The Storm 

“In this reality that we are in, this technologic-religious-industrial civilization is mining. It’s a mining civilization, it’s about mining. It’s about energy…They mine the being part of being human by imprinting the perception of reality that they imprint into human consciousness at birth. And then they mine the being part of being human by how they program the human to perceive reality. And take that being part of human and turn it into a form of energy to run a system. We’re fuel…In my reality, that’s what’s going on.”

John Trudell

“This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.” Walt Whitman (via tastethefailureonurlips)

(via illustrisconosciuti)

“The only sadnesses that are dangerous and unhealthy are the ones that we carry around in public in order to drown them out with the noise.” Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (via catetopia)

Giorgio Baffo. Venetian poet.

“I hate my head
My rotting head
which will never fall of itself
like any decent pear.
It has the intention
of flying up to the sky,
but it will always trail in the dust:
eating grime and dirt,
screaming erotic songs,
begging all the world
to enter in it.”

Queer Things by Emanuel Carnevali (via dontwatchthat-watchthis)

Emanuel Carnevali was an Italian American poet that left permanent traces in the history of modern literature.

Emanuel Carnevali was a name stuck in my head for many years. Like other young Italians I got fascinated by the mention of his name, in a song by Massimo Volume, a band that who was involved in underground music, honored like a small cult.

That song “Il primo dio" (The first god), lives of the same desolated beauty of the words of Carnevali himself.

"Emanuel Carnevali, morto di fame nelle cucine d’America,
Sfinito dalla stanchezza nelle sale da pranzo d’America,
E c’è forza nelle tue parole.

(Emanuel Carnevali, you, dying of hunger in the kitchens of America,

you, dead tired in the dining rooms of America,

You wrote.

And there is strength in your words)

Sopra le portate lasciate a metà, i tovaglioli usati,
Sopra le cicche macchiate di rossetto,
Sopra i posacenere colmi
Sapevi di trovare l’uragano.
Dire qualcosa mentre si e’ rapiti dall’uragano:
Ecco l’unico fatto che possa compensarmi
Di non essere io l’uragano.”

"on top of those half eaten meals,

lipstick stained cigarette butts,

overfilled ashtrays,

you know you would find the hurricane.

Saying something while you’re taken by the hurricane is the only thing

that compensates the fact that I’m not that hurricane.”

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