Monday, July 28, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
unbearable lightness of ...neighbourhood
there is something mysterious about this 'cosmocity' and the status of neighbourhood. the concept of 'neighbour' itself is no longer sustainable for the society in which we live in. neighbours are inconvenient.
nobody likes to BE a neighbour or to HAVE one.
pretty hard for a city that has split every single bit of sellable floor space into profitable parcels. extremely hard when this operation is done at the cheapest possible price.
walls are so thin that one is really threatened by knives flying around in the next door's kitchen, floorings are so frail that one can guess every second step and words are so sharp that one can feel shocked by an histerical and 'in the closet' neighbour threatening to come up and carpet the wonderful floor boards.
apologies are formally expressed whilst thoughts like "carpet your freakin' ceiling and move out" are spread in the air.
'i love cosmolife'.
nobody likes to BE a neighbour or to HAVE one.
pretty hard for a city that has split every single bit of sellable floor space into profitable parcels. extremely hard when this operation is done at the cheapest possible price.
walls are so thin that one is really threatened by knives flying around in the next door's kitchen, floorings are so frail that one can guess every second step and words are so sharp that one can feel shocked by an histerical and 'in the closet' neighbour threatening to come up and carpet the wonderful floor boards.
apologies are formally expressed whilst thoughts like "carpet your freakin' ceiling and move out" are spread in the air.
'i love cosmolife'.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
uno scatto
ha afferrato il cuscino forte forte. il cuore era come un rullio di tamburi, una scarica improvvisa e inattesa. ha ascoltato i battiti salire fino a perderne il conto. poi ha chiuso gli occhi ed ha aspettato che il sonno sopraggiungesse. il tempo metereologico nel mentre era tornato a segnare con incalzante puntualità i confini del suo stato mentale.
Friday, July 04, 2008
il dolore perfetto
«Le cose son cose – penserà, in proposito Annina – hanno una vita loro, hanno forme, pensieri, hanno età e persino un colore. Siamo noi a dividere, a costruire barriere, ad alzare, abbassare, a dire chi è buono e cosa invece è peggiore. L’Annina capì così la distanza tra la madre e l’Ulisse. La sentì forte, batterle il petto. Una botta improvvisa, una crepa sul cuore. La ferita bruciante di un dolore perfetto.»
(ugo riccarelli)
(ugo riccarelli)
