İHola Amigos! It is a truly important historical moment, a turning point, after which we will never be the same. The freedom of the peoples is at stake. Humanity cannot accept being reduced to slavery. I see death and devastation around me. I see people in pain. I see individuals struggling to resist. Evil has never changed strategy, surgically refining its instruments of torture. We cannot allow a handful of men addicted to darkness to force us to commit suicide of the Psyche. Man must be able to fly. Man has desires for Beauty. Man is such as long as he is able to breathe his soul, which has an alphabet, a syntax for which a kiss is necessarily different from a slap. Mankind is in check. The army of darkness seems to have won on all fronts, but the resources of the people, who do not want to resign themselves, are almost infinite. No higher body will save us. The army of Good will not come to free us, since we are the good ones, all together, all compact and cohesive. The sooner we understand it, the sooner we can act. I don't want to give up hope. I need to think that something wonderful is possible and that evil, too often present in people's lives, is wiped out forever. Mankind desires its most beautiful song, the one that has not yet been written by any talented composer. I will do everything to be there. What will you do? İBuen viento, Marineros!
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!Buen viento, Marineros! How are you? Yesterday I composed a piece of music, with a particular title: "City lights - Time will come - We are the Cassandras", "City lights - Time will come - We are the Cassandras". In recent days, however, I had written "Pure white skin of my Woman", "The white skin of my Woman" and, to comment on this latest music, I wrote a poem in hendecasyllables, "Candida". I have worked with passion and satisfaction on this poem, although I rarely write poetry. "Candida" was born from a very particular image that those who love cannot fail to have of their own Woman. Love is revolutionary, always. It is against all forms of violence and war. I saw the chaste skin of my Woman and I understood that I would not have wanted a different Paradise than that. I am a very lucky man. After Hell, I found my dimension of calm and beauty, which today I hold close to me aware of the fact that it represents the most important thing in the Universe. In the last period, I am not always constant in writing: I also allow myself great breaks, in which however I think a lot. I was on the bus the other night and I looked at the city lights. The title "City lights" immediately came to mind. I read a newspaper article in which the author concluded her thought with "Time will come" and I immediately had a new intuition: "Time will come". I spoke yesterday in the car with my companion and I told her that we are the new Cassandras, who see the disaster in the future, but are never believed. We are fragile creatures, we need warmth and affection, passion and involvement, lightness and play. This is the revolution of the Psyche which, for too long, has been trampled and mocked, tortured and starved. This is the Revolution of the frail, who have become strong in order not to die. This is the Revolution of those who cannot be satisfied with the well-being recipes of a system that praises money, to kill man. I am with the man. I am with all children who wish to live as adults in a world that loves them. I am with the beauty of a woman who looks at you and caresses you. There are powerful forces that aim to kill childhood. They are ancient tensions, which come from darkness and envy realized and peaceful people. What is underway is a real war. On the one hand they, with their atomic bombs, on the other we, with our smiles. We are in the twenty-first round, it is not yet known who will win. I am with a grandmother who goes to pick up her grandson from school, prepares his lunch and helps him with his homework. I am with those who get up every morning with the desire to do their job well. I am with those who suffer, thinking of not making it. Too many men have fallen for this nefarious project of a Humanity reduced to slavery. Too many intelligences have committed suicide. Too many children have resulted in psychosis. It's time to say enough. The lords of evil must no longer harm anyone. Each person has his inalienable right to the joy of the human tribe and his own happiness as an individual. Everything is healed with Love, which is the antidote to Psychosis. All heals Love, which disinfects, stitches, and heals, creating a splendid image where there was only the deformed grimace of a wound. Love can do everything, even save you from the dark. I believe this and, with all the determination I have in my body, I affirm that this is my Revolution, the Revolution of the few against the many, of the frail against the violent, of children against their captors. Maybe it won't end very soon, maybe this fight will go on for a long time, but I want to be on the side of those who love. Of whom he understands. Of those who do not allow themselves to be poisoned by hatred ... Time will come... !Buen viento, Marineros!
