tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26684740237923773252024-03-13T22:03:51.897-07:00PENSIERI IN VOLO RADENTELIZZY e BIMBAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08875220219642743823noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-88898147833437543282011-06-28T03:47:00.000-07:002011-06-28T03:51:25.831-07:00la subordonnée<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvh8j-z3nQgEYC42rnfQCZlMYANpyC4bbVxb8-w-i7pR4BL6PVeNB-oBs_Q9K0ouq4czgUDrvd8qzl9cgRg6EiZ4v2o0NJM5zGbaXlGtQ_TSTBDJIWHxyoWF_badi7QYSMh9GTJYz6fmDy/s1600/1198879542_picasso-1%2528Erick+Blandon%2529.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvh8j-z3nQgEYC42rnfQCZlMYANpyC4bbVxb8-w-i7pR4BL6PVeNB-oBs_Q9K0ouq4czgUDrvd8qzl9cgRg6EiZ4v2o0NJM5zGbaXlGtQ_TSTBDJIWHxyoWF_badi7QYSMh9GTJYz6fmDy/s400/1198879542_picasso-1%2528Erick+Blandon%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623221307639327554" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Dibujo de Pablo Picasso</span></span><br /></div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-7442915892898310242011-06-06T02:40:00.000-07:002011-06-06T02:42:10.240-07:00NON HO PERDUTO NULLA<span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">Sono ancora qui, il sole gira</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">alle spalle come un falco e la terra</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">ripete la mia voce nella tua.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">E ricomincia il tempo visibile</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">nell’occhio che riscopre la luce.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">Non ho perduto nulla.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">Perdere è andare di là</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">da un diagramma del cielo</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">lungo movimenti di sogni, un fiume</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);">pieno di foglie.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-size:130%;" ><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">SALVATORE QUASIMODO</span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Xj7gRS_QWY/TeygVSzLzNI/AAAAAAAAAGc/6kijUEY3fzA/s1600/anitameldere.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 224px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1Xj7gRS_QWY/TeygVSzLzNI/AAAAAAAAAGc/6kijUEY3fzA/s400/anitameldere.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615039123108383954" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-size:85%;" >Anita Maldere</span><br /></div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-68789283661042340252011-03-07T23:34:00.000-08:002011-03-08T01:21:12.406-08:00B-Side & Rarities<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9uvEsqp-Klwzaoeft4AFdoDsOD6X0z_0_7CmI9g9e2DNfWstjDxOzMeVDJcJLSjKXCwTH5QpFA1ALyY3YUBEO6NJQNu9kwMMMXyzz0URBs2vW2Xk9QqZeIeUQHqc3DQJK70-liPC8E-M/s1600/cindy-2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="336" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581603484692913106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY9uvEsqp-Klwzaoeft4AFdoDsOD6X0z_0_7CmI9g9e2DNfWstjDxOzMeVDJcJLSjKXCwTH5QpFA1ALyY3YUBEO6NJQNu9kwMMMXyzz0URBs2vW2Xk9QqZeIeUQHqc3DQJK70-liPC8E-M/s640/cindy-2.jpg" style="display: block; height: 168px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: justify; width: 320px;" width="640" /></a><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This is the hour of the insomniac dawn.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Little Red Riding Hood slowly gnaws the wolf, <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">cutlery gone for bad and the beasts released in the ravaged forest.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The Sleeping Beauty swallows the sleeping pills<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">but no pill kicks in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Snow White has had enough of the dwarves.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">She mocks and curses and locks up all seven in a room,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">padlocked in darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Hansel and Gretel walk round in circles.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Hansel mistrusts Gretel. Gretel overtly lies to Hansel.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The breaded walls and the sugared house <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">were poisoned beforehand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Cinderella’s crystal shoe is a secondhand;<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">it splinters and hurts and the foot bleeds. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This is the hour of the moon eclipse. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The hour of the thirst.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Peter Pan refuses to grow up. Let’s languish in Neverland.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The Little Mermaid bites her own tail and drowns at the sea.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And there are no princes. Nor witches with their herbal solace.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There is just me, me fully on my other side. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This is the hour of the deserted poles and the flaming castle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The hour of the severed bridges and the fire-spitting dragons.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The Ugly Duckling is born and dies an ugly duckling.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">There is no hidden or deferred beauty.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Only me, unchained.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Damn, if someone sent me those roses, I would thirst them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">If someone sent me that letter, I would shred it, unread.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">If someone surrendered to me, I would run and betray.