All the times I've died.
As often as I have hoped for.
Whenever an adverse fate took my breath away.
Whenever I haven't flinched.
Whenever I haven't fallen asleep.
Whenever I was looking for.
All the times I've despaired.
All the times I've called your name.
Whenever I am shipwrecked.
All the times you healed my wounds.
All the times I've cried in the dark.
All the times that I have dragged myself.
All the times I've risked.
All the times that I have rejoiced.
All the times you hugged me.
Every time I got up.
Whenever I have been silent.
Whenever I had something to say.
Every time I tore myself apart.
All the times I've whispered words.
All the times that I have deluded myself.
Whenever you haven't abandoned me.
All the times I have seen everything clearly.
All the times you held my hand.
As many times as I wanted to be.
Whenever a pain tormented me.
Every time you came to get me.
Whenever chaos arose.
All the times I couldn't be me.
All the times you've been on my chest.
Every time you smiled at me kindly.
Whenever our Love is renewed.
All those times are in me and belong to my inviolable self ...
The fresh morning air enveloped him, returning from a wonderful journey, in which he was realigned with the Universe. He observed the iris flowers, smiling for their beauty. He closed his eyes and imagined his naked partner, on the bed of a hotel room in his land, Umbria. She had taken a shower while he had waited for her naked on the bed, after having washed. She joined him in her white shirt, and stood astride him. He smiled at her whispering how beautiful she was and she smiled at him. They made love and it was all beautiful, every single gesture dictated by yearning passion, as he had desired. After 15 years, their love had grown, the mutual interpenetration was all-encompassing, their two breaths lived in unison. Two hearts that beat as one. They had returned from a splendid stay, to the rediscovery of the Umbrian highlands, where they had touched the joy with their hands. The happiness of feeling part of a whole. The jubilation with which to hope to be part of a Humanity that is finally happy after so many trials. She had been pleased with all the fibers in her body. He had observed the Beauty of Nature by immortalizing some glimpses with different photographs. They had eaten a sandwich in front of the majesty of Castelluccio di Norcia, after having talked at length with a local girl who had carefully explained the phenomenon of the plateau's flowering. He lacked nothing. In the sun and the wind, beautiful, clean, in the loving hands of Mother Nature who had welcomed them with joy. The sky was changing. He felt like he was in a Scottish Highland. The shadows stretched out over the hills and mountains, creating truly majestic shades of color. Everything was green around them and the mountain, solemn and silent, still had traces of snow, which stretched white towards the valley. The man was delighted. He still did not know that this would be the umpteenth confirmation of her relationship with her, who lived on Beauty, like a real Muse. Everything was eurythmy in her, everything was becoming euthymy in him. They were experiencing another of their consecrations, in a prodigy that had been developing for 15 years, without interruption. In the wind the message that spread throughout the plateau, with which Mother Nature whispered hope, against the abominations of the inhuman alienated. Everything about her was harmony, he could hear her singing and smiled at that warm, round alto tone of hers. The Sun kissed them, bringing that disarming warmth that had been so lacking in two years of Schizodemia, with which the rulers had split the minds of most. Maybe there was a chance. Maybe not all was lost. Perhaps Humanity would have raised her most heartfelt and sublime song to the cosmos, claiming her own innate Beauty, in the ancestral desire for Freedom, which cannot be bought at the market. There was an air that eased the suffering of a people who had suffered the insane restrictions of two years of absurd governments. He had taken the sun and at that moment his complexion was red. She had eaten a local candy. Vetusta Nursia, ancient Norcia, was enchanting in its green bottle of the surrounding hills. They had bought good Umbrian bread and typical local products. They never tired of holding hands and joking. He loved to make fun of himself and she laughed with gusto. He listened to her in her discussions, always analytical and profound, marked by the spirit of Truth and justice for all. It was for these reasons that he loved her boundlessly and intended never to disappoint her. He already imagined what they would be like when they were elderly, with their home, garden and many works of genius to read and listen to, in the happy hours of the evening. The two communicated a lot, with words, deeds, smiles, games they played to still feel carefree children. It had been a tough two years for any person who had a right feeling. Two years in which he risked losing everything, including psychic balance. He always had her in mind, even when they were physically distant. She was his beacon in the storm. Her happy landing, her oasis. She was strong as an oak, while he had learned to be tetragonal, thanks to what she communicated to him. She felt different and they both were. Not enslaved to a criminal project of domination of the people. Away from fashions. Refractory to every malicious call of the system. She put her hand on his leg as she drove and whistled a tune on the radio. He realized that this was the best moment of his life. She never let him down. Can you be happy with a pandemic and a war? Yes. It can be if you don't let messages of death enter your inner garden. They set off again, looking for a good Umbrian olive oil and he swore to himself to remember how overwhelming it was to make love with her and hear her whisper words of pure desire ...
