Luca Signorelli, The damned, Orvieto Cathedral
In the 2017 edition of 2lei, SL event for the elimination of violence against the women, there was also a work based on my texts. This is the machinima made by Marissa during the event.
I’m sorry because today exists only the Italian version.
I am proud for this work and also touched for the beautiful readings and interpretations of Ortensia, Exantia and Eloisa: three friends and three women.
I am grateful to Elettra, who asked me to write this text, and to Terry, who built the staghe design.
I am especially grateful to my friend Kristine, who understood the true meaning of my texts before than I did.
And, of course: Lemonodo! Thank you very much!
Photo by J.B.
So the sky becomes something not true
to the mind, unreal, rush of fire and
bright blood, trapped into the deep blue,
braided clouds stretched out by the wind
That light is stranger, alien and like
evil does, it charms and changes us,
while we are here, parked in our world,
making false landscapes, colours and sights
All the earth is now yellow, then red
when it darkens, going fast to the sunset
through the embers of this dried rainbow.
It lasts lush for a moment, then night
October, 29th 2017
Here we are, as a part of a gear
that is pain made by pain
girls and women we were and now fear
Winter days give us shivers
in this wasteland which quivers
in this ourselves made hell
where no one can breathe well
Frozen chains bound the hearts and cold rain
like old blood wets the buds
of black plants on the ground to a drain
Winter ways and the figures
of this wasteland which quivers
lead us to this foul hell
where I hear that death knell
Life to death again: that is the flood.
Sisters moan among whispers
that strike our ears as can do a stud
Winter boys give us shivers
in this wasteland which quivers
in this themselves made hell
where they grow rude and swell
Now the life changed and it's a whipper:
red wounds filled my skin and my soul
and my tears grow so much… as a river
September, 16th 2017
Today they kill him.
The State kills him.
Angel of God,
my guardian dear,
to whom God's love commits me here,
ever this day,
be at my side
to light and guard,
to rule and guide.
Meet Charlie Gard
pic by sellsworth, from here
Paris, London, Kabul, Teheran …
Stormy weather again on the lake
as the troubles I keep in my mind.
People run to look for some repair;
I still here wait for cool on my face
Stormy weather again in this world.
Someone somewhere is preparing wars
in the middle of eastern warm lands
where the mankind knew how to eat grain
Stormy weather again in lost towns
where no one understands to see sense
in his acts further what he can see
with his eyes or touch with his own hands
Stormy weather again in my soul,
in your one and wherever a man
or a woman can live or can stay.
Without horizon there all falls: rain
June, 6th 2017
Pic from here
If I think I am right
if I see black as white
If my night is a sigh
and I find not my site
If I do not agree
and think that I could be
better me fully free
even if I am a flea
when my life almost gone
lies like a bored swan
with no strength, without brawn
without joy and withdrawn
Anyway Easter comes
when You rise again. Does
anyone blind the shine
of the least single sun?
You don’t need any pass
to save me from myself.
Let I be not impasse
to my way out, besides
Friday, 14 April 2017
pic from here
A crucible of many clichés
dissolves me and I foolishly agree
as dull people who aim to be accepted.
So I too am perverting the words
The emotion stirs up any instinct
without producing reasons but cravings.
In the gloomy molasses of cheating
I am what I want be: only a bubble
I can see the evil spread in the world,
I am into it, part of it too.
The sense market alters me, as
when tobacco turns in smoke: poison
As a prostitute, I resell thinking,
while I’m mixing banal whim drives
with poor aims to be free: only dreams
Yes: each bee deeply hides only a wasp
February, 16th 2017
Thank you Leda: without you this text, like other stuffs of mine, would be less correct as grammar…