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">If someone made me a promise, I would lock my ears.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It is the hour where everything <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I would have chosen for my punishment<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">lands and seizes the town.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It’s not the world suddenly upside down. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It’s just my reverse, unleashed and hungry.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The usually overlooked, the unnoticed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This is the hour of the implicit suicide, stubbornly performed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The hour of the scent of abyss and the wings spread to horror.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The king is not naked. No mothers, no stepmothers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Only my own instruments of torture, ready to unpack and proceed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Nobody would be there, even if someone was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This is my own flagellation task force. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Look at the burning deeds. I know nothing. I can’t stop.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Damn, if I could stop, I'd sharp this penknife.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">To sink it even deeper, enthralled for what I fear, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">instead of freeing it to daylight.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My best becomes my worst. I’m the insensible alchemist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Passion equals to obsession and I can’t respond,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">nor measure the price to pay.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This is my B-side. Listen to the blind hits, the whip. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Black bread crumbs fill in the sucking holes in the vinyl,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">when inspiration ran out.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Welcome, my Mr. Hyde.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Even if I’m still the A-side girl, my Dr. Jeckyll.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">(Only tell me where).</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">No split personalities, but pleasure in the sinister. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">It is the hour of sickness, the sickness I must flee.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">This awareness, perhaps, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">the only valuable treasure of my B-side<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">(though someone dared to enjoy a certain beauty in this crime, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">rejoice in the unbearable poetics of the unbearable).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I wish I could escape this torment,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">be so healthily stupid to reinvent </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">the end of fairy-tales.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Little Red Riding Hood watching cartoons at a cozy living-room,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">sleeping pills in the junk box, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">the dwarves on stage as leading characters,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Hansel and Gretel and a court of puppies.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">No biting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Shoes multiplying in the neighborhood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Peter Pan choosing adulthood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Mermaids vindicating their status,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">and their ugliness, the ugly ducklings.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">(Adulthood is being an orphan). </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I don’t want swans and I don’t want chains.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I want the king to be naked. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span lang="EN-US" style="line-height: 150%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">No more deliberate scars, I pray, on this trembling body. </span></span><br />
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</span></div>LIZZY e BIMBAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08875220219642743823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-56369725756332500492010-12-13T11:27:00.000-08:002010-12-13T11:37:53.397-08:00TU SEI LA TUA PROPRIA SOVRANITÀ<div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br />Your own sovereignty it's in the emptiness of this space:<br /><br />Where you can find the true shapes<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfCj5OfwRfXWYNf0vurbcVEEdvTUJ99qkKrZZuFlVbucHpgzfxTBpPdmQpZ8eWJfAMvYdSfaWt2-cb55ElCEC3az2hhNTGwchCwER9UAkMpKuoJU8QVEuRZy506bIyE3e1Q_ddqw2q55y/s1600/turner+-+boats+at+sea.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEfCj5OfwRfXWYNf0vurbcVEEdvTUJ99qkKrZZuFlVbucHpgzfxTBpPdmQpZ8eWJfAMvYdSfaWt2-cb55ElCEC3az2hhNTGwchCwER9UAkMpKuoJU8QVEuRZy506bIyE3e1Q_ddqw2q55y/s400/turner+-+boats+at+sea.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550250860992139074" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Boats at the Sea</span>, W. Turner<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><br /><br /><br /><br />http://pajarodechina.blogspot.com/2010/12/vii.html</div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-72974482418631752222010-11-21T21:08:00.000-08:002010-11-21T22:16:21.372-08:00she says<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX1tkmOpLa1EurqajtxwHeIJqI4RwOvWjoFqYpOpyBxsZyIrEylSpAAXiAlRtq-uy9rkzrHvhruwVJSaKMjR9tWxJ1anCz7u5GAsw0L4C6f9VRbiYbbkkUGhBkmx6F9GABVX7ELFV8vIPa/s1600/annette-messager.