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Tag Archives: writing

a Mercedes’s engine

will take us

elsewhere in town,

Janis,

wound long hair

no longer crying

nervous fingers on scrim

scratched desires a blow

pocket and liquid

all our good expectations

for nothing

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a short while ago

belly belly missing

roll me on roll me on

wipped cream oh long

let me a smash

let me stay

let me pray

we are earthworlls

we are little snips

pink and chocolate pillows

flame on us

fine smocked grass

 

 

Dry old bigleaf,

twisted young vine,

pot with rag,

million grasses

shining

ANGEL MINE
Angel mine be your fine
Angel divine

Angel milk what’s your ilk
Angel bilk

Angel cash Angel smash
Angel hash

so many years so amazing dreams

no spoon so close collecting streams

those juices inside

         just respectable seas

where time to time I was swallowed

almost fine as I am

crazy trip as I am

odd as I feel these days

these days are the time when

all my angels are

in the dancing room

                                                  outside

we talked about lives and other accidents

truly consequences of some leap year

moon as scrabbled eggs

escaping sky mute as fire

we could fly

we made an all-out effort

meanwhile bittersweet is mad

almond jelly on cranberries jam

solaces as molten rock

we were lost in puddles

truly yours

once more once take

in the name of change

we apologize for poverty and mud

we appreciate the long lasting sorrow

no grace, Sir

our weakness flew away

switching moments

passing the land

we became the morbid carpet

for slippery hangover

little knowledge and insanity

how long how long we scratch

and we collapse within a smile

the eyelids blaze in the morning cup

abstract constructions but light-hearted

we simply escape and stand again

we glow we glow in the next parties

and hip hop dancers for the rain

She walks in beauty like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry sky;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow’d to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair’d the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

 

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Si chiama scrittura,poesia,video arte. Si chiamano arti figurative,musiche,si chiamano suoni e dintorni. Sono stanziali o performative, sussurro o urlo. Nelle loro mille forme o contaminazioni di linguaggi siamo qui e là a praticarle illegalmente e siamo assolutamente liberi. Siamo fuori dai circuiti vulgati e rifiutiamo i canali accessibili a pagamento. Assistiamo sconsolati alle processioni delle solite facce-soliti stili, vagheggiamo di occupare nuovi spazi  soprattutto per lasciare il segno di una cultura non totemica ( come quella odierna fra affossamenti della creatività e linee guida di pochezze stilose). Così siamo liberi ,perché non abbiamo niente da perdere quando pratichiamo le nostre espressioni artistiche. Non c’è niente che costringa le nostre idee,i nostri progetti,non dobbiamo nemmeno seguire tendenze o i mostri sacri del momento. I maestri ce li scegliamo noi, scambiandoceli all’occorrenza o allontanandoli se serve. Seguiamo solo le nostre ispirazioni e respiriamo  temi e suggestioni della nostra comunità che si forma e si trasforma incessantemente. Ci passiamo motivi,ritmi,immagini,fotogrammi,sillabe,costruzioni…Apriamo finestre,chiudiamo e apriamo cerchi,aggregandoci facciamo crescere insieme progetti. Ci contagiamo e ci contaminiamo a vicenda. Reclamiamo sempre spazi per mostrare quanto accudiamo,cresciamo,concludiamo. Servono tanti spazi per portare gli altri alla ricezione dei nostri testi,perché necessariamente i nostri manufatti non sono appannaggio solo per noi. Ci esprimiamo, non cerchiamo ne’ specchi ne’ posti sociali giustificativi. E quando i suddetti spazi non sembrano non esserci più, noi semplicemente ce li prendiamo. Esposizioni e concertini spontanei,opuscoli autoprodotti,proiezioni a libero accesso.Siamo indie,siamo liberi.

  Sites have changed

shocking galleries and caves

istant lucky road

                                this big ending city

                                short to walk around

                                till further notice

and nobody knows

what happened

            is going to happen again

do not ask            never,never,it’s too much

anyway things become           changing at last

whatever or not

the worst energies,the best energies

                      attend a birthday

 look at my skin

look at my bones

look at me too smart too young

the mirrors have no respect

and I transcribe sentences

       how much I can do it – who knows

time is time

climbing on the roof

lights – grass – grass – lights

flying carpet up and down

somewhere Bauhaus buildings

the promenade

                          a modern Spanish one

the local places

the busy groceries

the Arabic food

the Yemenite settlement

sand,stones,gardens          everyday activities

people from Sheinkin

                           brightly arm in arm and bracelets

expresso-bar and pub

                                renewed by two young figures at midnight you saw

shocking galleries and caves and so

Tel Aviv, i’m writing for you

usually I make a lot of movies

where you are in

when bottles and glasses

SHABBAT  dinner and LEHAIM they say

and your white nights oh LAILA LAVAN  oh LAILA

once more

taken pleasure on PURIM days,a common daytime

what’s the matter to carry on – who knows

and things to be done

and things we said

and things in pocket

and a pair of pink shoes

and rhythm is rhythm

as you well know

a little metalic here

compared whith the soft one in Jerusalem on evening

once more

the best energies leave different galaxies

                                  coming and going and back

      look at me

I’ve been the girl grown in another culture

                      nothing personal but personal

what’s the past,what’s present or future

it cannot be clear talking but

come on,it’s really important

if everything is at some place

                or not,as you like

we had roasted Turkish coffee,we had Goldstar beers

                                      now simply

already awake

morning naked

in the northern neighborhoods

cookies,nuts,almonds

                            hidden to be eaten later

stay a while for this Babel

the real linguistic one

                               Russian and the others

                                      Yiddish,slang,some from Morocco

Mediterranean pleasant honour

a little piece of pita bread

                              perfect with

it sounds good

added to palms,urban statues,yellow road signs

once more

which reality is this reality

quickly ashamed and heart attack

there was a war,a war is somewhere

a waiting list of holydays to remember all the wars and deads

precise clean tombstones

which reality is this one :          just a story to carry on

                                                   carry on in any case

and make love

and find the best to get

                               in breathing and carring on

whithin the week always

it doesn’t care the occasion

a softer touching event,soon very soon it’s written

Jesus was a good fellow

once more

and how long even stronger

T.A. weekdays four in the morning so empty

just taxies hunting someone to bring

and last newspapers ready on the sidewalk

there are  columns,window with venetian blinds

and between       dirty brave cats

take the other side

discussion is to deliver territories

and sketchy pictures recur

                                  and ideas come and go

a movie is also this

well-mannered traffic lights ’round a female square

here it is a pantomime without audience

take the other side

and shocking galleries

and caves

and Fishman and Frishman street

and jasmine and nana tea

and children with dogs wet their hans in puddles

and peep-shows

and hot storm in early march

and Noblesse so cheap so hard

and in case of attempted resuscitation,

                                snake bite or scorpion sting

                                go immediately to nearest hospital

and call me back

and painted faces for the party

and red-yellow letter boxes

and which reality which history which story

I’m going to chase the next one

LAILATOV