Saturday, January 22, 2011

Denise Milani Topless

Man Out of time without words





Words Bacchae block or disguise themselves as humorous if they try to talk about the Italian situation is political and social. Rabies is a lump of pellets in saliva that chokes, then you need to drain floor, laughing, because there is no time for explanations and reasoning. In the face of all this there is nothing to analyze or to understand, if not to discover that it is not the bottom of the well and that there is already who is digging. The generation of grandparents built, one of the fathers left it to finish what was to become free to destroy the built, we must now pay the price to be aware of the decline, the new will have at least the chance to start over without inheritance. If I look at the science fiction smile, we feared the nuclear disaster, but we are social, but feared the aliens harbored the enemy within, a project called Utopia, and now we do everything to fall asleep and not dreaming. Here is the postmodern, the lack of desire, lack of a better future of the project, and we are satisfied that tomorrow is a little less worse of today. But why all this? Why do we tolerate? Why wait the ball of anger in our throats explode leading us to do things that later convicted in the history books? I always thought that the USA is an advance of our present and, in one way or another, we would follow their evolution, but this time I find nothing in history that does not resemble the present day but what was before the French Revolution. Although we lack the guillotine, I feel the lack of time, maybe even a Napoleon, short of someone or something that embodies a possible future. I do not want to waste a politician, or a hysterical comedy, or even a long time, I want a book. A book to put in the middle and let it grow, which is brick and cement a future. Non voglio un libro che detti un'indiscutibile verità come una Bibbia, nemmeno un testo che faccia un’analisi scientifica come il Capitale, voglio qualche cosa di più quotidiano. Voglio un cielo grigio sopra un porto che sembri un televisore sintonizzato su un canale morto.




Foto: L’uomo con il megafono, P.B. 22 gennaio 2011

0 comments:

Post a Comment