The focus of the image.
The warmth of your hands.
The grace with which you move, certain and happy.
The timbre of your round voice,
which expands into alto frequencies.
You are the color.
The outline of some thoughts.
The engine of my Psyche.
One day you joined me in the car.
You smiled at me,
in your infinite tenderness.
The first hug,
that brought you here,
after centuries together.
Events have tested us,
but we remained dull.
a fierce world did not deserve us.
We built a kingdom,
in our house.
Now you are more beautiful than ever.
Enchanting sound and melody.
You tune your steps.
You have never created bad dissonances.
You know how to be art,
in the small acts of the day.
You have always seen the beauty,
Pick the first blossom of the apple tree,
with an attentive look,
touching it gently.
You are my Romanesque architecture at the top of the hill.
Now I see you ...
My lady's breast - Portrait of an invisible (Rehash)
"My lady's breast - Portrait of an invisible" is the thematic, formal and existential center of my entire work, born in 2008 and still in progress. It is a music about love, my song raised in peace to my companion, who has given me new meaning, and the cosmos, which, every morning, as soon as I wake up, offers me the opportunity to get to know it a little better. The song was written, in its first draft, a year ago, I worked hard on it in those days and then considered it finished until now, when, listening to it again, I came up with a series of changes to make, so I decided to rework it, without distorting its actual system. The score bears a subtitle: "The day", "The day", when you begin to see better and the objects around you have a defined shape, a stable outline and sharp colors, because perhaps, before then, our vision did not it was fully efficient and functional. The metronomic indication reads: "Larghetto, with passion. The moment of revelation of one's Self, in relationship with the other ". An intrapsychic war has always been underway, between evolution and regression, the tension towards infinity and castling in closed defensive positions, creation and devastation. It is up to us to choose and once our decision is made, if it is the one that leads to the Light, it is necessary to set out along what will then become our path, forever. A splendid road that leads to the full realization of ourselves, that we no longer want to be destructive, for any reason. This composition is a song: they are the sounds that flow from the heart of a man in love with the Muse and his life. I remember that day in May 2021, we lived with hateful restrictions and in those hours I was reflecting on the Beauty of a particular chord, the Neapolitan sixth, in a Ballad by F. Chopin. Suddenly, I moved into the house, reached the keyboard and also played a Neapolitan sixth, in a key very dear to me: D sharp minor. I decided, trying and trying again, to add a note to the melody to that chord, which would create an effect of dissonance. I had in front of me the core of "My lady's breast - Portrait of an invisible". I don't remember when I chose the title of the work, but it too has a particular meaning for me. The chest of the person you love is home: there is no more stable one on this Earth, with solid foundations and splendid bricks that draw incredible geometries. Portrait of an invisible person because there are many invisible people, who fight in silence, but when they discover love, they are perceived and recognized. Pampered, supported and helped to become what they were called to be from childhood: People. After having considered the piece concluded for months, the other day I listened to it again and was captivated by the intuition of wanting to add sounds to the main succession of chords and, after thinking about it for a while, I decided to do so. In this piece there is a sound, which, in the initial part and in the rest of the theme, remains fixed, while below it, the harmonies change with a regular rhythmic cadence. I worked on this effect, added other small interventions and brought the music to 9 minutes in duration. Now I stopped to listen again. I feel I have done a good job. It is the origin of all this music. Slowly, the objects inside me take shape. I focus on the surrounding world. I listen to and process the information in such a way that I have a clear view. I have been along my path, since 2008, when a girl smiled at me giving me the wonderful world of her. I will fight for what I believe in, like this music, which is meant to be liberating. I can't do otherwise. "My lady's breast - Portrait of an invisible" is a militant musical composition, since it fights for a better world, to come, in a New Era of Light. I want to convey a good vision with my art. I want to communicate how much evolution is possible, for anyone who wants it. Now ancestral darkness hangs over us: man's low thrusts towards war, domination, humiliation of the adversary, with the different being ostracized. I, from my observatory, I want to say no. This is not how we will be able to live well, in peace, happiness and well-being, and I look forward, with patience, to meet people who have the same convictions and my same desire for a better future ... A smile to the reader ...
