"Maude..I love you!" - "Oh, Harold... That's *wonderful*. Now: Go and love some more."

"Maude..I love you!" - "Oh, Harold... That's *wonderful*. Now: Go and love some more."

"As long as there's no price on Love, I'll stay. And you wouldn't want me any other way."

Photo of Martina by Ignazio Nano - all rights reserved

Thursday, 31 March 2011

* One of my ones.

My heart became a drunken runt
On the day I sunk in this shunt
To tap me clean
Of all the wonder
And the sorrow I have seen
Since I left my home

My home, on the old Milk Lake
Where the darkness does fall so fast
It feels like some kind of mistake
Just like they told you it would
Just like the Tulgeywood

When I came into my land
I did not understand
Neither dry rot, nor the burn pile
Nor the bark-beetle, nor the dry well
Nor the black bear

But there is another
Who is a little older
When I broke my bone
He carried me up from the riverside

To spend my life
In spitting-distance
Of the love that I have known
I must stay here, in an endless eventide

And if you come and see me
You will upset the order
You cannot come and see me
For I set myself apart
But when you come and see me
In California
You cross the border 
Of my heart

Well, I have sown untidy furrows
Across my soul
But I am still a coward
Content to see my garden grow
So sweet and full
Of someone else's flowers

Sometimes I can almost feel the power
Sometimes I am so in love with you
Like a little clock that trembles on the edge of the hour
Only ever calling out "Cuckoo, cuckoo"

When I called you
You, little one
In a bad way
Did you love me
Do you spite me
Time will tell if I can be well
And rise to meet you rightly
While, moving across my land
Brandishing themselves
Like a burning branch
Advance the tallow-colored walleyed deer
Quiet as gondoliers
While I wait all night, for you in California
Watching the fox pick off my goldfish
From their sorry, golden state
And I am no longer
Afraid of anything
Save the life that, here, awaits

I don't belong to anyone
My heart is heavy as an oil drum
And I don't want to be alone
My heart is yellow as an ear of corn
And I have torn my soul apart
From pulling artlessly with fool commands
Some nights I just never go to sleep at all
And I stand
Shaking in my doorway like a sentinel
All alone
Bracing like the bow upon a ship
And fully abandoning
Any thought of anywhere
But home, my home
Sometimes I can almost feel the power
And I do love you
Is it only timing that has made it such a dark hour
Only ever chiming out "Cuckoo, cuckoo"

My heart, I wear you down
I know, gotta think straight
Keep a clean plate
Keep from wearing down
If I lose my head
Just where am I going to lay it

For it has half-ruined me to be hanging around
Here, among the daphne blooming out of the big brown
I am native to it, but I'm overgrown
I have choked my roots on the earth, as rich as roe
Here, down in California

Friday, 25 March 2011

* Tom Waits inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

This is a GREAT day for music.

"They say that I have no hits, and that I'm difficult to work with. And they say that like 
it's a bad thing." 
Tom Waits

The thing is... One has got to give it one's all.
If you ask me: Tom Waits is all there is to know about life.

"And to be honest, it’s only when artists like Waits get in that we find ourselves caring—when we get the feeling that an outsider has crashed the party."

Monday, 21 March 2011

* -I have lived for Love, I have lived for Art.-

I took this picture on a grey day somewhere in the woods, my beloved Ellen Rogers was shooting.
I looked at her creating this wonderful set, these poses, with such care, such love.
A bond somewhere in between art and love and i couldn't wait to see it through her eyes also.
Useless to say: the pictures she took were incredible.
You can see them on the latest Vice Magazine.

This is for Ellen from me.

Friday, 18 March 2011

* Le parole di un amico.

Mi viene in mente una bambola, il suo sorriso che stona con gli occhi spenti, eppure e' li.
Se vedeste quello che c'e' dietro davvero chissa' cosa ne pensereste.

Queste da un amico che ovviamente ha intravisto qualcosa.
Si pensa che la corazza sia inpenetrabile senza il proprio permesso, poi qualcuno accenna qualcosa di questo tipo e ti ritrovi spiazzata, e ci continui a pensare.

E pensi che, forse, se lo scrivi da qualche parte lo elimini dalla tua memoria.

Dubbiosamente, vediamo un po'.

E poi, ancora parole. Belle bellissime parole.

E' una questione di incredulita', that's all it is.

Because I believe in altruistic love ONLY.

Wednesday, 16 March 2011

The Invitation.

"it doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.
It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.
It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.
I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.
I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.
It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.
I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.
I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.
It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.
It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.
I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments."

Oriah Mountain Dreamer