The hand grips the tender side. Surprised to find you all naked. You are caste, in white skin. Then the mind becomes a pure canvas. Your groin proudly hangs over me. You are beautiful in your architecture. Your passion creates the real. Struggle for a future vision. Your hair wraps around your shoulders. I've never loved, before you. Bundle lines of butterflies. We experience our first times. You show me your breasts with innocence. We smile at each other like in a game. Arrogance cannot enter here. We are lit by our fire. We bask in the warm breaths. Feet on the march brought you. We wrap ourselves in our sighs. I wandered in the dark without a flashlight. We long for eternal love. I don't know where I would go without you. Over time, I imagine the hours. You healed the great wounds. You moved sinuously for me. You will be a bowed instrument. I'm hungry for your hugs. You, mighty and majestic passage. The strong hand finds me groaning. Reborn thanks to your love. And I won't trade you for anything. With strength I cry out your splendor. You smile at me. You contact sinuous. Your movements are smooth. Playful, you observe me, because you know your man craves you. You undress calmly. You let yourself be kissed on the shoulders, And, while I suck your nipples, you look at me amused. You smell of freshly baked bread. You know how to grab your pleasure. You are strong, since you have withstood the bad weather of life. I listen to your warm breath. Your mouth opens in an expression of joy. You caress my back. I'm all yours. I notice you. You are my garden: a lush orchard. I abandon myself inside your nymph's body. We are one, you and me, in the ecstasy of our unbeatable love. And in forgetting me, I bask in your embraces, telling you words that you answer whispering, with a child's expression. You are my Everything. I was born from your hands, I vibrate for your hair in the air, I get lost in your eyes. You my Muse, the Person with whom I share the bread, that inspires me with thoughts of creativity. You are an alembic that distills goodness. I look at your pure skin as a Woman, never, to my gaze, before you, such a gentle vision, that I'm passionate about, and it fascinates me. I let myself be conquered by tenderness. I lose my world in your kisses, to find it again, in the depth of your anatomy. You are the origin. You found a tired warrior, that you made a happy man. You weren't scared, but you worked patiently for love. Arts and psyche, Sweat to get to the top. How far we have come! How many things have we seen! Evil has not conquered us. You caress me, as if I were the most beautiful thing in the world. You are healthy, like a proud she-wolf in the steppe. ... And, from the start, I understood that my place should be with you, forever... One evening you will walk down a tree-lined avenue. Maybe it will be autumn and, occasionally, your eye will fall on a crowd of red leaves, animated by the wind. You will be among the people, Wearing the clothes you have chosen, for that walk. You will move curious. People are a world to discover. Suddenly a message. You will read it, with a smile. "Honey, I'm coming home!" you will answer her. And that will be the best time of your life. Do not you believe it? It already happened. Great events change us. We live like paper boats, in the middle of the most restless ocean. It's easy to get lost, sometimes forever, hopelessly. We are fragile but we know how to dream. You will come back to her, with a quick step you will walk towards her face. You will kiss her. You will see that she will look at you as you are the most precious thing in the world. You will understand that that will forever be your place. You will see yourself in her eyes. "But am I that handsome boy?". Yes, you are, through her care. You have become wonderful. You made a nymph sublime, who had been waiting for his companion for a long time. The world outside can be furious. You, in your home, you will be united. The wolves will howl, in the forest. The ancestral call of freedom. The desire to be men ... And you will discover how sweet a hug can be.