"My lady's breast - Portrait of an invisible" is taking shape as the central musical piece of the soundtrack I'm curating. It is from this song that the title of the film of the same name takes shape, of which I am also taking care of the screenplay. "My lady's breast - Portrait of an invisible", "The breast of my partner - Portrait of an invisible" wants to be the story of a different person who finally finds his main identity in the relationship with his own woman, his place in the world and it generates a non-destructive relationship with the reality that surrounds it. I can say of this piece that its title is the embrace with otherness charged with meaning and significations, so the protagonist remains invisible to most, but not to his own eyes and to those of those who love him. The subtitle of the score is "The day", "The day", that moment of revelation that man, once he discovers his good selves, will never go back. The metronomic indication is this: "Larghetto, with real passion. The moment of revelation of one's true self, in relationship with the other ". This piece is about a year old. I started composing it in May 2021. I was at home, I listened to Chopin and he vaguely felt like trying a particular chord, with which to start new music: the Neapolitan sixth.
I tried that chord agglomeration, I liked it, then it occurred to me to keep a fixed note on the melody and this was the first core of the writing. This is really the origin of all my new efforts, since I published my novel, "Musa - Thoughts of an artist", after a great commitment during the pandemic, which has drastically changed us all. Subsequently, over the course of the days, I kept the note fixed to the melody, accompanying it with 4 different chordal agglomerates. I had a structure, from which music was born.
Days ago, listening to the song again, it occurred to me to add another 4 chords to the succession and I did it.
I was happy because that succession, as it was intended, gave me great vibrations of joy and made me proud of my work. "My lady's breast - Portrait of an invisible" could become the project of a life, spent in search of beauty and the virtuous. This piece represents the encounter between two identities, one male and one female, which are appreciated more and more in mutual knowledge and become a couple who intend to live well, in dignity. In amazement in front of an apple fruit. Facing the boundless ocean. I finished correcting "Muse - Thoughts of an artist" at the beginning of 2019, then I published the novel and I immediately started writing a screenplay which now, after various alterations, has reached a significant overall dimension, of which the The existential theme of "My Lady's breast - Portrait of an invisible" is central, essential, decisive. This piece comes from a Neapolitan sixth. It develops with a single note to the melody and different chordal agglomerations to support it. I have already edited two other versions, with the criterion of the "Theme with variations", today I present the basic structure. This is the heart of my creativity, the root from which a new tree will blossom. I'm happy. Listening to the piece, I had the strong sensation of being on my way, on my path, through my soul. The work is strongly psychoanalytic and revolves around the possibility that finally, after having crossed the desert, a man can say that he is happy, satisfied, genuinely happy. This passage intends to be a hymn to life, that existence that we strive to understand and which, in the end, is to feel the joy of an affectionate embrace of a friend, of one's partner, of a mother. At times, along the path of my production, I felt joy in listening to my music again: this one that I am presenting today is the one that represents me the most, absolutely and I am sure of it. I am pleased. I have identified and isolated the nerve center of all this work, which began before the Pandemic and continues to amaze me with its depth of message and a form that I consider original. I am happy because I already feel that these notes will become the recurring theme of the work. I hope to do well. After all, I just wanted to live and dedicate myself to my passions and I'm succeeding. We are living in a hellish era, there are many questions about the present and the future. I leave it to those who have the opportunity to decide how much my work can be an exponent of that New Age of Light that we all look forward to confidently.
"Ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant".
P. C. Tacito
"Where they make the desert, they call it peace".
It is the wickedness that generates the stigma.
A murderous mother, whom she does not understand, kills her children who are brighter than her, forever judging them negatively and expelling them from the community.
A horrible world, devoted to evil, devours people.
Beautiful and fragile flowers, which are a prodigy of mankind, are not helped to shine.
Derided and humiliated, they suffer a definitive sentence: society relegates them to the margins, and in some moments it forgets about them, while in others it persecutes them.
Judged insane, kidnapped and tortured in spirit and body, they will already be dead for the community, which will think of them as anomalies to be fought, the real enemy.
