Inclined as I am to a chronic indolence, I should enjoy those Italian moments, by my own, by my parents-in-law, by the shadowy side of the green, while I am eating cherries.
And I do enjoy them (moments ans cherries), with a sort of intimate delay (should I say I did?), writing down disorderly sketches of my Italian journey.
A different inclination, more courageous, endured the cherry tree since 1994, when a tremendous lightning – out of a memorable storm – hit its log.
Grandpa Mario planted the cherry tree when Cristiana, first of his six grandchildren, was born. Mario, ninety years old, gently and slowly is now heading to his tree, to me and Jacopo, his great-grandchild.
Walked by his daughter, with the aid of a cane, a bit stooped and with humid blue eyes, Mario is looking at Jacopo, somehow lost in his thoughts… thoughts, we can only guess.
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Italian artist BLU was recently in Chiomonte Italy where he experienced the arrest and conviction of four No Tav activists found guilty of “corruption” and initially accused of terrorism (charges expired), the same happened now a couple of weeks ago to Lucio Alberti Graziano Mazzarelli and Francesco Sala who were accused of vandalism, possession of weapon and violence against the police.
The conflict between police forces, political authorities and railway companies on the one hand and protesters, anarchists, environmental groups, militants five stars youth and community centres, on the other has lasted for years and it doesn’t seem to come and end.
BLU’s original idea was to paint the mural near the center, but the police, perhaps fearing new riots, decided to surround the area and keep it guarded. The only option at the moment was along a railway underpass where he painted The Train, The Serpent and The Capital featuring a snake that swallows itself in the form…
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where the names start you dig
still in the lungs of god
blind from too much light
open to a mortal tongue
gaping at the margins of sound
like Debussy or the voice
that hangs abandoned in the air
as it is being born
There is a substantial Heavy Metal scene in the Middle East. To me that isn’t a surprise, as metal fans can be found all over the globe. On the other hand, US soldiers used Heavy Metal to annoy people they held captive in the Middle East, which must have given the music a bit of a bad reputation. The fact that Heavy Metal represents the voice of an alternative to the mainstream, both musically and politically, will make sure that more and more Metal bands will get popular. I have a lot of clips, so I will just offer clips and links:
The book “Heavy Metal Islam” is probably the most important book written about this subject:
First clip, Aliaj from Iran:
Melechesh (Formed in jerusalem in 1993 consisting of Assyrians and Armenians):
Al-Namrood, “Heen Yadhar Al Ghasq (see Guardian link for an explanation about the difficulties of…
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Sad is his face like the face of a poet
a poet without a song
The foxes are howling in the yard
while the barbarian shreds the tablecloth;
Mrs Dalloway finds her voice and says:
“Doesn’t life seem incredible?”
There is no song, I know. But the body
sometimes talks on its own, likes mud
more than light and wiping out traces
makes it sick…
Poetry means, here, stand still on the carousel,
bring yourself peace as your ship goes down.
She asks if I like laughing
if dying young is worse.
She repeats the sentences twice
so laughing and dying
become just verbs for me to learn
She says so many things in English;
sticking out her tongue, unraveling it:
her sex wouldn’t do any better.
She lays down something that sounds
like the breathing of a sick heart;
she seems happy to have followers
in this enterprise.