Arve Henriksen / Chiaroscuro

Buon Natale

When we were Younger and Better

When we were Younger we were Better.
More idealistic, less prone to compromise.
We drank from life.
We enjoyed pleasure.

Now we just know ourselves better.
We don't see through our weaknesses any more
The destruction of small ideas. (*)
Don't get any big ideas, it's not gonna happen. (**)

(*): The destruction of small ideas: a great album from 65 days of static, containing the song When we were younger and better.
(**): Lyrics from Nude, a dreamy Radiohead song about cheating.

Visit

Being ill means waiting. First you need to register, and the girl at the counter compared my image on the driving license with my current image, and exhibited a smile topped by blue eyes.
"That was me many many hairs ago"
I left her with the knowledge of our asymmetry, being she able to access my phone number at any moment; I had other destinations, another series of waiting moments in front of me.
Being ill is standing on a line, and waiting for some elderly people to finish discussing at the counter. I don't get it. Elderly people act like they have centuries in front of them, but they could die at every moment. It made my waiting longer. But it was worth it.
What stroke me of her was not her smile, practiced at patient-interaction courses, or her thin body, erected like bamboo on the edge of a river; her hands, they were transparent. They lifted the contact lens, and I was wondering whether it was the finger raising the lens, or was it the lens sucking the finger like an unsatisfied lover. Before I could answer, the contact lens had acknowledged her denial, and took revenge in my eye.
"If I am crying, it's not because you make me sad"
"Take some napkins"
"I am sorry. I keep on crying. I feel like I have just seen Gone with the Wind for the first time, right after getting into menopause"
"Have you ever weared contact lenses"
"Never"
"There's always a first time"
"And you never forget it"
"How is the pain?"
"Unbearable"
"Some people get crazy about it, and want it removed immediately. How do you feel?"
"I feel warm. I am sweating. Maybe I really am in menopause. Can I undress?"
"Go ahead"
We both pretended that the poorly hidden double meaning was caused by my weak dutch proficiency; I just took off my sweater and unbuttoned my shirt.
"Now it's turn for your second eye."
"Do I have two eyes?"
"Last time I looked I counted two of them"
Again those transparent hands. Again the dance of the fingers and the lens, an eye open in disbelief, and a sudden pain making tears stream in overflow.
"Would you look at my eye, I think I've got something in it"
"Don't close your eyes. The best you can do is look down at your knees"
I decided her knees were a much more pleasant thing to watch. So I did watch, and I did wait. Pain, and time; they look like the one needs the other to really exist, to really make a statement on my weakness.
"You need to look up. Raise your eyes, slowly, very slow"
Her knees.
Her hips.
Her belly.
Her tits.
I could not get higher than that, or I didn't want to, I don't remember. But my eyes fixed themselves over there. Shameless light inspecting shameless eyes inspecting shameless tits. Every now and them my eyes dare to look up at her smile, a smile I loved to believe was there not despite my staring, but because of it.
"Let's see if you can get rid of the lenses yourself"
I did not manage. I failed over and over.
"I am afraid I need your help"
"That's what I am here for"
"I am glad you're here"
The transparent hands grabbed a pen, and wrote down some secret code that only doctors understand. Orders for the receptionist. A new appointment, one month from now. One hour, the two of us.
Yes.

The air I breathe

I can see the future; the immediate future, small bites of it. When I see it, I know I can't do anything but live it. Like watching a movie of which you know the ending. I stopped wanting something; I stopped choosing; when the future is known, there is no choice. I have no choice but loving you. I have no choice but watching the movie. Its title: The air I breathe.

Leadership

A leader is not a leader without followers. Click here if you want to follow Giuseppe(TM).




Giuseppe(TM). I want him.

Snow in Eindhoven

Manager loneliness

From the deepest poverty to nothing, this is the career of the manager. Because there's nothing up there. The manager is a great man, full of life, sophisticated, sex maniac, but dies at page 5. Pepe is asked to understand why, and how. He only finds old school mates, mediocre people that could not match the victim grandiosity. Because the manager is alone.