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"Interference" is the new album by Massimiliano Folegatti, a work born in the period of the Covid-19 pandemic, otherwise known as Schizodemia, split of the people, understood both as the division of people into many small groups and as a mental split of people, since this disease has brought a single true virus, in addition to the Coronavirus infection: fear, an immobilizing, chilling and deforming fear. "Interference" is the title that comes from an intuition that the author had, which is expressed in feeling an interference, within the system, which, in turn, produces interference, in the world of the artist, dictated by a mass of media that yearn for the resigned submission of individuals, under the aegis of governments drugged by the ugly drive of total domination. It is an album about the Revolution, which, according to the creative, will lead mankind into a New Era of Light, in which we will all be well and no one will be left behind. However, in order to realize it, an awareness is required on the part of all, since this system of things can no longer be tolerated. "Interference" is militant, a music that fights, with infinite love for Humanity, against the distortion and overturning of the complex human nature, which demands respect and nourishment. They will not be able to keep telling us lies forever. The castle of lies will fall apart sooner or later. Mankind will be fine again, perhaps as it never was before. This is my Revolution, for me the problem of membership does not arise. I am with the man. The mephitic call of this Capitalism does not concern me. There will be children in the square to play. People on bicycles will whistle. Grandmothers will be able to put their grandchildren to lunch, without more worries and worries. "Interference" is a hymn to life and to the passion for Beauty, which envelops everything, which colors everything. The tracklist is: 1. You are the key 2. Near the Tannhäuser gate 3. My lady's breast - Portrait of an invisible 4. Tree of Revolution 5. Lupus It is a year of work, carried out in a really hard period, for everyone, with the various restrictions, which, in Italy, have really made themselves felt. "You are the key" is a song about love for one's partner. Here is a man who realizes how much his woman is the key to his existence, the center of gravity and the metronome. The piece was submitted to the attention of a listening group, receiving appreciation. A dear friend of mine wrote to me: “It seems to take a journey in your thoughts”. A friend, on the other hand, wrote: "Only today did I find the time to listen to your piece ... I did it with my eyes closed to leave the task of composing images related to sounds to the music. What resulted is the effect of a sudden summer storm before sunset ... a ticking at the beginning that anticipates the fresh air of the rain, the crescendo of the rhythm, the crackle of thunder, and then slowly, at the end of the rain, life that awakens to enjoy the coolness, almost a dance of thanks to a world full of drops that shine in the last light of the evening ... in the end a few drops still slipping from a leaf, almost a greeting to the disappearing sun ... " . My Aunt, a retired music teacher, wrote to me: “As soon as I started I thought:“ Ah! This major beginning will herald something striking or produce a melodic element of the opposite character, perhaps as it gradually grows. Now, however, I want to hear it more than once to be able to tell you what it really makes me think. It is precisely on the organic nature that I want to express myself after having listened to it other times ". Few people follow me, but their valuable feedback is essential for me. "You are the key" is a work that I care very much, written in the cold days of a winter in the name of the Italian lockdown, due to which I was not allowed to see my partner, even if a few kilometers away. A cowardly choice, that of the government at the time, a decision that attempted to kill people's affections, their psychic balance and their strength. Now here we are talking about new restrictions and it feels like being inside the hamster cage, because it is a perpetual motion of pain and deprivation. For this a New Era of Light is needed: Humanity is tired. "Near the Tannhäuser gate" is a hymn, with which I celebrate a world that is seeing something that is far beyond imagination. It is a tribute to the famous final monologue of Ridley Scott's "Blade Runner". There is a lot of sweetness in this piece, the delicacy with which a person must be treated, the kindness with which one must approach a wound of the soul. In the second part of the passage there is a path towards the possibility of being happy. Then the consoling piano enters. There is a need for infinite tenderness ... "My lady's breast - Portrait of an invisible" is an orchestral piece, on the breast of one's beloved and the symbolic value of the psychoanalytic object. A job that took me a lot, and that, in the end, I felt mine and in perfect plastic rhyme with what I intended to represent with sounds. In this piece, there is the whole psychic search of a life. It is life. Push forward. Sense of belonging. Desire and love that comes from the authentic knowledge of one's partner. There is tension that proceeds with different dissonances and rhythms, which is dissolved in the warmth of the orchestral timbres. An answer is put forward: man can be happy, after having recognized himself, he can also find true love, although he has been an invisible person all his life. The voice of the concluding cellos intends to convey a sense of stillness. The man has found