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542249841006502866" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX1tkmOpLa1EurqajtxwHeIJqI4RwOvWjoFqYpOpyBxsZyIrEylSpAAXiAlRtq-uy9rkzrHvhruwVJSaKMjR9tWxJ1anCz7u5GAsw0L4C6f9VRbiYbbkkUGhBkmx6F9GABVX7ELFV8vIPa/s320/annette-messager.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><em>she says "as the poems go"</em><br /><em>as if poems had a life of their own, </em><br /><em>as if they were not sitting on her chair, </em><br /><em>dozing on her lap, </em><br /><em>resting their profiles on the pleats</em><br /><em>of her checkered skirt, this autumn. </em><br /><em>as if the air could hold a verse.</em><br /><em>as if a verse was not a medal, </em><br /><em>a silver circle seizing</em><br /><em>the view of a street across a window</em><br /><em>at a given hour of a checkered autumn,</em><br /><em>moulding the angles of her profile,</em><br /><em>mourning the shape of every pleat</em><br /><em>on a hovering lap where I'd rest,</em><br /><em>right now, my shoulders. </em><br /><em>an empty chair </em><br /><em>like a paper</em><br /><em>where I'd pin every trace of her </em><br /><em>like a poem. </em><br /><em>as she goes. </em><br /><br /><em></em><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><em>Installation: Annette Messager. </em><br /><em></em>LIZZY e BIMBAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08875220219642743823noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-20015754318290969522010-10-26T00:45:00.000-07:002010-10-29T21:19:31.906-07:00TINTURA DI GUSTAV VON ASCHENBACH<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiHNPVNcBE2ePvIu07VMTgu4zsJ72ovyEqMA-YAPdvTeTXaA4SymtEli04K-RRfQaQY_AfaMNDHATwABWhaySaAfe-XBy7trkM4lBe7Sa43meBPvpPw45XehWRpHHkN6qIgOrvA3zALC9s/s1600/pensieri-2.png"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532260165040617314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiHNPVNcBE2ePvIu07VMTgu4zsJ72ovyEqMA-YAPdvTeTXaA4SymtEli04K-RRfQaQY_AfaMNDHATwABWhaySaAfe-XBy7trkM4lBe7Sa43meBPvpPw45XehWRpHHkN6qIgOrvA3zALC9s/s320/pensieri-2.png" /></a><br />Guardo di fronte l’impavido mare.<br />Il mare non invecchia.<br />Il mare affoga i numeri.<br />Non si esaurisce, non ha<br />durata.<br />Turbulento, traditore, avvelenato.<br />Divorando naufragi e rifiuti.<br />E di subito, calmo.<br />Implaccabile, lapidario, insormontabile;<br />da le spalle al giudizio, non fa sbagli.<br />Sono vecchiume patetico, insabbiato,<br />in un film di Visconti.<br />Il romanzo fu scritto da Thomas Mann.<br />M’interpreta Dick Bogarde.<br />Voglio dissimulare<br />che sto crollando a pezzi.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihp9p-ugN76ZnWABcWIyCcNdGkQZ6krlwfK6_NOM8hY2sy8AK1Iv2DjKxn4bqixkBb7lcadduH5qrYKnesshfLA7BCDuYcaW8Kt0Mo2ZQiD3Tv0SNYtvcniy5oOVL24iaAOaRl_Vi9kyOF/s1600/pensieri-1.png"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532260468590349426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihp9p-ugN76ZnWABcWIyCcNdGkQZ6krlwfK6_NOM8hY2sy8AK1Iv2DjKxn4bqixkBb7lcadduH5qrYKnesshfLA7BCDuYcaW8Kt0Mo2ZQiD3Tv0SNYtvcniy5oOVL24iaAOaRl_Vi9kyOF/s320/pensieri-1.png" /></a> <p>Mi umidisce il folgore insolente<br />di un pubere bagnato<br />dal sole.<br />Inseguo i suoi passi,<br />trascinandomi.<br />Questa tintura, furiosamente nera,<br />mi lambisce la fronte.<br />Si spande e si biforca<br />in molteplice e anemiche serpenti.<br />Avide, auscultano il mio collo,<br />il collo del mio impeccabile abito bianco<br />fuori luogo.<br />Sono il segno di una dicadenza strepitosa.<br />Sono linee d’inchiostro cinese.<br />Transitano le maniche del mio abito,<br />tingono la mia faccia di ovvietà.<br />Vorrei aver impedito l’immondizia.<br />Vorrei che mi portasse il mare. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9LT-cJZDeOLSXhjPy-YoQOa0Wvc8tciUDjwuf92bm5PZXYFUqhCISu-pDt_Mhqx6W-jtJ1oclnFrMftIi19U9cD3kjaNmKCqxS_UwNueJIlLPH745rC1xcWNlirWy8sZhFLoIu4JfhWBL/s1600/pensieri-3.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532261239683984290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9LT-cJZDeOLSXhjPy-YoQOa0Wvc8tciUDjwuf92bm5PZXYFUqhCISu-pDt_Mhqx6W-jtJ1oclnFrMftIi19U9cD3kjaNmKCqxS_UwNueJIlLPH745rC1xcWNlirWy8sZhFLoIu4JfhWBL/s320/pensieri-3.jpg" /></a> </p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p>LIZZY e BIMBAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08875220219642743823noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-638476155684515962010-10-16T07:23:00.000-07:002010-10-16T07:29:35.123-07:00Morte a Venezia<object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ogpMFa0ULo4?fs=1&hl=es_ES&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ogpMFa0ULo4?fs=1&hl=es_ES&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(128, 0, 0);font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">" </span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">[...] Deteniéndose al borde del agua, con la cabeza baja, empezó a dibujar en la arena húmeda con la punta del pie; luego entró en el agua, que en su mayor profundidad no le llegaba ni a la rodilla, la atravesó dudando, descuidadamente, y dejó el banco de arena. Allí se detuvo un momento, con el rostro vuelto hacia la anchura del mar, luego empezó a caminar lentamente, por la larga y angosta lengua de tierra, hacia la izquierda. Separado de la tierra por el agua, separado de los compañeros por un movimiento de altanería, su figura se deslizaba aislada y solitaria, con el cabello flotante, allá por el mar, a través del viento, hacia la neblina infinita. </span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);">[...] "</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 153, 153);font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">La muerte en Venecia</span>, Thomas Mann</span><br /></div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-70566928539709962012010-10-02T14:04:00.000-07:002010-10-20T12:00:54.724-07:00APRI GLI OCCHI<span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);">E </span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><br />Verrai </span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><br />La notte nuda</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><br />come un corpo</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);">di donna</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><br />moltiplicato per gli specchi</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><br />che saranno, informi,</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><br />quello que </span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><br />è<br />per tuo sguardo</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><br />Invisibile</span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><br />tra le tue ciglia.