days of the hunt and gold rays of the sun

Mt. ShastaOpen up lives, stories of different eras and morals. Days of the hunt, the green of the leaves, pines strong and centred. Animals, bearers of messages and companionship, nourishment. Sacred alliances. Rhythms of nature. Encounters and ecstasy. Silence. Fire. Reading stones and clouds. Stars speaking in winks. Codes in the flowers, in the colors of clothing that identify: Roles. Relations. and every emotion is truth because every gesture, every word comes from the spontaneous purity of being. Gold in the rays of the sun touching the fertile land. Silver in the reflection of the moon. Fire concentrates all eyes toward a great unified vision, of life and victory.

written on Mount Shasta, California, 2 September 2013

Aprire le vite, racconti di epoche e morali diversi. Giorni di caccia, la verde delle foglie, i pini forti e centrati… Continue reading

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All night archiving

Where is my place?

featherIt’s here. at the desk with a pen in hand (or keyboard under the fingers in this era of digitized feathers and ink), almost midnight… past midnight… way past midnight. in the silence, listening to the rhythm of hearts pulsing ever more in unison, in dreams… translating heartbeats into images. transmutation of pure emotion in a trail of color, vision, sensory delights. this is the alchemy of the artist of life.

although I am not an artist, not really… I am an archivist. every encounter, thought, sensation and impulse – from the first time I saw you to the most recent courageous tale – everything is conserved and catalogued in the library of memory – the astral one and the random access one – in the subversive library of congress and the one of regressions in time and past lives. the university one with interminable shelves on tracks with steering wheels to move them left and right, creating an opening just big enough for a human body to enter and search through the volumes of knowledge and history, with the ever present risk of finding yourself crushed between the section on the French revolution sliding closed against the discourses on macroeconomics… reminding us that even research is a daring journey.

in this immense spaceship, traveling between time empires and stellar conquests, millennial lifetimes and oracular knowledge, my place is much smaller than all that. the bed of a cat that prowls at night and sleeps little, purring and gathering intuitions. I am like any of us, never essential and always unique.

Dov’è il mio posto?

E’ qui. alla scrivania, penna in mano (o tastiera sotto le dita in quest’epoca di piume ed inchiostro digitalizzati), quasi mezzanotte… oltre… ben oltre… Continue reading

radically inclusive video montage

I clicked the option in iMovie that makes thumbnails of all the video clips in my library. As I was watching them, I was moved to see how many events fade from memory over time.

I was thinking if in the end, I were to edit together a video montage of highlights from my life, I would have a hard time selecting and cutting footage. How do I decide? The everyday moments, sweeping the floor, hammering, preparing tea in the morning, are they less significant than the ceremonial ones and oaths? Is there less action in the silence and harmonization than in the shows and Popolo celebrations? I would leave it all in.

nailsI think I would just increase the saturation a little during the rituals, the elaborate and spontaneous ones, and turn up the red hue for the dances too. Let’s see how many times different scenes in costume and makeup reappear—they are rituals too, of beauty, transformation, joy.

I would slow motion the most firepressing moments to dilute them, transform even those into a dance. The unstoppable tears and fears, those of stage fright, when in the wings, courage negotiates to compensate for preparation, and I feel the hand of the first Questio pushing me from behind.

I closely observe the order of operations after the alarm clock: putting on the personal self again, then prayer, bracelet on the head and a sip of prana charged water, pausing on the card of the day. I take note of how many times the slippers placed in a ‘T’ before sleeping really brought fortune the next day.

Let’s fast forward through the depressive phases, flat grey differentiating itself with contrast adjustment, and add a filter to soften the most furious and manic peaks.

Go in for a close-up on the most beautiful exchanges, emotions and gazes, whispering of poetry in other languages, heartfelt stories that trigger a fade out into flashback, obliterating every geographic and temporal distance.

Turn up the volume for the songs and the birds, and activate the subtitles at the misunderstandings.

Where is the temperature control? Can’t I heat up that first winter under the snow in Perugia, or turn down the humidity for the sweaty summer adventures?

With videocameras from different angles, I see things that I have never seen before: unobserved shooting stars, things that were lost, princessthings that escaped, things that were thrown away but anyhow continuing a trace of existence in the trash heap. All the invisible help received—if I could see it now, I would never feel abandoned or alone.

I add a golden filter to every gift created and exchanged. The moments of totality in the creation, writing and dreaming, painting and traveling, depicted in Miyazaki style animation.

As director of this work of art, the most important step is tying the last scene to the beginning, because every resolution of the plot brings us to a sequel, another episode.
breakfastHo cliccato un’opzione nel programma iMovie sul computer e si sono messi in fila tutti i videoclip che c’erano nella mia biblioteca. Mentre li guardavo, mi emozionava vedere quanti eventi svaniscono dalla memoria…

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