Kanacca's Secret Review 2010

Le chiamo parole

Nelle etichette le chiamo parole , non sono ambiziose, sono solo parole , nude e impotenti .
E' solo più semplice scavare intorno a un sentimento, a una emozione, è solo più semplice descriverne l' illusione .
E' solo più semplice accatastare parole come scatoloni in una soffitta .
'm just words that give meaning to put together a emotion or thought in and through me the same way as they have become would leave if they do not stop, writing them.
This blog is the place to make room for the life that escapes me.
I tried for years to keep a journal, I try again, but the white sheet immobilizes me for hours without being able to make magic and transform the volatile words that follow in the mind, thoughts in writing.

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Ritorno alla Terra

One day I wrote that there are no stories ,
only sketched unrealistic attempts to make them so.
was the day I realized how much could cost me feel this way.

***

silently accepted by the Earthly Mother
f ogli autumn strip off their clothes their branches, slipping
inert on the air moist.
Voices dispersed infiltrate from parallel worlds utopias disillusioned ,
that the season has off.
soft lights, muster, draw shadows ,
faithful companions. Of
travel , false starts and returns .
Whirlpools snakes and sacrilegious rites welcome the new Winter .
Return to the naked Earth, carried away by the wind .

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I colori

by email.

I woke up a song. was sleeping when she started playing loud in my head. beating faster and then grief, anxiety deformed, and the clear and distinct feeling of not being able to put in order. I can not stay in bed, get up, I wander around the house. Darkness is a brother knows that consoles and listen (..)

(..) E 'wrong, is all wrong. love for others is not enough. It 'something that has taught me over the years of life. Love begins with self and ends up going to enlighten the people around us, tinged with immense.
If you live in the shadows, live deprived of that light needed to see the beautiful colors of life, and think dark eyes that look at you.

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mentre piove

seeking protection brotherly comfort
stretch the hands to mirror

you move with difficulty and with a stern look
slur a melancholy Modugno

Of those violins played by the wind
l 'Last Kiss my sweet girl

burns on his face like drops of lemon
the heroic courage of a fierce farewell

but
tears in the rain
rains

the rain
rains

the rain

Magic quiet indulgence veiled
ungrateful after the storm

takes breath and intense movement
celebrating a mild and unusual awakening

thousand violins played by the wind
the last hug my beloved child

in memory of a soft rain Silver
ruthless sense of no return

Of those violins played by the wind
last kiss my sweet girl

burns on his face like drops of lemon
the heroic courage of a fierce farewell

but
tears in the rain
rains

when it rains it rains


the rain
rains

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luna sorda


Tiny ants dirt mountains, rugged mountains without rolling
summit.
Dances fatal fires and cursed,
red-tinged shadows barefoot.
Moved by movements tired
slow burning flesh .
impress land,
waves of blood flow from bowels. And
moon deaf accompanies dark, in a song voiceless.

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Sulla riva del mio eremo


I'm a bit out of sorts on this day. Living downward, it happens, however. Today repeated between one page and the next, I had to get up, and going from one desk to another, taken by a feeling of extreme clarity and lucidity, reached the pc I wrote on the forum: not know, I always feel un'astrattezza most surreal of matter, bound in a plastic body. do not understand the mood and unreal isterica delle cose, quindi ne ribalto il senso , dipingendo un cielo in cui tutto è normale e io il paradosso . Non è proprio solamente così, ma è pur sempre un aspetto dello spettacolo che ho messo in scena nel mio teatro .
Ho il tessuto cerebrale atrofico, non filtra e non fa infiltrare niente. Impermeabile e silenzioso. Come un giudice che impugna il martelletto e lo scandisce sul banchetto allo scoccare del rintocco. Parlo di giudizio , forse ha un senso e forse centra, remote anticaglie che incontrano sorrisi ambigui di un passato, passato.
Voglio bene alle persone che vivono insieme me, ma a volte non è facile. Non è facile incrociare i loro sogni , sofferenze , disillusioni e guardare oltre, come se non li vedessi e fossero solo una mia errata intuizione .
Vorrei dare a ognuno di loro la possibilità di essere sole , luna , sasso o stella , vorrei potergli regalare la speranza di scoprire quello che sono. Invece mi giro, voltandomi, dall'altra parte, perchè mi sento stanca e impotente. E trascino i piedi sulla riva del mio eremo , guardando lontano, distante .

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Le parole alla follia, ciao Alda



Il mio passato

Spesso ripeto sottovoce
che si deve vivere di ricordi solo
quando mi sono rimasti pochi giorni.
Quello che e’ passato
e’ come se non ci fosse mai stato.
Il passato e’ un laccio che
stringe la gola alla mia mente
e toglie energie per affrontare il mio presente.
past and 'only smoke
of those who have not lived.
What I have already 'seen
has no more than' nothing.
The past and the future
not reality 'but only fleeting illusions.
time I have to get rid of
jackets and live on this' does not exist any more time
this wonderful moment.