It's not going good.

It's not going good with Giuseppe(TM) at all. Investors, which have looked at Giuseppe(TM) as a promising resource, are abandoning at ever increasing speed the investment. Government intervention seems slow and is failing in restoring customer confidence. Investors complaints include an apparent short-sight for Giuseppe(TM), and an incapacity of raising customer expectations. Giuseppe(TM) has been downgraded from A+ to A- by Clerk&Johnson.

Giuseppe(TM)

I want him.

16 km

It takes 16km
to talk.
Red leaves,
mud and hills.
Spit it out.
Blue sky,
a chill breeze.
Talk it over.
Climb to the cliff.
Sit down and wait
for the silence to come.

Dies slowly

Muere lentamente

Pablo Neruda

Muere lentamente quien se transforma en esclavo del hábito, repitiendo todos los días los mismos trayectos, quien no cambia de marca, no arriesga vestir un color nuevo y no le habla a quien no conoce.

Muere lentamente quien evita una pasión, quien prefiere el negro sobre blanco y los puntos sobre las "íes" a un remolino de emociones, justamente las que rescatan el brillo de los ojos, sonrisas de los bostezos, corazones a los tropiezos y sentimientos.

Muere lentamente quien no voltea la mesa cuando está infeliz en el trabajo, quien no arriesga lo cierto por lo incierto para ir detrás de un sueño, quien no se permite por lo menos una vez en la vida, huir de los consejos sensatos.

Muere lentamente quien no viaja, quien no lee, quien no oye música, quien no encuentra gracia en sí mismo.

Muere lentamente quien destruye su amor propio, quien no se deja ayudar.

Muere lentamente, quien pasa los días quejándose de su mala suerte o de la lluvia incesante.

Muere lentamente, quien abandona un proyecto antes de iniciarlo, no preguntando de un asunto que desconoce o no respondiendo cuando le indagan sobre algo que sabe.

Evitemos la muerte en suaves cuotas, recordando siempre que estar vivo exige un esfuerzo mucho mayor que el simple hecho de respirar.

Solamente la ardiente paciencia hará que conquistemos una espléndida felicidad.

Dies slowly
Pablo Neruda

Dies slowly he who transforms himself in slave of habit,
repeating every day the same itineraries,
who does not change brand,
does not risk to wear a new color and doesn't talk to whom doesn't know.

Dies slowly he who makes of television his guru.

Dies slowly he who avoids a passion,
who prefers black to white
and the dots on the "i" to a whirlpool of emotions,
just those ones that recover the gleam from the eyes,
smiles from the yawns,
hearts from the stumbling and feelings.

Dies slowly he who does not overthrow the table when is unhappy at work,
who does not risk the certain for the uncertain
to go toward that dream that is keeping him awake.

Who does not allow, at least one time in life, to flee from sensate advises.

Dies slowly he who does not travel, does not read,
does not listen to music, who does not find grace in himself.

Dies slowly he who destroys his self love,
who does not accept somebody's help.

Dies slowly he who passes his days complaining of his bad luck or the incessant rain.

Dies slowly he who abandons a project before starting it,
who does not ask over a subject that does not know
or who does not answer when being asked about something he knows.

Dies slowly he who does not share his emotions, joys and sadness,
who does not trust, who does not even try.

Dies slowly he who does not relive his memories
and continues getting emotional as if living them at that moment.

Dies slowly he who does not intent excelling,
who does not learn from the stones of the road of life,
who does not love and let somebody love.

Let's avoid death in soft quotes,
remembering always that to be alive demands an effort much bigger
that the simple fact of breathing.

Crisis

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Giuseppe(TM).

I want him.

Passivity

In this period I devoted myself to passivity. I am absorbing.

