What if it was all in vain? Do you still want to swim, go to the sea, see that marvel of transparent nature. I saw a dolphin come back and the turtles find silent places, the blue becomes deep and the clouds protect us from the heat. It was a wonderful dream but you know, then you wake us up and you find yourself on a beach full of bottles, masks and gloves, the turtles have just suffocated, the dolphins float after having worn out your mask and the clouds do not exist, the heat has become too much for me. I stay closed at home maybe we should get used to it. A dream is not valid but reality kills us.The more the pain sinks into you, the less you see the wound. Like certain rivers that flow underground, pain, when it is true, is water that slips away without making a sound, a force that erodes and that over there changes the shape of things but, from the outside, they are only stones and silence, the sound of footsteps on the gravel, dry smell.At certain times of the year and with the right conditions, they swell. They grow huge, seethe with rage, charge up and get impetuous, overwhelming anything in their path. So frighteningly powerful, careless and deafening. Alive; In other periods, however, they become small, shy, thin and calm. We see them creating new paths among the pebbles, frightened and lost, inside a bed that until some time before was so full of their own furious being. Without NEVER interrupting their continuous flow. Don’t stop, that’s their imperative; Towards their goal. Towards the sea. That’s why I like them. Two faces of the same revolution. I watch them, listen to them, admire them, in awe of their determination.
It could be a huge river
A ride of paws, a tumult, a fury
A rage ripped off a torn stem
A very high scream
But also a tiny weed for returns
The collapse of a pine cone burnt in the flame
A hand that touches the passage
Or indecision staring without seeing
Anyway, something that we cannot lose
Even if everything else is lost
And that we will perpetually celebrate
Because everything arises from that alone
But before we get there
First poverty as profound as leprosy
And the cheated curses and true death
What a credit to forget vain
Or disguised as a revolution
The school of joy is full of tears and blood
But also of eternity
And from the vanished mouths of the saints
As the hedges of March the truths shine.
Certain words reminded me of what I wrote today on some protests videos in Italy. Unfortunately I no longer recognize this Italian state as my country because Italy has changed, the situation has worsened and there is no longer any freedom here and I would like to leave. I have fought since I was a young girl for many causes but until now it had never happened to find such a “Nazi” situation in the Italian government. And so I am very disappointed, angry and really sad and maybe soon I will have to look for another place where I can be without being forced to do something I don’t want and can’t do. I don’t feel at home in this country anymore. I no longer feel free and my rights are trampled on and canceled out every day. I honestly believe that only a revolution could change the world situation. But now people are all manipulated and enslaved by social media and do not understand what the truth is. So I have no hope that the world will get better. Italy has disappointed me and I don’t think I’ll be able to stay here again. And the fault lies with a Nazi government that is persecuting us. The news does not say what is really happening, no mass media tells the truth, and they are all sold by now and I am tired tired tired ..
To rebel means to disobey the laws and perform a series of acts against an existing power. In this case we refer to the Italian state, a geopolitical entity in which subjects are oppressed in a legal way, in which legality is an instrument of oppression, where institutions are used to oppress the population and humiliate it. Rebelling is a duty when the law becomes an instrument of persecution, when the law becomes the alibi behind which evil against the population is justified. The ministers and presidents who follow one another in the Italian state are legalized criminals, modern executioners who use the law and their faithful dogs, to maintain a network of privileges extended to millions of people who have annuities, pensions and salaries guaranteed by their position in institutions. Two entire generations have been enslaved by a generation of gerontocrats who have everything: economic, political, information control. And as if that were not enough, they begin to cheat even rejecting electoral clashes, referendums etc….
In a situation of this kind where it is oppressed through taxation and obsessive control of life, the economy, information, it is necessary to rebel, it is necessary to fight with every means against this enslaving system.
When the abuse of legality against elementary rights is evident, such as the right to have a home, the right to eat with dignity, to have the opportunity to warm up and cover up, to be able to work while doing business, to have decent and efficient services .... When the system denies all this, when one is the victim of an apparatus which no longer guarantees this but which even demolishes it, then it is necessary to rebel and destroy this system and its protagonists.
