J. G. Ballard's What I Believe

What I Believe I believe in the power of the imagination to remake the world, to release the truth within us, to hold back the night, to transcend death, to charm motorways, to ingratiate ourselves with birds, to enlist the confidences of madmen. I believe in my own obsessions, in the beauty of the car crash, in the peace of the submerged forest, in the excitements of the deserted holiday beach, in the elegance of automobile graveyards, in the mystery of multi-storey car parks, in the poetry of abandoned hotels. I believe in the forgotten runways of Wake Island, pointing towards the Pacifics of our imaginations. I believe in the mysterious beauty of Margaret Thatcher, in the arch of her nostrils and the sheen on her lower lip; in the melancholy of wounded Argentine conscripts; in the haunted smiles of filling station personnel; in my dream of Margaret Thatcher caressed by that young Argentine soldier in a forgotten motel watched by a tubercular filling station attendant. I believe in the beauty of all women, in the treachery of their imaginations, so close to my heart; in the junction of their disenchanted bodies with the enchanted chromium rails of supermarket counters; in their warm tolerance of my perversions. I believe in the death of tomorrow, in the exhaustion of time, in our search for a new time within the smiles of auto-route waitresses and the tired eyes of air-traffic controllers at out-of-season airports. I believe in the genital organs of great men and women, in the body postures of Ronald Reagan, Margaret Thatcher and Princess Di, in the sweet odors emanating from their lips as they regard the cameras of the entire world. I believe in madness, in the truth of the inexplicable, in the common sense of stones, in the lunacy of flowers, in the disease stored up for the human race by the Apollo astronauts. I believe in nothing. I believe in Max Ernst, Delvaux, Dali, Titian, Goya, Leonardo, Vermeer, Chirico, Magritte, Redon, Duerer, Tanguy, the Facteur Cheval, the Watts Towers, Boecklin, Francis Bacon, and all the invisible artists within the psychiatric institutions of the planet. I believe in the impossibility of existence, in the humour of mountains, in the absurdity of electromagnetism, in the farce of geometry, in the cruelty of arithmetic, in the murderous intent of logic. I believe in adolescent women, in their corruption by their own leg stances, in the purity of their disheveled bodies, in the traces of their pudenda left in the bathrooms of shabby motels. I believe in flight, in the beauty of the wing, and in the beauty of everything that has ever flown, in the stone thrown by a small child that carries with it the wisdom of statesmen and midwives. I believe in the gentleness of the surgeon's knife, in the limitless geometry of the cinema screen, in the hidden universe within supermarkets, in the loneliness of the sun, in the garrulousness of planets, in the repetitiveness or ourselves, in the inexistence of the universe and the boredom of the atom. I believe in the light cast by video-recorders in department store windows, in the messianic insights of the radiator grilles of showroom automobiles, in the elegance of the oil stains on the engine nacelles of 747s parked on airport tarmacs. I believe in the non-existence of the past, in the death of the future, and the infinite possibilities of the present. I believe in the derangement of the senses: in Rimbaud, William Burroughs, Huysmans, Genet, Celine, Swift, Defoe, Carroll, Coleridge, Kafka. I believe in the designers of the Pyramids, the Empire State Building, the Berlin Fuehrerbunker, the Wake Island runways. I believe in the body odors of Princess Di. I believe in the next five minutes. I believe in the history of my feet. I believe in migraines, the boredom of afternoons, the fear of calendars, the treachery of clocks. I believe in anxiety, psychosis and despair. I believe in the perversions, in the infatuations with trees, princesses, prime ministers, derelict filling stations (more beautiful than the Taj Mahal), clouds and birds. I believe in the death of the emotions and the triumph of the imagination. I believe in Tokyo, Benidorm, La Grande Motte, Wake Island, Eniwetok, Dealey Plaza. I believe in alcoholism, venereal disease, fever and exhaustion. I believe in pain. I believe in despair. I believe in all children. I believe in maps, diagrams, codes, chess-games, puzzles, airline timetables, airport indicator signs. I believe all excuses. I believe all reasons. I believe all hallucinations. I believe all anger. I believe all mythologies, memories, lies, fantasies, evasions. I believe in the mystery and melancholy of a hand, in the kindness of trees, in the wisdom of light.

prati verdi

http://www.asphalto.org/

qualcuno ha scritto...