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-x2g4vYcEsbYZUgBkPMfxvew3sH54ciCnnNRptKtqwC1eh09EWghkCklsH9sg1z-En0TO4aLT3PF1SL5tLGpaixV8ktd-08bDyPSFNaqM05xynSoaxEZ4yEoSBdGKgDWMU2SnVYbKSA_/s1600/kandinsky+blue.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 275px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-x2g4vYcEsbYZUgBkPMfxvew3sH54ciCnnNRptKtqwC1eh09EWghkCklsH9sg1z-En0TO4aLT3PF1SL5tLGpaixV8ktd-08bDyPSFNaqM05xynSoaxEZ4yEoSBdGKgDWMU2SnVYbKSA_/s400/kandinsky+blue.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523561295793786322" border="0" /></a><br /><img src="file:///C:/DOCUME%7E1/uno/CONFIG%7E1/Temp/moz-screenshot.png" alt="" /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153);">W. Kandisnky, <span style="font-style: italic;">Azzurro</span></span><br /></div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-22817532493969348412010-09-28T10:21:00.000-07:002010-09-28T10:35:27.691-07:00Charles BUKOWSKI, As the Poems GoAs the poems go into the thousands you<br />realize that you've created very<br />little.<br /><br />[...]<br /><br />C. BukowskiLizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-34939175789855913632010-06-22T14:22:00.000-07:002010-06-22T14:54:03.841-07:00La fatalità delle donne (II)<div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">ALTER EGO</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" > <span style="font-family:georgia;">Dal mattino alla sera vedevo il tatuaggio<br />sul suo petto setoso: una donna rossastra<br />fitta, come in un prato, nel pelo. Là sotto<br />rugge a volte un tumulto, che la donna sussulta.</span></span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">La giornata passava in bestemmie e silenzi.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Se la donna non fosse un tatuaggio, ma viva</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">aggrappata sul petto peloso, quest'uomo</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">muggirebbe più forte, nella piccola cella.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" > </span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Occhi aperti, distesi nel letto taceva.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Un respiro profondo di mare saliva</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">sal suo corpo di grandi ossa salde: era steso</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">come sopra una tolda. Pesava sul letto</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">come chi s'è svegliato e potrebbe balzare.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Li suo corpo, salato di schiuma, grondava</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">un sudore solare. La piccola cella</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">non bastava all'ampiezza d'una sola sua occhiata.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">A vedergli le mani si pensava alla donna.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" > </span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" ><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" ></span><br /><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">CESARE PAVESE</span><br /></div><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" ><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;" ><b></b></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyMxG52Y_0lqy8C-s_ZzfdatgykGJXTlClipeh97-qCX2Dn3bjdSdztdwm8Oy1foN87puwnVg1RYjxa4i3-q4Vhn8m-ckaiTdArhcu8OcKtMZRyyiKF9l7lHKsraOwx-3iiJ5sg2C5HQUy/s1600/Sherilyn_Fenn.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 329px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyMxG52Y_0lqy8C-s_ZzfdatgykGJXTlClipeh97-qCX2Dn3bjdSdztdwm8Oy1foN87puwnVg1RYjxa4i3-q4Vhn8m-ckaiTdArhcu8OcKtMZRyyiKF9l7lHKsraOwx-3iiJ5sg2C5HQUy/s400/Sherilyn_Fenn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485711634153060418" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Sherilyn Fenn</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-family:times new roman;" >ALTER EGO</span><br /></span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" >From morning till evening he saw the tattoo</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > on his silky chest: a russet woman,</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > lying concealed in the field of hair. Beneath there was</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > sometimes chaos, she leapt up suddenly.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > The day passed in cursing and silence.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > If the woman were no tattoo but</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > clung alive to his hairy chest, he'd</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > cry out more loudly in the little cell.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > Wide-eyed, he lay silently stretched on the bed.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > A deep sealike sigh swelled</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > the big solid bones in his body: he lay</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > as on a boat-deck. He rested heavily on the bed</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > like someone who on waking might jump up.