. (Bisca)
yet bring order gives much more than just satisfaction to me ... almost a sense of hygiene.
Sometimes ordering, writing, you may feel to be leading to something, to fix a reality for more and immutable, a new cosmos. A clear line between before and after, during a moment of breath. An illusion of health and stability, before the dust returns to rest, that the entropy explicitly resume its inexorable course, revealing our human weaknesses.
You must believe, tend to infinity, we have to write .... . (Baustelle)
Honestly, I happened to intensely fear the possibility of losing forever those flashes of lucidity
imaginative, yet so real and perfect, fled away .... I could not reach them more consciously, or to make material of my dreams, those short and sweet dreams that are much regret of waking with a start ... is a different world I want, that other stories ... Without despots nor priests, more just and free if you want, embrace the sun the sea where the earth love ... own dreams in which we recognize ourselves as human beings and not robots, we recognize that you have desires and utopias.
The imaginative power to give
Certain order to chaos.
The divine skill to shape a perfect building
WHERE to live.
Another world of fancy, is this it?
Would be nice to stay in
But how Could It Last Longer ...
Discovering Another reality
Uncovering an ancient world
Running off the older traps
reason of too many 'tricks ... (EarlyRomantic Thinking about Poetry. 3 / 2 / '10)
I wish I could write, and to witness all that void of inexhaustible secret that hides behind the flow of life.
Knowing how to pick up on command, in order newsrooms thoughts, epiphanies to lend to anyone in need, more or less consciously, to draw new energy to spend on personal experience, and learn how to be reborn every day.
And I often think that my body is not a barrier or a filter between my life and my idea of \u200b\u200bthe immense possibilities which are daily and pinched a dialectics of things, shapes, colors, lines, materials, thickness, gravity, motion and friction that keeps me always a step from here is basically what is transparent, so intense as to exhale rivers and languages, and so simple to fill the width of the palm of your hand ...
But what is our life, if not try every day to give a rational ideal shape to that which surrounds us, to shape or control that part of the body that orbits in our camp life, including we feel the need to represent us, at least in part. Rationalize our space part of our psycho-biological needs, but that's just the law of passing shadows on a ground he knows the life cycles insoggiogabili to our fragile and all too human rationality.
They teach us to give us a lifetime of categories, inscaffalare our opinions, desires, filling, or perhaps fill the boxes of our needs, pleasures, actions, duties, noises, thoughts and ... we find ourselves unable to bring order among the things that are important to us, which often are not able to define, because we never had time to hear the small voice that speaks a different balance, find in the eerie silence that give step-mother knows, despite his hard immutable law, which dominates the dust, those who can contemplate.
Use the white to turn on the light.
And the light seems to project
from one of those glass bottles
a wave to make the snow fall.
-You're not a machine, you are the evolutionary result of the final draft .-
You can plug my mind with this shit long
But strength elements will always slip away from
your control!
You are looking for time
and rationalize the world
you can not forget ...
that lanevesenefrega. (Thinking about the novel by Ligabue.)
People are afraid of silence.
This often embarrassed, because it is not capable of handling it.
addicted to noise, can no longer feel the peace outline of things.
Empty chatter around
of in-organic world
Empty
in full and in depth,
the surface all the vulgar
says, vacuous sound produces
and redeems sense
omits any instrument of understanding, intent
to forget its raison d'
exist. ; (Sidd, March 2010)
I look like when the white foam
will rise from the sea to announce the storm, and
undeclared
emerge as a diver in a sea of \u200b\u200bred, a red sea of \u200b\u200blife. (Bisca, on the surface)
Can not you find the silence Within You?
Listen! That's your soul starving
Beneath All That cheating noise.
Look. That's
risked your life for slavery.
So I'll try to stop searching the perfezioneformale ...
Confronting
unpredicted events is the best school of life of our times.
Sidd McCandless
... I leave the words unsaid
and take all the Cosmogony
and throw it away
and I threw it too! ( Morgan)
I've never been able to keep a diary ordered, which rarely even talk about my days, or some important event which I want to remember, a day away. I never had the discipline to collect useful and secure method with the aesthetic details needed to draw the scenes, as I would expect from a skilled storyteller. I have always given more importance, in my notes, those words that seem more full, more adapted quickly to sketch the ideas that I want to keep the thoughts and feelings experienced in billions of fleeting moments of imaginative inspiration and entropy.
thoughts run faster than light
eyes speak with one voice ... (Meg)
I find difficult to disentangle the chaos of my thoughts. I find it difficult to catch them one by one, then tell them ...
The music is so, if you take it on the fly. The music is so, if not grab escapes. (Bisca)
yet bring order gives much more than just satisfaction to me ... almost a sense of hygiene.
Sometimes ordering, writing, you may feel to be leading to something, to fix a reality for more and immutable, a new cosmos. A clear line between before and after, during a moment of breath. An illusion of health and stability, before the dust returns to rest, that the entropy explicitly resume its inexorable course, revealing our human weaknesses.
