Welcome Address For Recognition

We have seen "This dark, ferocious' last work of Pippo Delbono

The name is a dance that welcomes the essential sound, translates it. Act of breathing. The name is what we are, in the dance of life!
There is a theater of truth, where the actors carry the grace of themselves. Only oneself, the extreme care and finish the scene. This showed the 'exceptional regional exclusive "of" This dark vicious "recent work by Pippo Delbono, brought to the stage on Tuesday at 8 Politeama Greek Theatre. Everything is white. Also the floor. A voice from outside the scene said the pretext of a small book and found it by chance, the journey begins. Death is the goal. Understand it, accept it. Store it too! What is light. Pure light! All white, antiseptic. All white, like a hold. Two 'servants' too white welcome, cared for, protected by masks, gloves, rubber shoes: they are other, other, distant, non-human. We in one pass. After all, the curtain opens and smashes swallowing black. 'S where the end? I do not know, there is a coming and going. There is no end, then, is the multiplicity of numbers. The many of us who repeat history. That little writing that great. Levity and tragedy together, sumptuousness and losing together. A Butterfly in red has the legs cut off sitting in a wheelchair. A man shows his skinny body, it moves up, everything and everyone is extremely careful. She shows off her breathing, only that he, with surprising grace and provides voice and sings "My Way". There is no nudity, no show is shame everything that moves. With the silence that greets the coming of the "figures" are where the corporarietà of Caravaggio, Frida Kahlo, Francis Bacon, George Grosz. The stage machinery is the rest of the small objects are the costumes. Do not breathe but disguises of men and women and their ages, behavior, abyss. Everything is attentive, caring and attentive. Calibrated in a disarming naturalness. Are just that, not pretend. Simply they are there. And a breath, we are, in the agony of "not" in white rooms of the mind, where dreams are waiting for the "room resonance." The theater makes us look where we do not want to watch. The name! What is the name of each us?! The name is a dance that welcomes the essential sound, translates it. Act of breathing. The name is what we are, in the dance of life! Our land is a kind of horror. " "Pity for the weak", "for those who expertly ridiculed, abandoned." Everything you look at disappears. Look! Look at him! Look at me! Everything disappears. Still not tired of the "pleasing entertainment? Still not tired of yourself, word, poetry, prayer? It 's all dark, "a dark stranger, where you can not get as yourself" is our world. "Identity" is "a game ". A game every day and look in death, and death we see. Two harlequins, bring peace and curiosity, looks. Peace there never was! The following is the peace of death! "I feel invaded, and peace is all around me! Delbono dance, dance, dance, his breath.

Mauro Marino

Brzer Open Denise Milani.com

A Carmelo Bene Carmelo

A Carmelo Bene, the point of death,

21.09 hours of March 16 2002

fed me with tears nitrite after dusk

Immortality when he stopped at the station of Nothing

in a form that night and the glory went out of his mind

gasp turned into meat as the Word, your look.

was the ABC's of a disease Moorish

to translate the firefly in the night libertine heretical

blackish the songs of your eyes in horror of wax,

the cry of a horse child in its crypt.

snuffed the sky, bones!

Have you harnessed the Grace of the mistletoe,

as skin Magenta and your voice.

The ruff time crumbles ...

your fury in the halls overflow ash

as if death was elsewhere ...

where devils have lost the soul!

where the gods have given the body!

Antonio Sagredo

Vermicino, March 19, 2002

with an ice cream in hand crows

Vittorio Bodini

regression Salento

With an ice cream of crows in hand

press with your fingers sweet lump of a must,

a crown on my head was buzzing with geraniums plucked.

Tears falling down from the balconies of papier-onions,

down, sticky as incense.

Baroque and sealed like a suffocating coffin was spreading

for the city, false and polite, as a hearse.

In the heat language flowed icy pitch black!

pop a purple ribbons of bright grecoro: HEY! HEY!

English as a round of applause!

But the halls overflowed your liver pus, slobbering ...

rang a reddish green creeping lizard,

bandages, as vanes shook the foehn, including those infected beds

and shining, the heat!

flared at the bedside of my Legions

that verb villain, and in exile, in vain,

sinking in the Song!

But we toasted - I, you and the actor - with a black primitive

as the glasses emptied after each resurezione,

because morete was honored by his delirium!

