Avatar’s dew

I found this photo here


Ok: that so dear friend told me something about another meaning of the word “dew” in Japanese language.
I wrote this stuff for that friend …


You were smile of the dew
upon green winter grass
You were light happy rain
in my spring among nights

You were dream in my life
that runs fast toward death.
That’s my sin: to be there
empty mask withouth flesh


February, 1st 2018


On the radio – A photo by Karma Weymann

On the radio, work by Karma Weymann


She is lost in a sad radio sound
lovely girl, young pale skin without shame
maybe thinking at something as blame
maybe waiting for someone as bound

She is lost in a past radio sound
looking at somewhere, when she had claim
to be happy, alive, when her aim
was to be owned, taken, so wound

She is lost in a love as a bound
stockings are as red passion, as flame
her chest needs to be handled: the frame
of a lost true big love never found

I am lost in a sweet dream, a song
from the past, lovely friend with no shame,
I am thinking to you as a flame.
We could think to be love, to be bound

We were lost in a sad radio sound.
I could not more be lie in a frame
where now each thing is changing to pain.
I want that you be happy and not wrong


SL, Blacklabel Exhibition, January, 27-28th 2018

Wrong crossroads

Photo by J.B., 2018

This stuff can be considered my own version of some verses
red in a beautiful poem by Marina Raccanelli, where she writes in Italian

ora che il vento ci spinge
verso incroci sbagliati
sentieri senza biforcazioni

That is:

now when the wind drives us
toward wrong crossroads
paths without junctions

Marina shares her poem just when I am in a wrong crossroad, so her words move me so much …
Thank you Marina and forgive me that stole your words!


Silly wind of emotion led us
to the peace of impossible land
whilst we lost reason and real things

The same wind now drives us toward there,
to wrong crossroads, mad paths, where we don’t
see nor junctions nor truth nor ourselves

There, where our emotion is dead
as a bird hurled against the glass,
where the window is closing our dream

Here now only there’s silence and fog.


January, 29th 2018


The wrong way

The wrong way, by Kristine Blackadder


When last week Kristine showed me her last machinima, with herself as protagonist, the first impact was a strong emotion, anyway, and saw in it powerfully expressed the wish to be,  the desire to be free.

She had and showed both an almost dreamlike version and an ordinary (“real”) one; in the last she wears her usual black dresses; the two Kristine mix each the other and perhaps the dreamlike and totally free one at a certain point seems to get the upper hand over the reality, but anyone, if alone, is able to jump with a force enough to reach a really high altitude and so we fall down again into our sad and usual custom.

Above all, no dream, no matter if it’s a magnificent one, helps us to walk the road toward our happiness.


Kristine, that’s what I understand seeing your movie… please! Forgive me if I am wrong and see only my own reflections.

Italian version


Corpus Domini

Pic found here


This my present is maybe described
using runes, so I can’t find its key
hidden into such alien strange seasons
full of mystery, dryness and shadows

Algorithms made by an abstract coldness,
betray each our human awareness,
liquefy any real essentials
and give up themselves to bestial instincts

Deviant morals gain day by day death
while our reason is pray of deep sleep
and so wavers and more monsters come.
Everything is due, claimed possession

The reality lies low as dream,
a delirium of insipid wishes.
Violence is so a normal thing
everywhere: echo and terrible scream

we shuffle around as in slippers:
only pale and blind shades
of those who lost their role in the world.
My Church seems also a joke

I’m a jump of acrobatic cripple
and pretend and hold me toward nothing
while each thing falls down all around here.
Make us real, me too. Give me sense


June, 27th 2017

Italian version


Ruined theatre


(Dedicated to my friend Sharrow Decosta)


Like an arrow you enter my dreams,
this my second life where my soul wants
to be naked and fragile to be
seen without pain nor bad sinful thoughts

On the stage of this theatre we run:
only a moment we meet, then alone
we go back as a ghost among chairs
of a ruined place without life

Soon the curtain will slide down, the scene
will return black and dark as before.
Now we are near and close: hug me, please!
Let the dark feelings out of these doors

Like an arrow you enter my dreams
this my naked soul and all her pains.
See my nude heart here down, on this floor
I feel you into me so deep, Sharrow!


Second Life, Kessler, 19th May, 2017


White and pure

Anemone nemorosa in wood. JB, 2017.


This silly spring song is dedicated to Angel Morning


Almost spring, sunny day, winter goes
in the grey velvet of each past times.
Under young woods the anemone's light
is the breath of the new life that cries

          White and pure, fresh and lovely
          you start dancing cute and lonely

Each tear drop that falls from the sky
like the kiss of dew on morning grass
recalls me that each thing must fast run
toward cold places; I always ask "Why?"

          White and pure, you are so lively.
          When you dance I grow sad, lonely

When the sunlight becomes low and shy
as at the sunset, when the mist wins,
leading me though me toward black nights,
I am a shiver that seeks my Love's eyes

          White is your soul, I am ugly
          like a savage herb, a pussly

Sin and death are deep in me: a fight.
As in a dream I saw you this morning
dancing alone in the wood clearing.
You are anemone light, fresh and white

          Without thoughts of sin, lovely
          you dance cool. I look at you freely

Second Life, Elven Forest, March, 11th 2017

Thank you to my dear friend BC for his suggestion to my bad english