[The fire stolen from Zeus by Prometheus rebel is an intellectual process. It is a seed of divine fire that burns the hollow of the dry Ferola in which Prometheus has hidden, but because this is no longer usable as ever and the first of the punishment given to humans from the king of Olympus. Become a representation of human contradiction, of his need to cultivate the land, hiding the seeds inside, and eat constantly to survive, just like the fire that devours and burn anything you do not offer on the way to extinction ... (Thinking about Prometheus from a reading of the universe , gods, men. of Jean-Pierre Vernant )]
You must believe, tend to infinity, we have to write .... . (Baustelle)
Honestly, I happened to intensely fear the possibility of losing forever those flashes of lucidity
imaginative, yet so real and perfect, fled away .... I could not reach them more consciously, or to make material of my dreams, those short and sweet dreams that are much regret of waking with a start ... is a different world I want, that other stories ... Without despots nor priests, more just and free if you want, embrace the sun the sea where the earth love ... own dreams in which we recognize ourselves as human beings and not robots, we recognize that you have desires and utopias.
The imaginative power to give
Certain order to chaos.
The divine skill to shape a perfect building
WHERE to live.
Another world of fancy, is this it?
Would be nice to stay in
But how Could It Last Longer ...
Discovering Another reality
Uncovering an ancient world
Running off the older traps
reason of too many 'tricks ... (EarlyRomantic Thinking about Poetry. 3 / 2 / '10)
I wish I could write, and to witness all that void of inexhaustible secret that hides behind the flow of life.
Knowing how to pick up on command, in order newsrooms thoughts, epiphanies to lend to anyone in need, more or less consciously, to draw new energy to spend on personal experience, and learn how to be reborn every day.
To be a poet must have
long hours of solitude
are the only way for the formation of something
is strength, abandonment, freedom and vice
to give style chaos. (Pasolini)
And I often think that my body is not a barrier or a filter between my life and my idea of \u200b\u200bthe immense possibilities which are daily and pinched a dialectics of things, shapes, colors, lines, materials, thickness, gravity, motion and friction that keeps me always a step from here is basically what is transparent, so intense as to exhale rivers and languages, and so simple to fill the width of the palm of your hand ...
how to write well if I were not there! If between the white sheet and the bubbling of the words and stories that take shape and disappear without anyone to write to not put the uncomfortable middle diaphragm that is my person! *
But what is our life, if not try every day to give a rational ideal shape to that which surrounds us, to shape or control that part of the body that orbits in our camp life, including we feel the need to represent us, at least in part. Rationalize our space part of our psycho-biological needs, but that's just the law of passing shadows on a ground he knows the life cycles insoggiogabili to our fragile and all too human rationality.
They teach us to give us a lifetime of categories, inscaffalare our opinions, desires, filling, or perhaps fill the boxes of our needs, pleasures, actions, duties, noises, thoughts and ... we find ourselves unable to bring order among the things that are important to us, which often are not able to define, because we never had time to hear the small voice that speaks a different balance, find in the eerie silence that give step-mother knows, despite his hard immutable law, which dominates the dust, those who can contemplate.
Use the white to turn on the light.
And the light seems to project
from one of those glass bottles
a wave to make the snow fall.
-You're not a machine, you are the evolutionary result of the final draft .-
You can plug my mind with this shit long
But strength elements will always slip away from
your control!
You are looking for time
and rationalize the world
you can not forget ...
that lanevesenefrega. (Thinking about the novel by Ligabue.)
People are afraid of silence.
This often embarrassed, because it is not capable of handling it.
addicted to noise, can no longer feel the peace outline of things.
Empty chatter around
of in-organic world
Empty
in full and in depth,
the surface all the vulgar
says, vacuous sound produces
and redeems sense
omits any instrument of understanding, intent
to forget its raison d'
exist. ; (Sidd, March 2010)
I look like when the white foam
will rise from the sea to announce the storm, and
undeclared
emerge as a diver in a sea of \u200b\u200bred, a red sea of \u200b\u200blife. (Bisca, on the surface)
*[...] But if an individual is the only reality that a book can tell, I might as well try to write my own. The book of my memory? No, the memory is true until it is fixed, until you close it in a form. The book of my desires? Even those are true only when their thrust is acting independently of my conscious will.
The only truth that I can write is that the instant I live.
Can not you find the silence Within You?
Listen! That's your soul starving
Beneath All That cheating noise.
Look. That's
risked your life for slavery.
*[...] It is only through the limitation of our act of writing that the immensity of the non-writing becomes legible [...] Otherwise what is outside of us do not claim to communicate with words, spoken or written: other ways to send its messages. [from If a winter's night a traveler , Italo Calvino.]
So I'll try to stop searching the perfezioneformale ...
Confronting
unpredicted events is the best school of life of our times.
Sidd McCandless
... I leave the words unsaid
and take all the Cosmogony
and throw it away
and I threw it too! ( Morgan)