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > His body, salted with spray, poured out</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > sweat full of sunshine. The little cell</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > was not big enough for a single one of his glances.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;" > His hands showed he was thinking of the woman. </span><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">CESARE PAVESE</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-size:85%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />traduzione al inglese d'origine sconosciuto</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;" id="container_container"><table style="width: 672px; height: 11px; text-align: left; margin-left: auto; margin-right: 0px;" id="container" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td><br /></td></tr><tr><td style="vertical-align: top;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-55390365310467733132010-06-22T00:44:00.000-07:002010-11-21T22:14:44.131-08:00petty things<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvEebW6hoICimm0J5V8YA4zl_YEkTsxu4ERDjufLHYmJwqIBFFccvobfpWNjYbTnTOijG1itQ27T4R19VKd1u6wVrBQii17JhiKABrtMgj4muq_TuXJyc_EwRpeaiwg0gr-AM40ZUX3F3/s1600/messager-1.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485502913672794130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJvEebW6hoICimm0J5V8YA4zl_YEkTsxu4ERDjufLHYmJwqIBFFccvobfpWNjYbTnTOijG1itQ27T4R19VKd1u6wVrBQii17JhiKABrtMgj4muq_TuXJyc_EwRpeaiwg0gr-AM40ZUX3F3/s320/messager-1.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><p><em>my heart is made out of pictures<br />minimal pictures of remains<br />my heart is a box of fragments<br />slowly trickling back, pervading fragments<br />like tempera on the canvas of myself<br />petty things settled in my eyes<br />then, dripping without aim<br />then, threaded to give me borders<br />petty things move and say<br />but definitely move<br />thus the big crime is performed,<br />made out of a myriad of petty crimes<br />like stepping on the bus<br />every morning<br /></em><br /><br /><br /><br /><em>Installation: Annette Messager</em><br /></p>LIZZY e BIMBAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08875220219642743823noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-56106722144135024652010-05-16T05:23:00.000-07:002010-05-16T05:47:14.064-07:00CAMILLE CLAUDEL (II): L'ESILIOCon i denti di cogliere il fumo di tua biografia<br />mi sono tagliata le unghie, per non stracciarmi,<br />mi sono tagliata le dita, per non scavare,<br />mi sono tagliata le mani, per non colpirmi.<br />Con la lingua di scolpire i tuoi occhi<br />colsi la mia memoria per svuotarla di te.<br />Nel buco rimasto mi sono sfondata,<br />stringendo nell'aria di discesa<br />i resti del naufragio.<br />Rovine tenerissime, stelle deflagrate,<br />così sole da perdere gli specchi<br />e non guardarsi mai più.<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_yT-oSkrrh0&hl=es_ES&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_yT-oSkrrh0&hl=es_ES&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />Film: <em>Camille Claudel</em>, Bruno Nuytten, 1989.LIZZY e BIMBAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08875220219642743823noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-60503627631049389772010-04-12T08:14:00.000-07:002010-04-13T09:56:18.057-07:00Camille Claudel (I) ; la passion de l'ombre et le minimal centimètre<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dIaeVagLl-XyjyveLGQz2KdJzGJkuNdsIRYWbAU2hyRjHNii5TAily6IPrJfmN7M1nus9FQ8EhZWU-gjzCUSpe4A5_N42VdQQx-kVJQZQmk3OFCr-Rn9FNNcqU5e_KJWbCY0DXlSmBRx/s1600/lage-mur-de-camille-claudel.jpg"><br /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ihyphenhyphenikSE3chLLeEMwtGkEZrRyx7LdMiK1WacSmn95n8UMGoSYSe-ciRJD3XtFue-mqB0lIEw0ku3L64QGPnTBCtBZc5R6vsPaoDwHVRBumaTj-_JjneJwHs_PsqZ20tJ5RvIrawaU2Gya/s1600/camilleclaudel.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ihyphenhyphenikSE3chLLeEMwtGkEZrRyx7LdMiK1WacSmn95n8UMGoSYSe-ciRJD3XtFue-mqB0lIEw0ku3L64QGPnTBCtBZc5R6vsPaoDwHVRBumaTj-_JjneJwHs_PsqZ20tJ5RvIrawaU2Gya/s400/camilleclaudel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459269775939851746" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 0); font-weight: bold;">Camille Claudel</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIoF6q_IPB_FAl6tazteMwqk9VuhxoEE5JGgu4PzyjqxElxxxHeBYpUwMUeak0cJfEeQ4gQbBVC2f6qA9gJGaC_pDmI95gi5vk_dD9AiHP-HRY5kmqsf5J1ixc9lxzsDXkXTEC4O0Xe5OQ/s1600/camillevals.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIoF6q_IPB_FAl6tazteMwqk9VuhxoEE5JGgu4PzyjqxElxxxHeBYpUwMUeak0cJfEeQ4gQbBVC2f6qA9gJGaC_pDmI95gi5vk_dD9AiHP-HRY5kmqsf5J1ixc9lxzsDXkXTEC4O0Xe5OQ/s400/camillevals.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459269899859666258" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;">Le Vals</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ihyphenhyphenikSE3chLLeEMwtGkEZrRyx7LdMiK1WacSmn95n8UMGoSYSe-ciRJD3XtFue-mqB0lIEw0ku3L64QGPnTBCtBZc5R6vsPaoDwHVRBumaTj-_JjneJwHs_PsqZ20tJ5RvIrawaU2Gya/s1600/camilleclaudel.jpg"><br /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dIaeVagLl-XyjyveLGQz2KdJzGJkuNdsIRYWbAU2hyRjHNii5TAily6IPrJfmN7M1nus9FQ8EhZWU-gjzCUSpe4A5_N42VdQQx-kVJQZQmk3OFCr-Rn9FNNcqU5e_KJWbCY0DXlSmBRx/s1600/lage-mur-de-camille-claudel.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6dIaeVagLl-XyjyveLGQz2KdJzGJkuNdsIRYWbAU2hyRjHNii5TAily6IPrJfmN7M1nus9FQ8EhZWU-gjzCUSpe4A5_N42VdQQx-kVJQZQmk3OFCr-Rn9FNNcqU5e_KJWbCY0DXlSmBRx/s400/lage-mur-de-camille-claudel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459270480750210530" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">L'âge mur</span><br /></div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-31519574061817225922010-03-30T07:21:00.001-07:002010-04-01T00:30:02.392-07:00Pathos (I) e Gli occhi (di Modigliani)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjstZ_Q7wJKpDz7QSGCMFrepberYkMZ2IUhzXMX9mQIo-ZA_B_9VwzJqE7wfOERPEilHLdM0ffs2eMz_WkC159RbFM9cn57kmE58cKJA1W3LuLWJebd3NUuwU_ADsi-xoj5W_G_6Dcm9vGK/s1600/medeaocchi.gif">