Mogwai: The Hawk is Hawling - that's exactly how I feel these days
Gregor Samsa, and Explosions in the Sky: if you like Mogway, good for a change
Leila - Blood Looms And Blooms: not my kind of music, pretty electronic. But they are so good that I like to listen to them every now and then.
Lykke Li: Promising; not yet mature, but

i like it soft, i like it wet
i like my make up in a mess
so i cry hard, let it fall

it's really good.

The bad plus: There million ways of playing music which are pure energy.
Spike Lee: 25th Hour. What will you do the day before you enter in jail for 7 years? How to spend the last 24 hours of freedom you have? My answer today is: be passive and enjoy!

Running

Yesterday I ran at the Marathon of Eindhoven: 6 km with Kyara. We made it in about 50 minutes. It was great, very well done Kyara.

Milo didn't want to run with us, as we were too slow. So he decided to run with Tange, a friend of him. They run alone, without accompaniment of parents or trainer. They managed to finish the 6 km in 40 minutes.

The Bad Plus - Smells Like Teen Spirits

Experiment on Competition

If you don't like this it's because:

1) I have got limited recording and editing facilities
2) I am still learning the medium
3) You have bad taste

Competing

He smiled
I frowned

I made some research for making my boss richer.
He made some research for curing cancer.

I am bold
He has long hair

I play some double bass
He graduated on jazz guitar

I like reading.
He had already 15 years ago a collection of 6000 books which he already read.

I divorced once
he divorced twice

He wins
I lose

Mogwai - Local Authority

Mistery

What if I would reveal all my secrets: wouldn’t you feel betrayed?

Balls and Tits

Corneas are supposed to be spherical.
Balls, practically.
They should not hang like tits.
A tit is often a beautiful thing to see.
But an eye with a tit-shaped cornea
is awful.
Have you ever seen one?
Come closer, look at my eyes.

He did.
And declared a -4.25 for both eyes.
I am kind of blind.

How comes I did not notice?
Yes reading is harder
but it's like listening to a foreign language:
you don't need all the words
your brain makes sense of it
anyhow.
When I watch
I don't see how it is
my brain fills it for me.

And I thought you were beautiful.

Happiness (V)

Nothing more to write. Just two links with alternative interpretation on happiness.


Polygamy

Music

----------------------------------------------

By the way, the MID-LIFE CRISIS has decayed.

Dizzy

Too many events
too many thoughts
there's a world to be changed
and some pain to be given

too many eyes
too many smiles
there's a bottle I wanna drink
and a child who's asleep

If I start to play along
will you feel how I'm strong
or will you stop me
'cause it's wrong?

Too many facts
too many words
there's a night with graceful touch
and a dizzy man feeling alone

GRACEFUL TOUCH — Tord Gustavsen trio

Acting (II)

The part I acted is the one from 7:50 to the end, plus the first minute of part 7.
Guess who was my character.

Failure

Much to lose
and nothing to give.

So I fail

Acting

I have never read something like that. Twelve Angry Men, a fabulous plot.

Actually I haven't read the whole plot. Only one page. 25 lines, not more than that. It took me 4 hours to read that page. I was supposed not only to read it, but to live it. Act. Feel the weight of every word, behave like your line, be your line. While acting there is no space for fiction. You need to be the bad guy; you need to want to hang that guy. Acting is no pretending.

A character insulted mine. I moved around the table, slowly, apparently calm. Suddenly I grasped the knife, and jumped on my fellow, screaming for his blood. All the other characters had to use all their fear to stop me. A chair flew in the air, a table cracked. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I was my character, no distinction between him and myself, except that in a remote part of our brain.

That being double while being one, as the hands of a musician, as in a simultaneous orgasm, is the essence of the art.

