Sunday, September 26, 2010

How To Wear Bandana Ski

all I live in a black and white Fifties film

Letizia is 19. And an enormous shadow on the past and present. And a lot of unhappiness in the near future. 19 years and the appearance destroyed. To be deleted. The beauty massacred. He chased after idols

contemporaries. It is folded, conscious, games of a society that has lost the plot and especially does not want to return. Look at the images that run on the network. A disfigured face, an ostentatious vulgarity so arrogant, a vacant look. It is the nineteen most famous in Italy, with peaks of fame even abroad, because the current President of the Italian Council of Ministers has slyly celebrated her 18th birthday. Here is the shadow, that's the next unhappiness. The rest has done a "family", a "mother" and in "culture" that the same man he used to generations of kids.

Letizia is a monster. He touched in a year, the worst that could touch. There is the enthusiasm of twenty years. There's even more beauty. Spontaneity is not never been.

She is the tip of the iceberg. But the rest?

I would like to relive in black and white film of the fifties. When twenty years were more innocent, but more consciously taken. Italy tried to patch up painful wounds. He tried to build a present, with all the limitations and defects of the Italic peoples. But the essential was worth. The dreams did not cost nothing. And they were needed there. The gasoline in a country hungry for the future. The women wanted to look like Sophia Loren and Marcello Mastroianni in men. But in the end they were already like them.

I was not there. But I can imagine. And I think to do it right. Now I feel ambitions plastic, brittle and squalid. The key has no value. Everything, even the superfluous, comes at a price. Even dream has a price. Why we no longer know how.

An advertisement of a car that reminds me of "Juliet

is made of the same stuff of which dreams are made" and that "without emotions, we would just machines. " Maybe.

The streets bursting with metal carcasses. Refrigerators implode food and plastic. I pretend to feed feelings of countless flirt. A word, if only pronounced, it sounds useless.

I would stand in that black and white, in shades of gray that was trying hard to become color. And that dream still try to do so.



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