Saturday 17th May 2008

If we cannot connect the brain and the heart, we are goners. Dyad, dyad, dyad…

 

Glory to You God, joy to you Mary.

 

The State must do neither metaphysics nor theology nor ethics.

 

As believers we are tempted to be fundamentalists, as believers in Love we are instinctively and convincingly anti-fundamentalists.

 

Anthroposphere is the place of angels. We are into it like in a cloud filled with birds.

 

We are linked to our demons, we love them, we serve them: divorcing from them is depressing for us.

 

We believe in demons no more because we do not see them. We do not see them because we do not pray. Only those who pray God reveals even the invisible negative.

 

We are afraid of entering the invisible. We prefer a kind of faith, that we loftily call “pure”, that is without any contacts and perceptions. A faith “bare”, for intellectuals without nuts.

 

Faith is an experience possibly integral. If it is not experience it is not faith. It is not the faith of Jesus. Who preached His experience as Son and as the antagonist of Satan.

 

Pseudo-intellectual ministers of Christ prefer to absolve and not dislodge people’s demons, that croak in a multitude in every human and ecclesial land.

 

September ’99

Host of moon
On altars of asphalt

White beach
this evening
the asphalt
under the moon.
Far away
An angel
sigh.

Lily moon
Apocalypse of sun.
Sepulchers tremble.

Grey sparrow of September
Suddenly Fly
over my windscreen,
in a while
you tell me
all the tales of the sun
of this anorexic summer.

Crystal angel
Purity of magnolia
Sky moon

The “Hunter”
Friend of Abram
“hunter”
from your bar counter
you see angles and prophets
mix Koran and Gospel
ace of spades and hearts.
Your life is legend
And you do not know it.

Moon vessel
ferries
towards the far sun
dreams and pains
among fog and stars wings.

Dawn of moon.
Gleam of dead and angels.

Clear night
Of moon and mother.

Moon ringlets
In the childhood bushes

November ’99

Leroy Merlin
Crazy Games Point
Sound of shells
Seagulls heartbeat.

Seagulls laughs
On the green trembling
of the sea.

Warner Village.
On the back of the moon
Leverets and big red puppets.

I sink in tenderness
Rammed by rings of moon.

On the ocean of Nothing
Titanic of hopes.

I slip on the heart
Whistling love.

This article is available in Italian too