I can't change

But I'm a million different people
from one day to the next

Happiness (IV)

"You see, I understand the relationship between happiness and sex, but why money?"
"There's not only sex in life"
"..."
"For the rest there is money"
"..."
"..."
"But imagine you were rich. Damned rich. What would you change of your life?"
"Not much, I suppose"
"Sounds like you're happy"






"You know the difference between money and sex for me?"
"Go ahead"
"I get money once per month"







"Money does not make you happy. When you are rich, you don't know you are. There's always someone next to you who is richer, and becomes your reference. The more you get, the more you want"
"Like sex"
"I am not so sure. At a certain moment you get saturated with sex. There is an asymptotic limit. You don't want more sex than that. There's no limit to money"
"No. With sex is like with food. When you are starving, you don't care too much on what you eat, is it some dry bread or some boiled potato. If you get food often enough, you go for more elaborated one, and your taste gets more demanding. At the end you want a good champagne, and once you had that, you want a better one. And you explore more combination and new recepies"
"I am hungry"
"So am I"

Hopes and Fears

We had to drive 1000km to be here. The drive was southwards, the easiest direction when you start so high in the North. We hoped on better weather; we hoped on wonderful weather, sun, warmth, a gentle breeze and a shore covered of topless girls. We got cold pouring rain, icy winds, wet grass and the heating turned on. What a delusion. Was our delusion a result of the weather, or a result of our hopes? We feared the weather to remain like that, what a joy when the sun appeared above the hills! It's the power of expectations. Hope makes us unhappy, cause we get deluded, and if not, we just expected to go that way. Fear does not help either. Intensity seems to be the key. Make your life worth living, make every single day worth living. And intensity is the opposite of stability, intensity is change. We didn't notice the sun, but when it disappeared, or reappeared. I forgot I had a knee, up to the moment it started hurting. We forget everything, but what changed us.

Happiness is change.

So change clothes and be happy.

Change hairdo, and be happy.

Change job, change house.

Change partner.

Change children.

Be Happy

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You are animal, animal not so deep inside

I know what you're searching for
I pray you find it on your instinct

Recently listened to:

Damien Rice – 9 : Melancholic, sweet, sad. Makes you feel right if you feel alone.

E.S.T. – Tuesday Wonderland: Another masterpiece from this unbelievable trio. Esbjorn died recently, in a accident. He was 43. What will he be remembered for? Would it be it’s wonderful music (Tueday Wonderland, Seven Days of Falling, Strange Place for Snow, Viaticum)? Would it be Carcrash, a piece I always wanted to dedicate to you, was not for you don’t like this sort of music, and the title is not really suited for dedication.

Hiromi: A note machine gun, on the piano, and with a wonderful bass player and drummer too. Usually I don't like virtuosos, but these are just fantastic, too good to be real. The most amazing thing is to discover that the album Another Mind is a live one!

Roisin Murphy: We are animals. Daniele tells me all the time. You are an animal.

Intolerant

Too much sunlight today. I better use my sunglasses. But if I do, they are too dark. I cannot tolerate too much light, as I cannot tolerate too much dark. I can tolerate less and less these days. Mediocrity above all. Zero tolerance for mediocrity. Except my own mediocrity. As in Het Vergeten Seizoen, a wonderful book, probably the best dutch novel of the year, I find justifications for my own weaknesses, I found reasons for my failures, I overestimate my fears and my capacities. Last weekend I was in Austria, spectator of a wedding. I realized it was an unique moment, all friends together drinking bear and eating schnitzel; and I realized I was not anymore the centre of the Universe, the world did not turn around me, my jokes weren't funny. What a liberation!

De Burcht:

Danny is trapped in a dungeon, and almost gets crazy in the attempt of escaping. Ray, a convicted murderer, is writing Danny’s story, as an exercise of a writing course he is following in jail. Ray is not a professional writer, and his immature style is well rendered by the author – how difficult it must be to expressly write so bad! Danny’s and Ray’s stories start parallel, but in the end they cross and the line between “reality” and fiction get thinner; what’s the word describing the feeling one gets when expectations are met? Alto is the author answer.

Danny dies, Ray escapes, but nothing get solved, when expectations are met.

Don't read this book.