A world of hypocrites and indifferent menacing advances.
An envious perfidy that hates Beauty, in its infinite nuances and combinations, and that feeds on the mourning and torment it produces in the loving children of Humanity, unaware, at first, of their destiny as different, is now prevailing.
Like a cruel mother, society kills its most beautiful members, condemning them to ontic death, since it demands that they suffer, not to make them affirm, as they can represent a different way of living, which is not allowed, in the age of global lie.
Those who have suffered the stigma know they can live outside the coordinates of the system, happy and playful, active and creative, in a dimension of Beauty and harmony.
If he does not go mad with pain, those who suffer the stigma, become aware of their status, know they can live as a dissident, projected into a revolutionary harmony, against which power has decided to conflict, since there must be no music in the existence of those who he underwent the infernal judgment of being considered a different.
The state doesn't want you happy. It needs an army of sad, isolated, lost subjects, who do not communicate with each other, but survive just enough to produce wealth for those in charge and then die.
The stigma can be fatal and those who survive are very dangerous for the system, because it can represent a different way of living away from the glitter of papier-mâché success, from the domination of politicians and from the religious visions of those who hope in God, generating a way of being to the atheist, beautiful, creative world of those who have no intention of disturbing the sleep of sleepers.
The different people lead a secret, clandestine existence and do not intend to sell anything to anyone. This Humanity is far behind, like next year's melons.
Maybe he'll never wake up, or maybe he'll wake up when the atomic bombs arrive.
Maybe we will all die stupid, as we are now.
Those who have suffered the stigma, and are not dead, know they can live in harmony with the world, that world that does not want it, but that he does not hate, because a Lucente is called not to hate anyone.
Years have passed and I still think the same things. Again I find myself writing these letters, but with greater vigor, since we are under attack now, because we are in a regime where the stigma is a tool in the hands of power, used routinely:
"No mask", "No Green pass", "No vax", "Pro Putin" are all examples of stigma, to connote the different who has not bowed to the dictates of power and therefore must be eliminated.
The most glaring case occurs when they call someone insane. At that point, that someone, from a social point of view, died.
Those who suffer from the stigma are called to be a dissident who lives in the New Era of Light, to become a beacon of Humanity. He will be laughed at. Surrounded. Canceled by power, but not by himself. Because of his identity as a man, he loves and loves himself.
Those who have suffered the stigma are different and can no longer behave like the crowd. He is not envious, he helps others, takes into account otherness in all its facets and does not judge anyone. He is indeed an Awakened One.
This century began with boundless hardness. It is not easy to live. It is not easy to keep the rudder straight. Many have already been lost, others will be lost.
Stigma can affect anyone: if you don't do what the system requires of you, it will punish you.
Many years have passed, I was a boy and I lived as I could. I never imagined that my worst nightmares would become reality, as from the beginning of this third millennium. I want to remind everyone that before the pandemic we found ourselves almost totally recognizing how rotten this system of things was. Now only loyal soldiers of the regime. All obedient, all resigned, all compliant. Two years of schizodemia have forged a people of servants, obsequious puppets who follow the rules and behaviors served up on TV, the true instrument of evil.
It is now forbidden to disagree. There is stigma lurking, and even within families, those who do not align themselves with the government are accused of dissidence, being excluded.
I have always been excluded, in times, where all this was not even remotely present, although the vein authoritarian and punitive of the state was more relevant than ever.
The stigma struck me, my partner, but we are still alive, in a condition that allows us to appreciate the new buds of a tree. They can hit us again. At every moment, at the juncture in which we least expect it. Resistence. It is necessary to be very clear about one's image of human beings with a critical sense and empathy.
Those affected by the stigma may falter, but it is not right to perish. Everything the system says, through its courtly megaphones, is garbage. It wouldn't do well to make manure for the fields either, because it is sterile and poisonous. What to do? The opposite of what the news says. All time. Boycott them. Don't let them into your world, since, with their sinuous weapons of mass distraction, they can make you believe anything, even that you need to sell your mother.
Those who have suffered the stigma, and have survived, know they can lead a happy life, with their fellows, ready to participate in any manifestation of human intelligence, which does not want to destroy, but to edify. A murderous world kills. It is up to us to escape and build a microcosm made of Beauty and we can do it, in the kitchen, tonight, preparing something to eat while listening to a friendly Radio.