ricordo

Ricordo le antenne mi accompagnavano a letto sotto le coperte
Ricordo di quando i soldi hanno cominciato ad alterarci la vita
Ricordo l’odore di caffè, quandoper un attimo fu solo silenzio
Ricordo il nero delle sere e le voci che venivan fuori dalla radio
Ricordo quando sognavo guardando scorrere  luci al mio fianco
Ricordo di quando piansi perchè mi obbligarono a crescere
Ricordo le gocce di pioggia che si posavano sul finestrino
Ricordo di quando qualcuno mi ha portato via tutto
Ricordo quella volta in cui il cielo era rosso
Ricordo le sere interminabili e la noia
Ricordo che eravamo puri però
Ricordo che eravamo soli
Ricordo i miei ricordi
Ricordo il freddo
Ricordi?

the streets everything is borrowed

This is my hour, I’m never going to bed.
The sky is still black, but begs to be red.
I just put my book down, but it begs to be read
I’m not nod, I’m not napper, never rest my head.
Some days I feel I’m getting smaller and smaller,
but some nights, I seem to grow taller and taller.
And we keep shrinkin’ and shrinkin’ but this will not finish.
You’re never nothing, if you didn’t disappear.
Just when I discovered the meaning of life, they change it.
Just when I’m loving life, it seems to start raining.
I pulled the sail safe switch, sea sail and I’m into the stars.
I love the rain on my scars. The sky’s now red, my eyes reflect jets.
Smiling at this blessing, this life is the best.

I came to this world with nothing
and I leave with nothing but love
everything else is just borrowed

I want to notice chances I’ve passed without notice
I want to see details previously veiled.
I want to grab that chance, carry it home
so I can marry and know
That I noticed every chance
that I could have passed without notice
I saw details that to all were veiled.
And I grabbed those chances, carried them home
and then I’ll have had it with roaming

I came to this world with nothing
and I leave with nothing but love
everything else is just borrowed

I want to speak every cliche but tweak if i’ve seen change
in new way it could be said.

If it’s bleak, or if the week’s leaking down the street
or if any days wasted I want to face facts.
My time on this earth is my only penny,
wise is the gent counting every moment spent.
I don’t want to explain things, don’t wanna fill in the gaps,
I want to look at my friends and in that minute be at …

Memories are times we borrow
for spending tomorrow.
Memories are times we borrow
for spending tomorrow.

I came to this world with nothing
and I leave with nothing but love
everything else is just borrowed

If spit like luck, you can only seem,
to borrow it, you can’t keep it.
When the wind of change whistles into play
will I blink or flinch away?
The wind of change won’t whistle me away
if I spin my tails and sail.
And sail away, let yesterday become today.

I came to this world with nothing
and i leave with nothing but love
everything else is just borrowed

As time will say, nothing but
I told you so

Memories are times we borrow
for spending tomorrow.

13 1 10

su un lettino giace

un corpo fatto di pezzi di carne

tritata e dal colore immondo

quel corpo sono ha la mia immagine

fa paura ed è arancio

coperto da qualcosa di colorato

poi non ricordo altro

terremoto

riconosci subito il momento

in cui senti la terra sotto i tuoi piedi  sconquassarsi

quando questo avviene occorrono appigli

posti saldi a cui aggrapparsi

certezze che tengono a galla il sistema

realizzi come accade in vecchie pellicole

che hai sprecato molto tempo

o che hai solo immaginato in maniera maldestra

con la testa posata sul vetro freddo

come edward guardi quello che potevi essere e non sei stato

allora lì realizzi che il respiro di stella è molto più sincero del resto

che la vibrazione del piccolo oggetto celeste sa renderti felice

più di ogni altra cosa

e il suo moto ondulatorio sibilante

corrisponde al suo sguardo

mentre versi fiamme nel bicchiere

fermo al centro della stanza ridi

perchè tutto è molto ironico

piccolo mio

capire il delirio non è cosa semplice

accettarlo è molto più natuarale

ribellarsi ad esso è la vera sfida

charles baudelaire to the reader

To the Reader

Folly, error, sin, avarice
Occupy our minds and labor our bodies,
And we feed our pleasant remorse
As beggars nourish their vermin.

Our sins are obstinate, our repentance is faint;
We exact a high price for our confessions,
And we gaily return to the miry path,
Believing that base tears wash away all our stains.

On the pillow of evil Satan, Trismegist,
Incessantly lulls our enchanted minds,
And the noble metal of our will
Is wholly vaporized by this wise alchemist.

The Devil holds the strings which move us!
In repugnant things we discover charms;
Every day we descend a step further toward Hell,
Without horror, through gloom that stinks.

Like a penniless rake who with kisses and bites
Tortures the breast of an old prostitute,
We steal as we pass by a clandestine pleasure
That we squeeze very hard like a dried up orange.

Serried, swarming, like a million maggots,
A legion of Demons carouses in our brains,
And when we breathe, Death, that unseen river,
Descends into our lungs with muffled wails.

If rape, poison, daggers, arson
Have not yet embroidered with their pleasing designs
The banal canvas of our pitiable lives,
It is because our souls have not enough boldness.

But among the jackals, the panthers, the bitch hounds,
The apes, the scorpions, the vultures, the serpents,
The yelping, howling, growling, crawling monsters,
In the filthy menagerie of our vices,

There is one more ugly, more wicked, more filthy!
Although he makes neither great gestures nor great cries,
He would willingly make of the earth a shambles
And, in a yawn, swallow the world;

He is Ennui! — His eye watery as though with tears,
He dreams of scaffolds as he smokes his hookah pipe.
You know him reader, that refined monster,
— Hypocritish reader, — my fellow, — my brother!

the white room

you are standing in a white room.
flickering
light is constantly pressing on your eyeballs,
heavy with guilt.
crawling into the darkest solitude
a brutally mauled heart
in your scorched hands,
leaking drop after drop.
her face mirrored in the ruby blood.
you are standing in a white room.
all eyes fixed on you.
their empty lives filled by the tiny
glittering
pieces of your broken dignity.
a thousand blinking eyelids,
shutters open and close,
fixed on you.
your engorged
internal
organs
pump through your body
until they explode.
you are floating now.
you see the red flood,
but nobody
seems bothered.
no frowns.
maybe they
can’t see it.
maybe, you never even did
exist

Syl

7 1 10

madre e padre mi hanno accompagnato nella nuova casa

anche in sogno ho mentito loro

li ho visti andar via

ho trovato della terra accanto al mio letto

e sassi in essa

sono uscito

gli amici

la mia città non è come me la ricordavo

il ritorno al nido allora

segnato dall’affanno

la disperata ricerca di coltelli

temo che lui li abbia nascosti

gli amati ormai non rispondono

il rifugio è la strada

ma la venere muta

raggiunte le altre

mi lascia alle spalle

ricordo la porta del cortile

l’uomo dalle pupille bianche

fissava me

“questo non è posto per te”

dice e dire volevo anche

ma la mia bocca chiusa

non riesce a dire

ma sì a partorire

due pesci

uno sbatte al suolo ancora vivo

ne sentivo il suo dimenarsi

dentro

“madre, padre!”

l’invocazione

ma più mi lamento

e più l’angoscia mi gela

più piango

e più la mia voce si fa fioca

fino a scomparire

nel buio

nessuno mi può sentire