Happiness (III)

Dissertation about happiness cannot ignore the two most (and equally) important factors on which happiness is based:

Money and Sex

These factors are moderately interdependent, as money can give you sex, and sex can give you money, but are absolutely essential for a happy state. All other objects, events or ideas that people think are needed for reaching happiness are just cultural over-structure, self-justification or pity, and have nothing to do with happiness. The amount of money and sex one needs and wants is called Climax. Happiness is the capacity of reach or go behind the Climax Level. The difference between Climax and the actual level of money and sex is why you drink.

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Happiness (II)

I am just sitting, enjoying the sun light shining on my skin. It’s holiday time; relaxing. Doing nothing. Letting it happen, like Pepe Carvalho in his researches. Feels like happiness, but I guess it’s only laziness. I can only feel happy when I manage to unite my emotions with my thinking; only when rationality is not fighting against feelings. This is not easy to achieve for me, as I don’t know what I feel, and when I do I also know I should better have other feelings. Happiness is a hard business. There are two practices that bring me close to happiness, that allow my feelings to be one with my logics; those are sex, and music. When I play, and if I play good, then all the rules that I learned and I need fade; a direct channel is opened for the magic inside to go out. It is not irrational, as my rational part is awake and watching the process, and rules are still set and followed. But emotions are there, and are not ruled out. It is not irrational, as there are rules to follow. But rules are created at that very moment. Everything looks so intense. Happiness.

Martin Misunderstood:

This short novel by Karin Slaughter I got for FREE! at the book store when I bought my summer books. It’s the best book I have read during my holidays so far. It’s a mixture of thriller, romance, sex, humor, boredom and geniality. I recommend it to everyone who wants to smile a bit.

Martin is just misunderstood. Whatever he does, whatever he says, people get their own interpretation; and this gets towards embarrassing, frustrating, tragic, comic and thrilling events. The plot is based in a toilet cleaning product factory. Just wonderful to imagine what kind of stories have happened around your Cillit Bang!

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Happiness

Several friends of mine, in different and independent conversations, stated that the origin of happiness is relative: we see other less happy, less successful, poorer, less fit, having smaller cars and uglier houses, and we feel happy. I must admit that I enjoy when the Dutch football team loses; but that’s as far as I can go with this form of happiness, competitive happiness I would say. Competitive happiness is the counterpart of envy. We look around us and we start counting the amount of people that envy us; if we feel that number is large, we feel happy. But I don’t feel happy when I walk in a hospital. I am not happy when I see war in Middle East. I am not happy to see malformed children. I don’t enjoy conversation with people dumber than I. I like when people prove me wrong – which rarely occurs, by the way – and when everybody is satisfied at a banquet. I like when everybody’s dancing and enjoying. During sex, I like it best when we both enjoy. My happiness is therefore much less competitive than my friends would believe.

I kissed your mouth, and back

What I am to you is not real
What I am to you, you do not need
What I am to you is not what you mean to me

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Nonno Pippo

This is my grandfather. Nonno Pippo. I don't know much of him, he died when I was eight. They told me he was the only one, from my father's family, who really loved me; I am his heir, I carry his name - the last one in my family. I don't know what kind of person he was, what he liked, and what he did with his life. I can only remember some trips we did in his Mercedes convertible, the two of us, up to Zafferana, to eat some special stuff they made over there. How much am I carrying of his personality? How much of my "unique features" are due to his blood? What is his influence on my choices?

Yesterday for instance I chose to lie. Lying is a difficult business; it takes presence of spirit, a poker face, and consistency over time. We have to be very careful on what we choose to lie on, for there are only few opportunities for a good lie; and to lie is very tiring, because when we lie we feel guilty about it. Feeling guilty is good, it means that we care; it means we realized we should not have lied, or that we deplore the fact we have done it. Feeling guilty about lying is expiation, it is making sure that next time we will choose better on our lies. To reveal the truth, afterwords, confessing the lie is a sign of weaknesses, is to admit we cannot stand the guilty feeling anymore, and to discharge the pain. We feel relieved, but someone else is carrying the pain for us; for there is no "Truth", in first instance, and when we proclaim it against our lie the only message we sent out is:" I lied to you".

