Archive for the 'rooms of the day' Category

Room 206

August 18, 2019

O man, artifice of a rash nature!

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Room 205

August 18, 2019

… To dominate every disjunction…

Room 204

August 18, 2019

… And not jumping beyond the sill…

Room 203

August 18, 2019

… Adunators…

Room 202

May 24, 2018

upon substance all types lay,
it is said;
types which substance exposes
and makes real.
Now, if you don’t get upset,
we insist and say
this class of worlds in consciounsness lay:
now there’s a white kitchen, look,
a white kitchen with red stools…

Room 201

September 21, 2017

The room I enter’d was a dream of this room.
I guess some of the things on the bed
were mine,
Two books, antithetic – Sexus, Atomised
a green, worn out King Stampede t-shirt

yet a room without blinds cannot be my own
nor I’d harbor a tree, eating air
at night
light and dioxide building a worn out me
in a memory of days gone, of days

possible, parallel & unparalleled
a city like a Lemarchand box
but good,
how long will I be able to plug it on?
memory is possibility

si tratta di resistere arriverà
a new radical wave will make shore
you wrote
on the outside wall of this very building
now sporting drawings of unicorns

Room 200

August 10, 2017

I cut my hair with children’s scissors,
the only blade in the house (which is
a room) all dirty with your morning
orange’s pulp, children scissors with pink
& purple handles, I cut them more
than I wanted – as it always goes
and now I wander about, looking
like a fag version of Modigliani:
shirt properly open I flip flop
through a city all holes, all light,
immune for a while to its double
nature, its serpentine ill nature:
is the one who walks on stolen land
a bit of a thief himself? ID…
I had a friend moving in Piedmont
from Pisa, got nicknamed The Etruscan
(no reggae involved: more a long lost
“virile friendship” sort of thing, maybe
up there calling names glorifies you
instead of putting you down). But I
do not feel etruscan (nor roman)
in this phoenician, hebrew, arab
land; even tuscan feels uneasy:
I’ll try then to be a marchigiano,
counting on the fact that my grandma’s father,
she said, came from those hallowed and shallow grounds.

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