Antonio Sagredo

Vermicino, 11 March to 4 April 2008

Orange Hair Or Copper Red

Adelchi

Adelchi
or the vulgarity of the structure

Common sense was,
but was hidden for fear of common sense.

Alessandro Manzoni

The Adelchi of CB is an occasion for a concert for voice, orchestra and chorus, on the occasion of the bicentenary of the birth of Alessandro Manzoni (Milan, Teatro Lirico, 1984), ed'una publication written by Giuseppe di Leva, also co-author of the stage adaptation.
With this "pamphlet, essay, story, delirium, the authors provide an original interpretation of Manzoni's text, is not without its pleasant digressions and forcing. Exegesis, as the subtitle, tends to make show the "vulgarity of politics:" political "as an adjective, but also as a noun. The political practice, not least of those who exercise it, would therefore vulgar. Vulgarity is going to cretinism, idealism, and so on to prevent political act sensibly. Vulgar is the inability to make politics what it should be: the art of the possible. Vulgaris is the ineptitude that prevents predict a disaster, or to recognize an already in progress, is known as "the ability of light 'politics' to press the accelerator in view of the danger"
(pg.25)

"

All history is the history of fonè.
It gives representation only to the written page, the story follows, that is no longer the story.
Each story is written imaginary. You can revisit only through language. (Ri ) live 'original' which questioned due to the language. Reliability of facts (in your produce you) is your style. But the mortification of your style. Therefore, 'trust' is the only historical novel. Or the 'speech' on some history . Alessandro Manzoni is a teacher of History.

Adelchi's departure is not peaceful, it's just peaceful. In the face of death, he sets aside any resentment to rely completely on the Christian hope. And on the brink of peace, can afford to be summarized in the "no choice but to do wrong or patirlo" the meaning of human life, satisfied to let his father won and dispossessed, "in between the oppressed."

In "to hurt or patirlo," the author - it is clear - is an eye bandage, as if to return a door to the dramatic Adelchi of "reliability" of reading. About how he watched the "Catholic Morality" has an inborn concept of action-passion in the "to do wrong is patirlo. And the benevolent condescension to us the alternative is simply the "ignorance" of which the author takes care to meet us, the sky lowered his clairvoyance in exchange for our attention. It is the tragedy of a good compromise. The abandonment which is nell'Adelchi This excess in the deep breath of Promise is assente.23

To underline the paradigmatic value of the "impracticability of the possible," the authors call into question another victim of the excellent ' political misunderstanding, another man of compromise with a capital C: Aldo Moro.

ripiove eyes And here the sequence of state funeral of Aldo Moro, in San Giovanni in Rome. [...] Paul VI, visibly moved, bargain with God: "You did not want to answer our prayers ..." That pontiff cried his friend gagged by the eternal silence at his feet, and bitterly, too human, benevolent, yes , that his humble and strange "reprimand" the intransigence "unfairly" severe who "lands and raises" the tone, say, changing color in the ill-concealed disappointment and outrage and terrible at his side for so many innocent Realpolitik: ugly (secular) , deaf and dumb, and unacknowledged rea.24

Again, the compromise as "excessive centralization" appears as the only sensible solution, but suffers from a lack of understanding of the "illusion of extreme ideologies," and the intransigence of cliques tolemaiche.25

Thou hast seen, O Lord: State of the massacres (of state), we have always closed all eyes on the changes of the reformists and feverish proffered forgiveness to the vulgarity of the pragmatic "revolutionaries" who continue to hold "extreme" delirious mania for all its attempt to reaffirm state to state, "another "only in the game of mocking (RIS) volti.26

And even if revolution (every revolution, as is evident from the generality of the proposition, first among equals that of the poet Mayakovsky Well known for segno27) is a false choice, nothing more than a change of nomen domain registry, or, to put it with Klossowski's Sade mon prochain, is a process whose only result is the assumption by the prerogatives of the Masters of Slaves: well: the responsibility of History dell'invivibilità fatally bleed from the "political" to the office, as we have seen, and finally overflows in structural impossibility, since the rest has already been announced in the overture of the book: all history is the history of fonè.

(pg. 35/34)

quote from C. Well, G. Di Leva, The Adelchi or the vulgarity of politics, Longanesi, Milan 1984