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<br />Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-5221085857530387542010-03-23T20:49:00.001-07:002010-11-21T22:10:38.449-08:00make me space<div align="center"><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyKafRkUIwnkb16zNq5p2UuItSEw9uAV7tzvZ4uB94t222IG369AumtnilAR4hX-Q5bWQGJYcOxgJLbsCA1pplqJLK2Y5bvMezyENAhF3dQ3HUEJyyzHwhJ3K60oGZ4PsIuuEhHybinEt3/s1600-h/richter-1.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 220px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452042874482457842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyKafRkUIwnkb16zNq5p2UuItSEw9uAV7tzvZ4uB94t222IG369AumtnilAR4hX-Q5bWQGJYcOxgJLbsCA1pplqJLK2Y5bvMezyENAhF3dQ3HUEJyyzHwhJ3K60oGZ4PsIuuEhHybinEt3/s320/richter-1.bmp" /> <p align="center"></a>Gerhard Richter,<em> Abstraktes Bild</em>, 2000</p><p><em></em></p><p><br /><em>make me space when it hurts,<br />let me cross the in-between space before the dark.<br />make me space just before it comes, the unnamed.<br />I'll not sit and witness, I'll dissolve in that glimpse of it,<br />alien to me, forbidden to the useless stranger.<br />I'll get soaked and drenched and drowned and you,<br />dissolving and receding calmly, you'll keep quiet.<br />I, fully awake on the unbearable surface<br />of your initial terror,<br />our burning tremor whirling up my axes.<br />I, eyes wide open and then blind<br />to the map of your successive country.<br />does it snow?<br />no more pedestrian lights,<br />no more the loud, yelling sound of traffic.<br />make me space on the verge of loss,<br />be aware of my holding my breath,<br />looking at the train that goes,<br />ignoring me, forlorn, forsaken.<br />while I adjust the plastic band,<br />stubbornly, around my forearm,<br />pulling with my teeth like this addict I'm,<br />praying to get the pang<br />triggered<br />by the unerring syringe of perplexity.<br /><br /></em><br /><br /></p>LIZZY e BIMBAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08875220219642743823noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-66111502569241326082010-03-20T15:32:00.000-07:002010-03-20T15:47:20.991-07:00Carlos de Rokha, e la fatalità delle donne (I)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGFa4vJ-u2u3e9AyN26G75FBVIlHIKrMsmzwftT0nOlKgi3y6j9L_oXjdDXF0a6VKgiEKREV-Lg5JP77tibfj8CHvYeu3FGtFR356Vys3ZrlNEndgZ1ehCOdmIdPz3PPaymP-IQjxullO/s1600-h/el+beso+de+la+esfinge+de+F.R.VON+STUCK.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGFa4vJ-u2u3e9AyN26G75FBVIlHIKrMsmzwftT0nOlKgi3y6j9L_oXjdDXF0a6VKgiEKREV-Lg5JP77tibfj8CHvYeu3FGtFR356Vys3ZrlNEndgZ1ehCOdmIdPz3PPaymP-IQjxullO/s400/el+beso+de+la+esfinge+de+F.R.VON+STUCK.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5450849025314217650" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:180%;"><br /></span><!--[if !mso]> <style> v\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} o\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} w\:* {behavior:url(#default#VML);} .shape {behavior:url(#default#VML);} </style> <![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:view>Normal</w:View> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:hyphenationzone>21</w:HyphenationZone> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:snaptogridincell/> <w:wraptextwithpunct/> <w:useasianbreakrules/> <w:usefelayout/> </w:Compatibility> <w:browserlevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:SimSun; panose-1:2 1 6 0 3 1 1 1 1 1; mso-font-alt:宋体; mso-font-charset:134; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 135135232 16 0 262145 0;} @font-face {font-family:"\@SimSun"; panose-1:2 1 6 0 3 1 1 1 1 1; mso-font-charset:134; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 135135232 16 0 262145 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0cm; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:SimSun;} @page Section1 {size:612.0pt 792.0pt; margin:70.85pt 3.0cm 70.85pt 3.0cm; mso-header-margin:36.0pt; mso-footer-margin:36.0pt; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style><!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Tabla normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--><span style="font-size:200%;"><b face="times new roman" style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">JULIETA O LA CLAVE DE LOS SUEÑOS</b></span><span style=";font-family:";font-size:18pt;" ><span style="font-size:200%;"><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" ><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />*</span><br /><span style=";font-family:times new roman;font-size:100%;" ><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-weight: bold;font-size:180%;" ><br /><br />U</span><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">na mujer de champagne me llama desde un sueño</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Donde ella con sus ojos me pervierte</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Deliciosa es fascinante</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Adorable envenenada</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Sobre la boca una mancha más negra</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">Ese gesto que marca sus pasos</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">De bella condenada a las habitaciones</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">El Océano en sus manos renueva sus espejos</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);">La vida que yo amo es ésta entre sus brazos.</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-size:130%;" ><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Carlos de Rokha</span></span><br /></span><br /></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);font-size:180%;" >*</span><span style="color: rgb(204, 0, 0);">Il bacio della sfinge, Franz Von Stuck</span><br /></div><span style=";font-family:";font-size:12pt;" ><br /></span>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-55620640676101823152010-03-08T07:01:00.000-08:002010-03-08T07:17:01.985-08:00Roberto Bolaño, Sette poemi brevi; poema I<span style="font-weight: bold;"> I</span><br /><br />Cade febbre come neve<br />Neve di occhi <span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">verdi</span>.