More high-rises please...

And then I went to Palermo and Rome. And discovered how funny it is to do self-portaits in front of high-rises.

More Guinness, please...

I'm starting to catch up on the backlog of postings... So here are some of the pictures I took in Ireland - not many since Paul is our officially photographer, so I only take them when I am drunk or inspired, both of which are rare events.

Looking West

The Garden of Earthly Delight

A single image to illustrate this election, its nauseating twists, its main characters, and most of all the man behind my country's current abysmal fall:

Rapporto

Caserma dei Carabinieri di Roccalbegna, provincia di Grosseto

Rapporto CC045 - Ciliegicidio in Localita' S Caterina, Podere Ragnini altresi' detto Dei 3 Pucci

2 cinghialozzi di media stazza si introducevano forzatamente nella proprieta' dei Sigg. Paterno, Jackson e Masetti, residenti in Roccalbegna, Roccalbegna e Londra rispettivamente nella notte dell'8 aprile 2006. In quel momento solo uno dei proprietari era in casa, la Sig.na Paterno, che dormiva nella di lei camera da letto. I due cinghialozzi erano gia' noti agli inquirenti per atti di natura vandalica nella proprieta', incluse escavazioni illegali e grufolamento a scopo di estorsione.

Secondo la ricostruzione effettuata dagli inquirenti, i 2 cinghialozzi si introducevano nella proprieta' attraverso 2 aperture nella rete di protezione, che erano probabilmente state effettuate in precedenza. Una volta introdottisi nella proprieta', i 2 inquisiti si dirigevano speditamente verso 3 ciliegi che erano recentemente stati donati da una delegazione milanese. I 3 ciliegi, non ancora in fiore per il ritardo della stagione, erano ignari della sorte che li aspettava.

I 2 inquisiti, in maniera metodica e spregiudicata, indice di una natura pericolosa e crudele, si avventavano contro il primo ciliegio, per poi passare al secondo e al terzo, sradicandoli uno ad uno nella loro follia omicida. Non contenti, tornavano sui loro passi verso il primo ciliegio, noto come "Guido", per spezzargli il corpo inerte.

Allertati da rumori provenienti dalla casa, i 2 pregiudicati si davano alla fuga da dove erano entrati, non prima di lanciare minacciosi sguardi e grufolamenti verso la proprieta'. In seguito, 2 delle 3 vittime sono state ripiantate, il che fa sperare si possano riprendere dallo shock, ma si teme ancora per la loro sorte e per gli effetti alla loro psiche. La prima vittima, purtroppo, e' decessa mentre veniva trasportata al pronto soccorso.

FINE RAPPORTO

Se avete visto o sentito qualcosa, chiamate la vostra stazione locale dei carabinieri. Se vedete 2 cinghialozzi aggirarsi in maniera sospetta nelle vicinanze della vostra proprieta', non esitate: chiamate il 113!

After...

During...

Before...

Tomorrow

Tomorrow I will wake up.
Tomorrow I will have breakfast.
Tomorrow I will sit at my desk.
Tomorrow I will write an email.

Or tomorrow there won't be no tomorrow.
Or tomorrow there won't be no tomorrow.

And I will get on my bike.
And I will go to J-J's.
And I will lie on a bed.
And I will feel a sharp pain.

Or tomorrow there won't be no tomorrow.
Or tomorrow there won't be no tomorrow.

Tomorrow the sun will shine.
Tomorrow the air will be clean.
Tomorrow the streets will be cold.
Tomorrow the sky will be blue.

Or tomorrow there won't be no tomorrow.
Or tomorrow there won't be no tomorrow.

Tomorrow my brothers will see.
Tomorrow my sisters will speak.
Tomorrow my friends will smile.
Tomorrow my foes will cry.

Or tomorrow there won't be no tomorrow.
Or tomorrow there won't be no tomorrow.

Or the children won't laugh.
Or the flowers won't grow.
Or the birds won't sing.
Or the moon won't rise.

Tomorrow the king will die.
Tomorrow the king must die.

Long die the king. Long die the king.

Ivri Lider

Ok, this might be shallow, and I blame Diana for this drop in tone on my blog, but I thought Ivri Lider was well worth a posting!

Ivri is a hugely popular pop singer and song-writer in Israel. He is particulalry important because he's openly gay and is contributing to reshaping social norms and perceptions in a traditionally very conservative country.

His website's here, and if you find your way through various tabs in Hebrew (namely by clicking on this tab on the main page: פדיה and accessing a section with some of his songs), you'll get to a terribly sexy cover of Yessir, I can Boogie!

And, damn, can he boogie...!

Restlessness

A young Timothy Hutton in the role of Calvin, a restless teenager coming to terms with his brother's death, his mother's bitter anger and his father's passive resentment. Possibly my first cinematic crush. Also the first time I realised there were young people who felt - albeit differently - the same pain I felt.