I would like to be alone with my loneliness now. walking by the sea, at dawn, with the sound of wind and waves, and the salt that ruffles my hair, and the salt that touches my skin. I would like to stay in the evening sitting on the floor of my terrace, contemplating the moon and getting lost among the stars, and feel small, insignificant and yet finally part of something, in the harmony of the firmament. Listening to the sound of crickets and cicadas as a balm for my heart. Or, still sitting on the ground, contemplate my reflection in the mirror of my room at the house, the sea, the one that overlooks the railway, and while I look at the sky, think of a future that will never be there. I have been wandering blindly for years in a skin that does not belong to me. I would like to change it. Above all, I would love to know how to do it. And then I would like to go to Los Angeles with my usual dreams in mind, meet other artists, paint and run out of all the money, and then write, write, write, and then with music in my ears, go to Alaska and merge with the green of the earth . I’m a wild spirit, you see. In captivity for too, too long. I suffer so much, I need to breathe again, to savor the rain, to make my skin burn from the sun.The dreamers. The crazy means. The drunks. The lost. The poets. The musicians. Draftsmen. Artists. The only ones. Those who have made peace with the darkness of the night. And thoughts. Those who keep defeats to themselves without ever begging for forgiveness. The funny ones. Clumsy. That every now and then they cry and say it. A little sociopathic and therefore fascinating. Those who have discovered what fear and even a little love is made of and have lived better since that day. And since that day they have been afraid of hurting. Those who in an ordinary morning after drinking a good coffee have decided to disappear. To live. To meet beauty. To go. Because this happens. Those who have left the handrail for some time and do not remember the way they went. Let alone that of the return. Masters and slaves of the truth. They. Who will certainly smile at you after a: hello how are you? They. Kiss them carefully. They. Hug them harder.But was it worth it in the end? Holy God, how irremediably my life has changed, it is always the last day of summer and I was left out in the cold without a door to get back in, I admit I had a good deal of intense moments, many have great plans but their life slips out of my hands, in the course of my life I have left shreds of heart here and there, and now I have not enough left to keep myself alive, but I try to smile, knowing that my ambition has far exceeded my talent, now I no longer find white horses or beautiful women at my door. It is the people that no one imagines that they can do certain things those who do things that no one can imagine. They always talk about democracy, progress, civilization, legality, justice etc., holy and just big words for the hierarchs, for the dominants, for the respectable, I just suck, both the first and the second, what I think is to be focused it is the condition of the “last”, of the People, the real ones, who are considered by the dominants only numbers useful for slave labor, who find themselves in unacceptable conditions of survival, who in the majority remain calm and submissive, in other cases they succumb to suicide , in others they do not accept this condition and rebel and for this reason they are “treated” with the means of democratic repression, this crap of a capitalist society should not be given signs of submission and fear, but of active rebellion
How does the system work? The system works thanks to you, in such a refined way that you feed it 24 hours a day and are totally unaware of it. You are part of it through two apparently different paths. The first is the way of submission and obedience. You are a slave identified with the system whose regime you share, nurture and defend. You do not object because you do not even suspect that you are completely asleep. The second is the way of rebellion and the sense of injustice. You are a slave who does not share the regime, but you feed it with your detachment; you are convinced that you are not part of it, in reality you identify with anger, frustration, anxiety and pain, things that the system is greedy for. The more pissed you off, the more you expand it, the more it expands, the more pissed you off. Even if in everyday life they seem two different roads, they are the same road. Above all, what your mind intends to do has already been predicted and calculated by the system, indeed you have it in your brain because the system has caused you to behave in a certain way, so every time you think you are fighting something external to you, you are only reinforcing the illusion. No one has ever won a social war, the system has only allowed it to move to a later stage. I told you, then you see. The only way out is to disidentify
A sure way had to be found by which revolutionary ideas could circulate. Guys, erotic literature became the ideal answer! The authorities called them mauvais livres, while the printers and distributors passed them off as livres philosophiques; these were books without authorization to be printed, with licentious and sometimes obscene characters, a special vehicle for progressive and liberal ideologies. On the stalls of Paris, as well as in shop windows or in the deep pockets of gentlemen, novels, pamphlets and pamphlets with erotic or pornographic content began to appear, despite the relentless persecution of the police. This number of mauvais livres was truly immense. These books were produced in great secrecy, sometimes even across the border, so as not to be hunted down by the censors; in Switzerland there was, for example, the Société Tipographique de Neuchatel, active from 1769 to 1785, and circulated the pamphlets in France challenging the customs of Paris. In this regard, there were catalogs and archives of prohibited books confiscated by the police. The most famous texts are: ‘La Pucelle d’Orléans’ by Voltaire in 1777 ‘Thérese philosophe’ by Diderot, ‘Furor uterines de Marie-Antoinette’. Within the panorama of philosophical pornography, where political and religious defamation find a place, the two terms freedom and libertinism are connected in a completely original way.
THE PRODIGY OF IDEAS 