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">R. Bolaño</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />I </span> <br /><br />Cae fiebre como nieve<br />Nieve de ojos <span style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">verdes</span>.<br /></div><span style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">R. Bolaño</span>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-5441405009996624652010-02-20T07:09:00.000-08:002010-04-01T00:27:00.898-07:00"E non ho amato mai tanto la vita...!"<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/s5zdJB-SyCI&hl=es_ES&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/s5zdJB-SyCI&hl=es_ES&fs=1&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right; COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)font-family:times new roman;" ><span style="font-size:130%;">Sandro Penna<br /><br />Era la mia città, la città vuota<br />all'alba, piena di un mio desiderio.<br />Ma il mio canto d'amore, il mio più vero<br />era per gli altri una canzone ignota.<br /><br />[1938-1955]</span><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDM7gZf4Lj9RmDttBl90CU_uRz-aa2eqTNWN68qdweOT43pYkLT_-GSebsqcZCIIjSBHv2o32VXKT4kQgEcX4mrfc88WRCOZNR9ee3KkbqsEe0r4j-IcjXf8f1uKjoQZE7khYhmLWKkcBp/s1600-h/modigliani_woman_with_tie.jpeg"><img style="MARGIN: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; WIDTH: 310px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440345662130934034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDM7gZf4Lj9RmDttBl90CU_uRz-aa2eqTNWN68qdweOT43pYkLT_-GSebsqcZCIIjSBHv2o32VXKT4kQgEcX4mrfc88WRCOZNR9ee3KkbqsEe0r4j-IcjXf8f1uKjoQZE7khYhmLWKkcBp/s400/modigliani_woman_with_tie.jpeg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right"><br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(102,0,0)">A. Modigliani, Ritratto di donna con cravatta nera, 1917</span> </div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-1146483311535310022010-02-15T08:33:00.000-08:002010-04-01T00:39:11.098-07:00G. Ungaretti, Tutto ho perduto<div align="center"><span style="color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#660000;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="color:#660000;"><strong>Tutto ho perduto dell'infanzia<br />E non potrò mai più<br />Smemorarmi in un grido.<br /><br />L'infanzia ho sotterrato<br />Nel fondo delle notti<br />E ora, spada invisibile,<br />Mi separa da tutto.<br /><br />Di me rammento che esultavo amandoti,<br />Ed eccomi perduto<br />In infinito delle notti.<br /><br />Disperazione che incessante aumenta<br />La vita non mi è più,<br />Arrestata in fondo alla gola,<br />Che una roccia di gridi. </strong></span></div><p><span style="color:#660000;"><strong></strong></span></p><p><strong></strong><span style="color:#660000;"></p><div align="center"><br /></div></span>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-28121989125818348512010-02-13T07:24:00.000-08:002010-04-01T00:36:58.598-07:00Salvatore Quasimodo<p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">THANATOS ATHANATOS </span><?xml:namespace prefix = o /><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; COLOR: rgb(153,255,255)"></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; COLOR: rgb(153,255,255)"></div><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal"><span style="COLOR: rgb(153,255,255);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br />E dovremo dunque negarti, Dio<br />dei tumori, Dio del fiore vivo,<br />e cominciare con un no all'oscura<br />pietra «io sono», e consentire alla morte<br />e su ogni tomba scrivere la sola<br />nostra certezza: «thànatos athànatos»?<br />Senza un nome che ricordi i sogni<br />le lacrime i furori di quest'uomo<br />sconfitto da domande ancora aperte?<br />Il nostro dialogo muta; diventa<br />ora possibile l'assurdo. </span><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Là<br />oltre il fumo di nebbia, dentro gli alberi<br />vigila la potenza delle foglie,<br />vero è il fiume che preme sulle rive.<br /></span><span style="font-family:times new roman;">La vita non è sogno. Vero l'uomo<br />e il suo pianto geloso del silenzio.<br />Dio del silenzio, apri la solitudine.</span></span></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center" class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="TEXT-ALIGN: right" class="MsoNormal"><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(153,255,255);font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;"></span></span><o:p></o:p></p>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-12231554156209490222010-01-30T14:44:00.000-08:002010-01-30T15:10:23.441-08:00FOTOGRAFIA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh75QOivnysg_sYj2hYCbZ2euEW13KEkJMoOhMI4DGAdCAfMOgJnNjMeGc_Vrjm0WSA6JdtzNy6Q7QRdiMbBYWBClaZT6b-16LThdFiNv7DtITqpc7nezhnpIbJh1EfBL3WGzFg6r8iz7fu/s1600-h/Tina+Modotti.+Postes+con+cables,+Ciudad+de+M%C3%A9xico,+ca.+1924.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 241px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh75QOivnysg_sYj2hYCbZ2euEW13KEkJMoOhMI4DGAdCAfMOgJnNjMeGc_Vrjm0WSA6JdtzNy6Q7QRdiMbBYWBClaZT6b-16LThdFiNv7DtITqpc7nezhnpIbJh1EfBL3WGzFg6r8iz7fu/s320/Tina+Modotti.+Postes+con+cables,+Ciudad+de+M%C3%A9xico,+ca.+1924.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432672668007846786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">TINA MODOTTI, </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">Postes con cables</span><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">, 1924<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilS79fbyDFjsZzti6_STUc9HxmaBcY-bEsYmSV-73MdwrkCUN5B1ls-1HW_hg8vcl-58f0uGrZesLokPqq29eUhjOTOftMj3hA0a4VJUpbmG2OUehaprAEp7heKR-FFGSqkqTN_Md1Qkhn/s1600-h/_edward-weston_nude_1925.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 272px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilS79fbyDFjsZzti6_STUc9HxmaBcY-bEsYmSV-73MdwrkCUN5B1ls-1HW_hg8vcl-58f0uGrZesLokPqq29eUhjOTOftMj3hA0a4VJUpbmG2OUehaprAEp7heKR-FFGSqkqTN_Md1Qkhn/s320/_edward-weston_nude_1925.