Un lungo giocare lucido
rovinoso collage dal sottosuolo
intorno alla confezione domenicale 12 12 10 komakino
This is the hour When the mysteries emerge.
A strangeness so hard to Reflect.
A moment so moving, goes straight to your heart, The vision has Never Been
met. Held
The attraction is like a weight deep inside,
Something I'll never forget.
beloved myself
would hope a little 'more radical
of punk here, I saw or rather heard
some burps
IF YOU LIGHT UP THE STARS MEAN THAT SOMEONE
needs it?
and then instead of a room decorated with a thousand-returnable bottles to high-grade
all well
posing no broken glass or crushed
no laceration of the status quo actor
MEANS THAT SOMEONE CALL
PEARLS THESE SMALL spit?
a sampler of sounds
low dissonant
the recitation of the error and not error out
the unsteadiness of the plot
directing where the idea behind all ?
Where is the basic idea directing?
Where is everything?
THE SKULL
SHINES EVEN HIDDEN BETWEEN THE LEGS
And that one moment of presence
with three stomach committed to swallow drinks slowly slowly
exceptional end-side reflection of our present condition bivaccante
existential weariness and wounds of the heart
concert baffled
but forgot where the violence?
But what is the rush?
Fate broke between us, do not wait until you open the door
Slides
roars mugolanti
a moderate disarray
sent a buzz
SHOUT TO RIME din of the world
Majakovski who shot himself for the failure of a revolution
here and we bow our head in search of applause
happy ending without damage and without cracked
spectacular revival a little 'vintage a bit' guessed
The pattern is set, her reaction will start,
Complete Rejected But too soon.
Looking ahead in the grip of Each fear,
Recalls the life that we knew.
The shadow that stood by the side of the road,
Always reminds me of you.
Un prosecco prima un merlot dopo. Guardate come siamo bravi a farci offrrrrire da bereeee da una ciurma di attenti spettatori parzialmente sconosciuti. In realtà nemmeno tanto. Qui tra neon gelidi e interruzioni moleste, modeste, facciamo solo finta d'ubrrrriacarci. L'alcool lo reggiamo fino ad un certo punto e il palco ancor meno. Siamo veri solo quando ci riposiamo, confessiamo stanchezza somatizzandola e non simulandola.
Poi, lo sappiamo, non possiamo certo farci arrestare da tecnici o gendarmi per danni fisici o morali allo spazio e ai convenuti. We have been inviting guests. We occupied the rectangle metatheatrical our empty, we proposed a more rock fruition, we raised the volume, we turned off the lights delivering you up to our words and your poor tired beats. And no, we never thought to shoot as Mayakovsky. There is no more revolution to cry or say. There are only ten or more heavy bags to dispose of bottles, two boxes to be removed, a fine white cloth that was precious to Leo to rewind and take back home.
And then there is only one still waiting for n11, predicting the frost off of the homeless Induno which this time should be avoided. And no, a gesture of affection is not the case, we're too tired to even think about us and our reciprocity.
Now that the end is near
FACE THE FINAL CURTAIN
hated myself
my head deleterious
please refrain from tastes and preferences and aversions to
inferences and say this again and godardianamente
what is between the things
and nothing more and nothing less
How can I find the right way to control,
All Conflicts the inside, all the problems beside, As the questions
Arise, and the answers do not fit, Into my
way of things,
Into my way of things.
WANTED TO NOISE AND REAL LIFE ALL I WANTED
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