An Italian tragedy

Two young lovers from Verona, fighting against a world they do not comprehend, ruled by older men and women whose values have never been theirs, face their undeserved destiny. Although the product of Shakespeare's imagination, Romeo and Juliet represents the Italian tragedy par excellence. First of all, there is plenty of evidence that Romeo and Juliet were real people, whose families are mentioned in Dante's Purgatorio VI, or at least plausible incarnations of historical characters that lived in Northern Italy at the height of the XIII century wars between Guelfi and Ghibellini. Secondly, and most importantly, their families, the Montecchi and the Capuleti, represented the two sides of the same coin: a self-consuming political and cultural cancer that was willing to let its children die rather than question itself.

How sad that, after almost 8 centuries, nothing has changed nel Bel Paese. Time has published this week an important and for once spot-on report on the fading future of Italy's young. I could not have agreed more with its conclusion that the crux of the problem lies in an ageing population that is clinging on to power and privileges in all sectors of society and the economy, and that is not only stifling the country by extirpating every sapling of social change, but also ensuring Italy soon falls into the cracks of history. Like the Roman ruins of the Colosseum, soon the entire Italy will turn into an open-air museum, visited by rich foreigners with their kids on holiday, while what little remains of our youth is reduced to running a few hotels and restaurants serving clichéd menus and earning just about enough money to keep the old alive in their dilapidated homes.

It's easy to misunderstand Italy. It's a country that has mastered the art of dazzling visitors with the beauty of its landscape, the richness of its culture, the opulence of its art. Yet, beneath this glittering surface, lies a decomposing body. A blind cult of the past - typical of decadent cultures - is the only certainty to which everyone clings on, the last bastion against the rising waters of the future. The ageing contenders in the impending general elections - all but dressed like contemporary Montecchi and Capuleti - are locked in their sterile arguments, while jealously holding on to their privileges. There's no shame, no attempt to cover up this horrid farce. Because they truly represent the country. Because this is what our fathers, our uncles, our older brothers are like. Because you don't need to pretend when you are at a family dinner and the white priest is sitting at your side, whichever side of the table you choose to sit.

And what about us? We are left to die slowly, turning into a mockery of youth. Even hope has abandoned us. Our French cousins at least think they will stop the rising tide by taking to the streets. The irony of a generation that fights in the name immobility, not change. In Italy, on the other hand, no one believes any longer. Who can, like me and the waiters working in the restaurant beneath my flat, flees the country, and seeks refuge where there might still be a future. The rest stares at the approaching lights like a rabbit in the middle of a road. But unlike Romeo and Juliet, we'll have no one writing about how beautifully and tragically we fell. Because there will be nothing beautiful and tragic about our certain death. No matter how loud we scream, how hard we punch, how many times we pray, beg, threaten, their yellow eyes will stare back at us, empty. And they will put a gun against our temples, and finish us off like a beautiful racing horse with a broken leg.

Without even giving us a chance of falling first.

Boards of Canada

Sometimes an album is so good and makes its case so flawlessly that it spawns a mini-genre of its own and becomes shorthand for a prescribed set of values - raves Mark Richardson at Pitchfork - about Boards of Canada's Music has the Right to Children. The Scottish duo uses warm, scratchy, artificial sounds to create mesmeric musical effects, which reminded me of the abstract moods of Murcof. Interestingly, BoC have been accused of slipping cryptic and subliminal messages into their music, namely through reversed vocal samples, the mathematical timing of beat structures, song titles, colours, cover art, and track lengths.

Thanks to Megan for the great tip...

Portraits in the Italian style

so you get to see a fraction of what I did while I was away...

Last night I planted a seed

Last night, wriggling in my childhood bed, under the dark silhouette of the old cedar tree that stands in front of my mother's house, I planted a seed.

I would have said lunar silhouette, but there was no moon last night, so these thoughts were not inspired by madness, but rather by the warm air of the awakening spring. And maybe the tannin of the copious amounts of red wine downed to celebrate my mum's birthday.

Something popped in my head like a bubble ready to burst, and this seed stretched its first tiny root into the fertile ground. This world that surrounds me and us all. The emotions. The ideas. The people. How ironic that this should happen in my childhood bed.

For the record, it was 2:08 am CET, 28 March 2006. For the record, it was a Tuesday. For the record, there was no moon (did I mention this already? I think it's important). One day these things will matter. People will want to know. They will want to understand if last night was a good time to plant seeds. Or to dream of a different world.

I want to build my own house...

... just the way Will did it... well, more or less. I don't have half a grand to blow away on eco-building, nor do I have plans to sell my flat in London. But like Will and many others, who are to me a constant source of inspiration, all I need is a bit of determination to do something more concrete about the things I care for, such as reconverting Exmouth Market and Santa Caterina in fully sustainable households. It won't be easy or quick, but one step at the time and I know I'll get there!

Minsk, Paris, Genoa...

From the BBC website:

"Riot police in the Belarusian capital, Minsk, have broken up a five-day demonstration against the re-election of President Alexander Lukashenko. More than 100 troops poured into the central square and loaded protesters onto waiting trucks. [...] About 150 demonstrators were in the square when it was cleared. [...] According to an opposition presidential candidate who arrived at the square, all the women were allowed to leave".