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432673058947048962" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">EDWARD WESTON, </span><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Nude</span><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">, 1925</span><br /></div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-84187598182966615452010-01-09T06:40:00.000-08:002010-01-17T15:53:09.038-08:00Il Trovatore, Verdi; Der Wille zum Glück (II)<object width="353" height="132"><embed src="http://www.goear.com/files/external.swf?file=39c532e" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" quality="high" width="353" height="132"></embed></object><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);font-size:180%;" >fuoco</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">inverso</span><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">all'azione.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);"><br />Everlasting.</span></span><br /></span></span></div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-15633441073587890052009-12-31T15:34:00.000-08:002010-01-01T09:42:17.491-08:00"Der Wille Zum Glück I "<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDB5SaSLABa6zrpamMQCHwofhjDCFHHDw_42tWMesIGE_A2MhnW0GhkqOaE9D92kkdMU32zrDNDuFowIotPZX-9QdjZaNGkO_lPOE3ObF1tmtYq4xfT0LnkuVc77bmoTnYZxdhnsfhaS4/s1600-h/dona+ocell+estels+miro.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421554387898365730" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 215px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDB5SaSLABa6zrpamMQCHwofhjDCFHHDw_42tWMesIGE_A2MhnW0GhkqOaE9D92kkdMU32zrDNDuFowIotPZX-9QdjZaNGkO_lPOE3ObF1tmtYq4xfT0LnkuVc77bmoTnYZxdhnsfhaS4/s320/dona+ocell+estels+miro.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center">Joan Mirò, <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Dona, ocell, estels</span><br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8mEYkd0l0ewhV3hwLfV40x_RqTA_X1uKw9kv5a-O4-OchRDxLR2Y1kv8CHsPhStm5t9S9VKlAtsB1Kjj-B0mkQyMmonyg5cGNTrFeUJ1seA23HepxTKwovno03Z-o-X8ng9cRoIoyxXV/s1600-h/conceptoespacial1953.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421553956227019202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 253px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH8mEYkd0l0ewhV3hwLfV40x_RqTA_X1uKw9kv5a-O4-OchRDxLR2Y1kv8CHsPhStm5t9S9VKlAtsB1Kjj-B0mkQyMmonyg5cGNTrFeUJ1seA23HepxTKwovno03Z-o-X8ng9cRoIoyxXV/s320/conceptoespacial1953.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center">Lucio Fontana, <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Concetto Spaziale </span>1953<br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><br /><br /><br /><br />http://pajarodechina.blogspot.com/2010/01/xii.html<br /><br />http://vertigoaniveldelmar.blogspot.com/2009/12/entregarse.html</div></div>Lizzyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07826932963543170114noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-14100176563391596952009-12-23T02:24:00.001-08:002009-12-23T03:42:02.847-08:00NON CAMBIARE UN ATTIMO<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jjZPZ-hMAcs84KaGLR5e2_VNNKDXuIUdQjukO9kRoa7DWDqWgxhc3d2bcbjtuOZrp_NVwxek_eBksboV8VJYlztDT_vyju5KnLNmtv1IMskesCC5fvC_3rEswJ3NVqmyrtqhKPgt4h2Y/s1600-h/PINOCCHIO.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418378620079372466" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 226px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jjZPZ-hMAcs84KaGLR5e2_VNNKDXuIUdQjukO9kRoa7DWDqWgxhc3d2bcbjtuOZrp_NVwxek_eBksboV8VJYlztDT_vyju5KnLNmtv1IMskesCC5fvC_3rEswJ3NVqmyrtqhKPgt4h2Y/s320/PINOCCHIO.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Siediti accanto. Raccontami la storia<br />un'altra volta. Un'altra sera. Un'altra vita.<br />Ci vuole non dimenticare le parole,<br />i disegni nati dalle mani,<br />gli infimi ed straordinari tremori<br />della voce.<br />Chiudo gli occhi per vederti meglio.<br />Voglio le pause, le virgole, gli accenti<br />esattamente appesi al loro filo,<br />in aria.<br />Imparai a nuotare,<br />nonostante il legno<br />ed il terrore.<br />Trovai la fiamma persa<br />nella notte costante,<br />a tastoni in un ventre<br />di balena.<br />Mi saresti mancato, lo sapeva.<br />Fino in fondo sapeva<br />che non avrei potuto<br />riscattarti.<br />Ed insisteva, ostinata, e ti pregava<br />di non cambiare un attimo<br />quel ordine, quei gesti, quel percorso.<br />Sono tatuati in me.<br />Ti porto dove vada.<br />Guardo il mare in silenzio,<br />su questa spiaggia vuota.<br />Il filo sventola ancora.<br />Raccolgo il tuo viso,<br />lo accarezzo e lo lascio<br />andare via in acqua.<br /><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p>LIZZY e BIMBAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08875220219642743823noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2668474023792377325.post-27385223629106838492009-12-19T23:17:00.000-08:002009-12-19T23:31:21.666-08:00GLI STRANIERI<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDn9UI6swEE4IonO1mBcXsUWhaHjy8_RbGLiXxE9U8PKY45r5jEBMeqYgqMZRrsuZo-w-pvS8bsUZSPo9tham_yBJiURLnNqlqlcjxcTiUfyIJkyqtBj3mXKfa-JOOxzarEjIjxgJEcnU4/s1600-h/et.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417214767825498258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDn9UI6swEE4IonO1mBcXsUWhaHjy8_RbGLiXxE9U8PKY45r5jEBMeqYgqMZRrsuZo-w-pvS8bsUZSPo9tham_yBJiURLnNqlqlcjxcTiUfyIJkyqtBj3mXKfa-JOOxzarEjIjxgJEcnU4/s320/et.jpg" /></a><br /><div>E.T. voleva telefonare a casa sua. </div><div>Non c'era casa sua. Lo sai? Non c'era.</div><div>Il suo indice puntava verso un luogo. </div><div>Non c'era questo luogo. Lo capisci? Non c'era.</div><div>Fuori dai luoghi conosciuti, trascinati, subiti.</div><div>Un fuori campo non si vede, mai. </div><div>S'immagina, soltanto. </div><div>Mi sono messa a piangere.</div><div>Tu, ti sei messo a ridere. </div><div>Per un impossibile contatto.</div><div>Ci fu un mare letale fra di noi.</div><div>Nuotai fino alla strada. </div><div>Annegata. Sparita.</div><div>Dicono che mi cerchi, ancora.</div><div>Ma io non sono</div><div>su nessun elenco telefonico.</div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div>LIZZY e BIMBAhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08875220219642743823noreply@blogger.com4