himself. He discovered the profound sense of the good self. He can walk the world. Now he is no longer alone and he will never be again … "Tree of Revolution" is the penultimate piece in chronological order of the work done up to a few days ago and "narrates" the fate of a sumac in a garden that could be the emblem of a Revolution of consciences, which is taking place quietly and attentively at all latitudes. It begins with a French horn solo, a simple melody that heralds a movement of people towards freedom. The sumac is represented by the notes of the piano, a solitary display. A trumpet sounds. It is the call of the New Era of Light. The strings counterpoint a succession of chords. It is the sequence that represents the path. The chordal agglomerations of the piano are back, indicating the sumac. A friend of this song wrote: “The song surprised me, even if you refer to the“ revolution of the Psyche ”you wish for, it still has a gentle theme, not at all aggressive. It sounded like the soundtrack of an Anime or a modern Japanese movie, they often use such a vibrant style ”. "Lupus". Last song. It begins with an English horn melody that gives way to keyboard chords. "Lupus" is the freedom song of the wolf, a proud and free animal. By extension, it is meant to represent all people who do not align with the dominant thought. We are all called to be wolves. Authentic in our identity, without cages or leashes. The final tail of the arches is open and wants to build a bridge between us and what we should be: indomitable spirits … This work collects the best of my production in the period from December 2020 to November 2021. It is almost needless to say how much I am attached to him and how much I love him. An artist loves his works, absolutely. The opposite would be strange. "Interference" traces a furrow, to sow a new idea of the world, of society and of the person, placed at the center of the planetary scenario, with its desires and dreams. We are witnessing the undoing of the capitalist system, which shows all its final murderous brutality, which has always been the enemy of men. We cannot remain inert. We must rebel peacefully and show the powerful that we can implement a life plan on the planet that does not need their wicked choices. This work, musically, is rich. It blends sounds of a heterogeneous nature, to create a new sonic league, that of the New Era of Light, which those like me are awaiting with optimism and confidence. I have always loved writing for symphony orchestra, but, over the years, although my background is classical, I have become interested in the instruments of popular music, trying to create an ensemble that was well balanced. The result is here. "Interference" is a song. A hymn. The sublimation of my desires for a message of joy and peace. It was a long creative process, in its overall duration and difficult, thanks to which I reflected a lot on the nature of things and on my vision of the world. I have been living an all-encompassing love for 13 years and I am a very lucky man. She is my Muse, I never get tired of painting her with sounds and words. She is my everything, ever. Everything beautiful in my life comes from interacting with her, loving me for who I am. "Interference" is a work of the New Era of light, in which virgin compositions will be needed to let people enter a world where imagination and creativity will no longer be accessories for entertainment, but authentic forces of man. I gracefully await the development of an anthropological and cultural Revolution that will take us away, into another dimension of the person, thanks to which all children will grow up happily, to become men of value. If you like, you can go back to the home It is the sound of your breath that consoles me.
Strings in a slow musical time. Your quick steps towards me bring me joy. I await your sweet voice from the silence. Your maieutic art is deep. The tone of my life is yours, when you sing carefree, with childish notes. Yesterday I wrote a melody for the horn. You seemed to me while you do your thing with love. In the evening, I listen to your forceful heart. I wake up, in the new day, with your smile. Sound, my life, you are here. You always reach me. Follow the paths of my psyche to manifest yourself. You trace a path between me and my world. You visited me as an infant. You were glowing on that vinyl record. I decided that I would follow you. You are a just teacher. There are no magic, only study. You are born from the heart, you tie yourself to the mind, with astonishment you become a sign and, with infinite love, you let yourself be written in black and white between five lines, turning you into eternal poetry. You are answer. Sound, my life, you are here. You always reach me. Follow the paths of my psyche to manifest yourself. You trace a path between me and my world. ... and I find myself in myself sending a signal to the world ... First there was a virus, which killed because people were not treated in time, then there was widespread madness, linked to the anguish of death, which was nourished by a precise design of power. This Schizodemic, which was killing souls, was the product of years of study by the powerful, who had finally found a way to subdue billions of individuals, with ruthless propaganda that leveraged the innate death instinct of desperate people. She went into the garden, following the curves of the branches of the small sumac, observed the color of the leaves, a beautiful bright red and moved away from that strange feeling of heaviness that the situation had generated, sowing, in almost all the inhabitants of the Earth, the whirlwind of mourning and the loss of logical