Ma se il mio capo si droga, io sono un tossico-dipendente? Se lavorare fa bene, perchè non lo lasciamo fare agli ammalati? Per diventare necrofili ci vuole inclinazione o bisogna farsi le ossa? Se Garibaldi è partito da Quarto, chi erano i tre partiti prima di lui? Le tende da sole ... soffrono di solitudine? Perchè se Dio è immortale, ha lasciato ben due Testamenti? Vecchioni da ragazzo si chiamava Jovanotti ? Se offendi un partigiano reggiano, ti trovi una grana? Nelle riunioni di gabinetto i ministri fanno gli stronzi? Perchè si chiama sala-parto se ha solo nuovi arrivi? Se la museruola si mette sul muso dove si mette la cazzuola? Lo stitico quando muore va in purgatorio? Sono le pecore di Murano che producono la lana di vetro? Nei film porno il protagonista e il montatore sono la stessa persona? Ma in una banca del seme, cosa danno di interessi? La penisola è un isola a forma di pene? GESTANTE è participio presente o preservativo imperfetto ? Il formaggio con le pere e' femmina? Oppure è un latticino che si droga? Visto che la luce viaggia più veloce del suono, sarà per questo che molte persone appaiono brillanti finché non le senti parlare? Se son rose fioriranno... ma se sono cachi? Quelli che attaccano i cartelli "Chi tocca muore" muoiono tutti?

subconscio

Un altro test: questo è basato sul test di Rorschach che consiste nell'osservare e dare la propria interpretazione a delle macchie di inchiostro. Il risultato mi sorprende...

Oscar, your subconscious mind is driven most by Peace You have a deeply-rooted desire to make peace in the world. Whether through subtle interactions with loved ones, or through getting involved in social causes, it is important to you to be able to influence the world in a positive way. You have a deep respect for humankind. You care about the future of the world, even beyond your own involvement in it, and you inspire others to feel the same way. Your innate drive toward peace guides you in daily life towards decisions that are respectful toward yourself and others. Your psyche is very rich; the more you learn about it, the more you will understand who you really are.

test QI

Ho provato questo test QI. Sono troppo intelligente.... ;) Questo è il risultato:

Congratulations, Oscar! Your IQ score is 135 This number is based on a scientific formula that compares how many questions you answered correctly on the Classic IQ Test relative to others. Your Intellectual Type is Visionary Philosopher. This means you are highly intelligent and have a powerful mix of skills and insight that can be applied in a variety of different ways. Like Plato, your exceptional math and verbal skills make you very adept at explaining things to others ? and at anticipating and predicting patterns.

il fine giustifica il mezzo...

i poliziotti italiani sono più svegli.

...

To love is to find your own soul Through the soul of the beloved one. When the beloved one withdraws itself from your soul Then you have lost your soul.

- Edgar Lee Masters

Stella was a diver and she was always down

When she walks down the street, She knows there's people watching. The building fronts are just fronts To hide the people watching her But she once fell through the street Down a manhole in that bad way The underground drip Was just like her scuba days Days Daze Days Daze She was all right because the sea was so airtight, she broke away She is all right but she can't come out tonight, she broke away She was all right, yeah the sea was so tight, air tight She broke away, broke away At the bottom of the ocean she dwells At the bottom of the ocean she dwells From crevices caressed by fingers And fat blue serpent swells Stella, Stella, Stella, Stella I love you

-Interpol

concerto

domani forse The Von Bondies al solito posto.

questi fanno bene

i keane fanno bene ai padiglioni auricolari. d'altro canto gli interpol non scherzano neppure... mi si rizzano i bulbi piliferi, affascinante. se la fine del mondo si sta avvicinando, questa è la sua colonna sonora. tensione bellissima.

caparezza...

al Garage Music di Castione. qui i biglietti.