Joos van Craesbeeck, Temptation of St. Anthony, 1650 Shot in the eyeshot in the brainshot in the ass shot like a flower in the danceamazing how death wins hands downamazing how much credence is given to idiot forms of lifeamazing how laughter has been drowned outamazing how viciousness is such a constantI must soon declare …
Charles Bukowski – Una Sfida alla Tenebre / A Challenge to the Dark Read More »
Keith Haring, Untitled, 1983 It will never end, there will be no help, no mercy, no living thing, it will all go on, uselessly, through fabrication and old habits, it will continue, a headless body of lire, walking old walks, doing old tricks, dreaming old dreams, it will be as alone as a mountain, and …
Richard Hamilton, Swingeing London, 1967 The clever people slide downstream likewhite fishthrough blue water,past the rapids,the clever peoplewith their clever throats and eyebrows,their clever nostril hairs,both shoes laced,all dooms erased,teeth white,the clever people slide cleanly,even their deaths are one-tenth deaths,clever clever clever,they have better walls,better cars,a better way to laugh.Even their nightmares are ringed withtinsel,these …
Dino Valls, Limbus, 2009 They don’t make it the beautiful die in flame – suicide pills, rat poison, rope whatever… They rip their arms off, throw themselves out of windows, they pull their eyes out of the sockets, reject love reject hate reject, reject. They don’t make it the beautiful can’t endure, they are butterflies they are doves they are sparrows, they don’t make it. One tall shot of …
Charles Bukowski – What’s The Use Of A Title?/ Che te ne fai di un titolo? Read More »
Chuck Close, Big self-portrait, 1968 (acrylic on canvas) – You know: I’m drunk once again here listening to Tchaikovsky on the radio. Jesus, I heard him 47 years ago when I was a starving writer and here he is again and now I am a minor success as a writer and death is walking up …
Charles Bukowski – La morte si fuma i miei sigari / Death is smoking my cigars Read More »
Ford Madox Brown, The last of England, 1855 The Frost of Death was on the Pane – “Secure your Flower” said he. Like Sailors fighting with a Leak We fought Mortality. Our passive Flower we held to Sea – To Mountain – To the Sun – Yet even on his Scarlet shelf To crawl the …
Emily Dickinson – Il gelo della morte era sul vetro / The Frost of Death was on the Pane Read More »
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