tompea @ 2006-02-21T12: 20:00
Manuel Agnelli was Sunday evening, the day before yesterday. I was in front of the Tibur together with Francesca and another 4, 5 delightful people. We were queuing up to see the film "Capote." I did not imagine it sarebbereo twisted personality so important in those hours. men and women who took my foot and have vigorously pushed forward. that I was a kid and I was living myths. their myths and somehow you are now. I talk about Harper Lee. I speak of fellow booze-Hank-Charles Bukowski. will agree with me have been the polar opposite personality, no? how did they meet? have not done so. it was my memory to make it happen. my memories have built a castle where King Charles was drinking with the Queen Nell. I remember distinctly when I was with the beautiful Francesca in the mountains. it was summer. I had 15 years. Eden remember all those walks along paths outlined by the shadow of the trees. My father, he always so fast, I could see in the distance. inside his backpack had the bag of sandwiches. was our staff and our carrots, said with a laugh. I remember the games of ping-pong in which I did not want to miss. I wanted revenge on revenge and fifty holy patience you had my sweet friend! -. I remember when I relaxed in bed, a single bed and a half in the living room / kitchen. while the others rested for fatigue in those sunny afternoons but never hot, I put most of the time No Code Pearl Jam and dip my head in "To Kill a monkbird" came to us as "The Kill A Mockingbird" by Harper Lee Nell . those pages full of justice and injustice. the clash of opposing moral. The first time I realized that evil is not merely to win. wants to humiliate you. an infinite book that I finished it in one breath-almost. " years later, hopping from one channel to another, I was struck by a scene from a film in b / w. Gregory Peck was, unmistakable in its elegance. the director was showing me a courtroom in rural mid-last-century. there had already been in that room. I was sitting in the ring higher than for the Negro-yes, black. " I was too black. celluloid was the transposition of that work that I loved so much. A few months ago, in summer, I was at Villa Ada. Rebirth of leafing the shelves I came across the DVD of the film. € 9.90. it all makes sense. everything has its own harmony. the circle is closed. Bukowski
what does? you ask. At that time a classmate-Pucci-handed me a book: "Companion of booze" Bukowski, in fact. I could fill pages upon pages scrambling to explain the feeling I had reading it. sadness, disgust, evil, pleasure ...
how does it relate to the kids who were sitting in a row the day before yesterday and one of the lantern room to see "Capote"? those were the years. Truman Capote as revealed to the world a new way to express themselves, literarily speaking. while his "In Cold Blood" gives life to the first literary work of fiction and document, the old / drunk / pervert Hank wrote another america. so distant as to be awfully similar to Capote. did not write with the pen but with the beer bottle. the pages were covered with words of spirit, not ink. a great lesson I left the good old-Hank-Charles Bukowski. always repeated:
"The great thing is to understand that the beauty is gone."
tribute you with these few lines, in this anonymous LJ.
the myths of the past.
0 comments:
Post a Comment