This posting is dedicated to those brave men and women who stood for 5 days in the freezing streets of Minsk. You are not alone. The cities of Europe have long witnessed the brutality of these pigs. From Paris to Kiev, Genoa to London: no matter how hard they beat us, remember we are stronger than they will ever be.

a tattoo

Those who know me best are aware of my long-time obsession with getting a tattoo. Well, today I went for my first consultation with a tattooist, which means the clock is now officially ticking! But what hides behind this desire? Why would I want to go through the excruciating pain of a needle tearing through my skin to inject ink beneath its surface? Am I giving up - just like everybody else - to a fashionable trend? Why now? What on earth will I tattoo on my body? And where shall I inflict the pain? And will I regret it in 20 years time, when I am married with two kids and a labrador (yeah, right...!)?

Tony Lawrence, a graduate from Edinburgh University, wrote an interesting - if quircky - study on the topic, entitled A Tattoo is for Life: a Sociological Study of the Changing Significance of Tattoos. While this was not the most enlightening piece of research I have ever read, it still helped me answer the first question: why getting a tattoo in the first place?

1. Tattoos (just like dress/fashion) play a symbolic, communicative and aesthetic role in the presentation of the self. Our appearance is considered to be essential to the world of modernity and mass communication, to the point of being referred to as a kind of connective tissue of our cultural organism. In our everyday encounters we are subconsciously scanning people we come into contact with, in order to make sense of possible interactions that could arise at any given moment. So our perceptions of others and in fact ourselves is central to our understanding of part of the social world that is human symbolic interaction. Tattoos share an even greater intimate connection with the self than dress, being an expression of identity that is displayed on the skin and becomes part of the person we are or would like to be.

2. For men, tattoos operate in similar ways to uniforms, in that they display an individual's membership to a particular group in society, and are often found in very secluded, male-dominated environments, such as criminal gangs, armies and.. er... urban gay communities. However, within these tattooed groups there are wide differentiations. Having tattoos can sometimes ostracise an individual from other members of society who see the people with tattoos as deviant; similarly it can also open up a new world of people with a common interest, a select group. This ties in well with my obsession with individual vs. group identity in contemporary urban spaces, but also with my life-time quest to (re)define my social space.

3. Finally, Henk Schiffmacher in his book 1000 Tattoos states that “in the Western world tattoos are mainly associated with those belonging to a lower social class – criminals, sailors, whores, soldiers, adventurers, perverts and the like – and at the other end of the scale with the eccentrics of high society, the rich and aristocratic, intellectuals, artists and all those who make life more colourful”. Although this might no longer be the case, I like to think this perception has influenced my choice...

But have I given up to a passing trend? If this is a passing trend, then it's taking a hell of a lot of time to pass. Tattoos have been around in Europe for thousands of years, well before James Cook re-imported the practice from Polynesia in the XVIII century. Pre-Christian Ger-manic, Celtic and other European tribes were often heavily tattooed, and Julius Ceasar described the Picts as scarified with elaborate dark blue woad designs in his De Bello Gallico (54 BC). According to Robert Graves' study The Greek Myths, tattooing was also common in the Mediterranean, and was certainly present in Ancient Egypt, but the practice fell in disuse during the process of Christia-nization of Europe, accused of being linked to paganism. Today's fahion is simply a revival of a very old and established European prac-tice of body modification.

So why now? Well, as well as having some spare time, from the moment I turned 30 I have started feeling more in control of my life: I have become bolder in the choices I make and less terrified of their potential consequences. I have suddenly stopped worrying about pleasing/displeasing other people, and have developed a keen interest in pleasing myself. To give you an idea, here's a transcript of the last conversation I had with myself on the subject of tattoos:

- I really want a tattoo but...
- But what? Go on and get it!
- But... but what if... I mean...
- Who cares? Just do it!!!

At 30, I discovered mature recklessness.

The where? question is easy: my right calf. I've always known I'd get my first tattoo on my right leg. For a while I thought about getting it on my thigh, but it's a large and important piece of my body, and this being my first tattoo, I decided to save it for when I develop higher degrees of mature recklessness.

Now, the what? question. I don't like colourful drawings, so was naturally attracted to tattoos of Tahitian origin, like this one on the left. I like them because they are able to combine intricate designs with an overall simple appearance. But then, I thought about how my first tattoo should represent a watershed between what was before and what came after it. I thought it should say something about my past as a way to embrace it and move on. That's when I came up with the idea of incorporating graphics from the prehistoric inscriptions found in the upper valleys of my hometown into a tribal design.

Some of the incisions look like this:























Naturally, at this stage, it's hard to imagine what the final product will look like. But that's what Jay Jay's got to figure out... And he better be a light hand when he sticks that needle in my body...!!!!! As for regrets... what if I regret not getting a tattoo in 20 years time? I'll think I'll take my chance on the tattoo instead...

ドラムマシーン

drum machine

There are moments

when my head is full of smelly stuff
of broken thoughts
and heavy liquid

液

when even music hurts like a claw

螯

when I only seek silence

静寂

and when I find it
I only seek noise

囂囂

there are moments
when friends are strangers
and lovers forgotten

忘却

when everything is
empty and frantic

物狂おしい