YOU PRETEND TO NOT TURN AROUND. Backs lying in the field, waiting for the wheat to grow just so we can be more comfortable I think I have extra time. I'll stop here. If you want to listen I'll wait. You (also) Pretend to not come, but you arrive early. ASTRONAUT GAGARIN, DO NOT LOOK BACK. That beach was way too beautiful, too calm for just one person. Something in that place suggested a way of dying. Bourgogne lightning killed all our hopes of reviving men. EVERYTHING LEFT UNFINISHED. My unfinished diary, it's time to burn. I can dream because I do not know anything. Leave me dead on the carpet, Let me die with my eyes open, Without waiting for the dark to come. Free me from this wait, I will breathe anyway. Still alive through the shadows. I have roots lost in the sand. I blur the weeping of colors With the wailing of the wind. IT WAS ANTHONY HOPKINS AT THE BUZZER. The confused and distorted echo of your phantoms Suffocates every scream and all my most intimate desires of ceasing forever. Solitude is the price we have to pay For being born in these modern times, So full of freedom, independence and selfish statement of ourselves.

AIR RAID IN THE LAND OF BUTTERFLY. being unable to say goodbye leads to the loss of vital bodyparts, such as arms or ears. Sometimes I'd like to be faraway, as if there were places where my mind is not reached by fears of knowing too much or nothing at all. METEMEPSYCOSIS OF THE ULTIMATE AIM: NEURASTHENIC SWING BETWEEN OPPOSITE POLES. the cultural industry organises entertainment and styles reaching the complete levelling of the individuals, reduced to zero and integrated in the dominant culture, expression of the ideology of the power. disoriented, betrayed, naked and powerless. it's dangerous to disturb the sleep of people, guinea-pigs immersed in the numbness they want for themselves. KRISTALNACHT AT RUE DES TROIS-FRERES. opal reflections of scattered memories, uncollected hopes in a suffocated oblivion. I look for the key of every mere anxiety of mine. silence let me in. merciless. quiet. I don't feel neither peace nor confidence. yet the ecstasy of this agony softens and fades away. not an imaginary ideal to collapse into. realities I twist and overload. WHAT WE ARE NOT, WHAT WE DON'T WANT. wooden faces stained with mud forgotten cries lost in the wind. awkward hands cleave the fog. decline esitating. craving for a return? mistaken appearance. fatal illusion. don't we kill what we still hold dear in our hands. FATE OF AN UMBRELLA. (I am) breathing the air of dead trees, (we are) speaking in broken sentences. where did I leave Carelessness? we cover ourselves with sentences of paper.reflected on mirrors can't see anything else, the same ones that believed in me. SUPER OMEGA. when the most obvious statements told by the most predictable persons prove to be the most true. declare war to self-evidence would be like walking on a minefield. MERCE CUNNINGHAM. everything happens in a whirlwind.the picture is no more a stream that runs through the stones. moving from the source to where it flows. UNCAGED. suppose that I said that this was that. this wouldn't be useful, things have to get inside us. it is not the time to think, to think ahead of time. THE END IS NOT THE END. rains on the street, rain naked rain that kills the last day of the journey. i want to fall asleep and do not feel you. recognize that time got the better of everything. names without a home, a destination, means withound an end...shut the winter to mess me up deep to my heart, along every path that deserves to be scored; resign to the waves of fate, now in flood, while the sun in the sky trips over; you carved on my body that the end is not the end.

GREYSKULL. The smell of those rooms recall unknown images of truth impossible to conceive and grasp. don't hug me, i don't need it to fill the blanks of my memory. just tell me why i never knew answers got rusty with time. answers drowned in a dream where they have no meaning. four faces hidden and locked forever in the garden of my memories, every photo that has surfaced drips the sadness of an eternal smile. wake me up. i saw everything in pages remained untouched. i don't need to ask you with my eyes. wake me up. i saw everything on pages remained untouched. from now on i will be six years old forever.

LETTERS I WANTED TO WRITE. My life depends upon gazes, but i'm not Michael Furey, he's not me. yet your clothes on the floor are all that i can see, and mine too. FOBBEO. A single kiss that lasts the time the world has to last yet.

BLACK FLOWERS TO IVAN ILLICH. There isn't sweeter music then the one coming from your cry. every sentence as an unexpected move. disorientating. * (ASTERISK). Our causes are founded on nothing, in the void. sometimes we forget the opportune weapons. we almost always choose those that are hidden. love, words, ink. is something still possible? you are the best weapon.

PETER'S THEOREM. People speak more even though they understand less. my silence, does it not have another purpose, than to make me feel how much i have still to learn. HELAS. E' solo la paura che uccide i sentimenti. le anime non hanno sesso. CHILDREN NEED TO BE EDUCATED. The new revolutionaries, do not underestimate matter, through this they are in agreement (without a difference) with their adversaries.

TEACHER DOESN'T KNOW THAT ILLICH TALKED ME ABOUT THE HIDDEN PLAN. Teacher doesn't know that Illich talked me about the hidden plan A never-ending mumbling overwhelms any kind of instruction like the unavoidable tide with the sand just tried, and therefore there's a turning round of eyes and an exaggerate whispering of conspiring secrets. DIRECTION OF ARTHUR'S MACHINE. With second-rate carelessness loosen the screws of the mechanism of reaction. SHALL YOU BE MY KNIFE. We all ignore more or less consciously in the dark the unconscious secret we won't have.

THOUGHTS ON SIN (slave union compilation). There is a faraway point from which there's no return (we have to reach that point). LETTERS I WANTED TO WRITE (owsla compilation). My life depends upon gazes, but i'm not Michael Furey, he's not me. yet your clothes on the floor are all that i can see, and mine too.