Photo Notes

Nothing in reality calls us, yet we approach there to the objects or to the people they were almost the echo of distant bawls and defenseless bawls that follow underground the road…

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Fast as who chooses to fall

Who he remains ago to share that meters that don’t return.

To reach a sort of balance.

So that is the distance to ransom its presence…

Non popolo arabo, non popolo balcanico, non popolo antico

ma nazione vivente, ma nazione europea:

e cosa sei? Terra di infanti, affamati, corrotti,

governanti impiegati di agrari, prefetti codini,

avvocatucci unti di brillantina e i piedi sporchi,

funzionari liberali carogne come gli zii bigotti,

una caserma, un seminario, una spiaggia libera, un casino!

Milioni di piccoli borghesi come milioni di porci

pascolano sospingendosi sotto gli illesi palazzotti,

tra case coloniali scrostate ormai come chiese.

Proprio perché tu sei esistita, ora non esisti,

proprio perché fosti cosciente, sei incosciente.

E solo perché sei cattolica, non puoi pensare

che il tuo male è tutto male: colpa di ogni male.

Sprofonda in questo tuo bel mare, libera il mondo.

(Pier Paolo Pasolini)

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Inside the dark waters of our mothers, inside the blue drum of skin, that articulates the slow song of a breath not yet been born, knew the drifts of the continents and the movements of the tides…

We are the people that has left the water the water to enter a dry world. We have survived to soldiers and drought, to the hunger and the life in the unexplored territory of the loneliness.

Now we am thirsty. For this when we look through the night we remember our aquatic lives, that other lives slip us I set as fishes that swim in a river without end… that they walk in an inverse direction to that of the time, toward a new life to bashful… to deliver us to the rain, to the great river and the Oceans.

This water will become other water…

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