skills. Schizodemic was a precise instrument of political control, which aimed to make people stupid and distressed, therefore easily manipulated. It had nothing to do with a virus, since it was the virus itself. The peoples had to be split up. It was a psychosis on a world scale, a Schizodemic. They went on like animals, an unknown flock towards a much sought-after goal: the total submission of Humanity. The powerful had played their ace in the hole. Their entire political career was centered around the possibility of forever subjugating a myriad of individuals, for the final surrender. Schizodemic was the focus of their project. Reduce everyone to fear for an immense triumph. The people, for their part, had delegated their thoughts to those who should have known more than them and this could have turned out to be the fatal mistake. It was no longer thought. There were the diktats of television. There was that doctor who commanded the masses what to do and how. Human beings were losing control of their world and their individuality, in an inexorable Schizodemic. The peoples control project was advancing quickly, smooth as oil, without hitches. Non-thinking masses were heading towards the natural conclusion of their existential path: perennial slavery. Hardly anyone seemed to object. However, there were fringes of men and women who did not resign themselves. She, the sumac girl, was one of them. He didn't believe in TV. He didn't believe in social media. She reasoned proudly with her own head. You had to let Schizodemic enter you. If I hadn't left the door open, it would never have been able to enter. In any case, this new, terrible disease, widespread in all latitudes, was present and was acting on the consciences. Few rebelled, almost always locked in the secrecy of their homes. Schizodemic had changed the physiognomy of mankind, changing it forever. There were pockets of resistance that communicated with each other clandestinely. The sumac girl was part of it. He had a great self-love. She was proud of her dignity as a woman. She was not going to prostitute herself for any reason, trading a surrogate of happiness for her brilliant identity as a person. She was a shiny person, like others, scattered here and there, waiting, working hard and sweating for a New Age of Light. He cleaned the garden, gathered the dried herbs and admired his work. She was happy, even though she knew that outside her enclosure there was a terrible pathology, that Schizodemic which seemed to leave no escape for anyone. However, she did not give up, although the system seemed to have triumphed at all latitudes. She could not resign herself, since she was Beauty made person and Beauty cannot succumb to the sight of unprecedented meanness. The peoples were exhausted. Immense psychological effort to resist a media bombardment without solution of continuity. They called it Prosperity. It was prosperous only by the gain of a small part of humanity at the expense of many, who perished or struggled to make it to the end of the month. Schizodemic was the perfect virus for totalizing population control. The girl went into the house. He turned on the stereo to listen to a Bach Suite. She sat down on the sofa, after having prepared an herbal tea. He wondered if it was legitimate to hope, if it was still possible to believe in tomorrow, if it was plausible to be happy. She had always been dubious about the official narrative of the system, having questioned it from the first press conference and had always confronted her partner, a man for whom the smallest gesture of her beloved was pure poetry. The two had taken courage, always and they knew that unity was needed at that moment, otherwise Schizodemic would have hit them too, making them stupid. There was not only a virus in the city, but also a dangerous psychological drift linked to it, which was polluting the lives of many, in a truly lethal Schizodemic. You don't just die when your heart stops beating. We also die when the psyche ceases to exist and the thought is canceled. As long as there were resisters, the system would not have completely triumphed, so there was still a long way to go and great fortitude would have been needed to keep fighting. The sumac girl thought that Bach was the greatest composer in the history of music. She added, to herself: "Probably ..." ...
You are my prize. You open up in beautiful smiles. They didn't kill your joy. You are pure Poetry. You move with harmonious gestures. You can see beauty everywhere. You are authentic. You never gave up. Sweet baby, now I see you. You are like then, with your watchful eyes. You swore to yourself that you were happy. You have become a warrior. The storm has not mutilated you, becoming more aware. The world doesn't deserve you. Let's hug. Born to be a Goddess, you fought a killer system, who kills its most beautiful daughters. You are dazzling. You are light, in a world that generates darkness. You have searched the gloom, without fear of it. You entered the chaos, coming out victorious. Now an insane power returns overbearing. You know it, you cannot be subjugated by it. It is the eternal struggle between those who love and those who exterminate. My sweet girl, stay bright. You are my prize.
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"Tree of Revolution" is a song. It has a text of 4 stanzas and choruses. This is his musical part. It was born from the observation of a small red tree, the sumac, which has been in my partner's garden for more than 15 years. The tree of the Revolution will guide us into the New Era of Light. I'm sure. Happy listening, Marineros! |
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