Nohting

mots l'année dernière à marienbad blow-up nausea rayuela alice cocteau orphée ulysses photorealism voyage au bout de la nuit ultimo tango

Weakness for a while, while Calvino

It’s is scary how things come back to you at once. I’m wondering around writing “Alice”, as musical, aswell as novel. There are some minutes I feel I won’t ever finish them - the process (greetings to Kafka and the Gatekeeper at Gates of Truth) takes me too much into itself, and it is too hard to see the light coming from something toward you.

By the way, the money: the technical question comes now much more powerful than ever - it is impossible for me to waste time for more; I’ve got to move, move, move.

Well, there is you, my creations, and the money, which stop me: they don’t give me a chance to complete creations the way I see.

I wonder, if I ever come to you - would you take me without my music, writings, works? That’s a hell of hope. But yet I have courage to go on.

Calvino.

Calvino.

Deleuze and Guattari.

Deleuze and Guattari.

Falsche Bewegung

There is a kitchen with bright-coloured walls, and while eating there chocolate with vanilla tea - bloody silly combo, and rather not a combo but a random - I’ve felt the solitude ain’t heavy no more. Pretty deceptive.

Today’s my brother’s birthday, he’s celebrating it with alco, friends and party elements - somehow it must be celebrated nowadays if you’re 23-years old young man with clearly directions in your life. I’ve felt some happiness cause of his mood, when I’ve heard his voice. That was the first step, I guess.

From other side, I’ve played some percussion today at place my band is playing. While drummer played point bass kick, I’ve made some weird, but absolutely rhythmic sounds, playing the walls with a pair of spare sticks. That’s the minute I’ve understood how I love music, even I had been in a doubt about that for last weeks.

The minute I’ve spoke to my brother gave another feeling. Next minute I’ve answered Yang, my partner from China, about business cases. Than the bloody silly combo, or maybe it all was in some other order. Anyhow, that’s how I’ve understood that everything is too simple. For one more time.

There are some minutes when lightness of being comes. I still don’t know why; and if I ever do - I’ll get one of the most important keys ever.

For sure, that’s cause of you, as always.

Antonioni / messiah.

Antonioni / messiah.

Portrait Number Five: Against A New York Summer

I’d walk her home after work
buying roses and talking of Bechsteins.
She was full of soul.
Her small room was gorged with heat
and there were no windows.
She’d take off everything
but her pants
and take the pins from her hair
throwing them on the floor
with a great noise.
Like Crete.
We wouldn’t make love.
She’d get on the bed
with those nipples
and we’d lie
sweating
and talking of my best friend.
They were in love.
When I got quiet
she’d put on usually Debussy
and
leaning down to the small ribs
bite me.
Hard.

i cannibali, from the lover of de sica

engram (1987) / toshio matsumoto

engram (1987) / toshio matsumoto

Cell

Cell