Wednesday

Wednesdays are good, and today is wednesday.

Oblivion

Lake

Italy lost against the Netherlands.
As reaction I sold my car.

And went walking,
on
and on.
The sun was setting
down.
end of the day
I crossed a river,
walked along a shore,
and the path ended
down
on a lake.

I looked at the waters,
dark
and calm,
extending to places I will never be in;
So I smelt the wind
and listened to the drake
imagined
how it would be there:

notes
falling from a piano
and a pull
from below
intensity
there's no space
for words there
and no need too
everything's real
so REAL
in the place I imagined

Lake turned green
eye of a fay
or maybe blue
I can't remember;
I stepped into the waters
despites all promises
step-by-step
up to when I could let go
up to when it wasn't safe anymore
and did not hurt

At night
back on the shore
I looked up
confused
short of breath
my legs freezing
trembling
for no matter how calm
the waters are
I will never
ever
reach that place.

The Ban

Going to see the river man
Going to tell him all I can
About the ban
On feeling free.

If he tells me all he knows
About the way his river flows
I dont suppose
Its meant for me.

Challenge

Sex is fun. And other things are fun too. For instance, it is great fun to compete. Set some rules, a goal, and there you go, you get a bunch of guys chasing a ball and running their longs out in their underpants. Play and win. And it is so good that people enjoy watching it.
So I think that's what's happened then. She told me: "I agree", but after two weeks she challenged me that she actually agreed to much more than I ever intended. There you go, competition - great fun.
So I say: "Ah"; and she says: "Ah Há"; and I say:"Eh Ah"; and she says:"Há, aah".
And people start gathering, and they take position, and scream for me, or for her. Some help me, some help her, and the rest just makes noise and enjoys the show. One even says to me: " I bet you'll write something on this". That's why I write this one, but I guess I am gonna lose the bet anyhow.

Dhafer Youssef * Yabay

Old loves always come back. Metheny has been a early love, and with his quartet has initiated me to a different kind of music. Mehldau is a more recent lover, borrowed from a friend of mine some years ago: with his trio he plays among others some Radiohead stuff in an astonishing way.

They made a CD together, a very good one, called Metheny Mehldau. That CD is so good, that they decided to make a new one, which is the one I am listening right now. Mehldau is a prince: he explore textures of sound, and is able to color whatever composition with unexpected flavours. Metheny is eclectic, and excels in whatever he does. The balance of the two, with the support of the rest of Mehldau's trio, is simply perfect. Don't read this blog. Go and listen to the music.

But today I have listened to something very different. Paolo Fresu was accompaning Dhafer Youssef. Mixing arab music, with its clear indian influence, with jazz. It smelled as the salt of the ionian see, blue and tearful.

Night Train to Lisbon

I read a book about a man reading a book. And the book he was reading was about a man who read a lot of books. Gregorius (the man reading the book) has lead the quiet and insignificant life that most of us will discover to have lived; his only eccentricity was his passion for classic books and translation ancient Greek and Hebrew. A strange episode brings him to read a book in Portuguese, a language he does not know. Therefore Gregorius is not just reading, as he needs first to undergo the effort of translation; Gregorius is basically giving to the book the attention that every writer would dream of. Prado, the man who has written the book, could not care less. Writing for Prado was just an observation tool, a mechanism and a ritual in order to give meaning to his own life. The relation between reader and writer is therefore sublime, as Prado is basically giving color to Gregorius' life, and Gregorius is apparently the only man on earth really knowing Prado. A good book, intense, well built. The characters are strong, and able to create links beyond space and time between them, by the process of writing and reading. However not an excellent book, I am afraid. To make his story plausible, Mercier (the author of the book), has to use well-known mechanisms (for instance all-live savings well invested to allow Gregorius to spend a large amount of time doing nothing, or the fact that every person was always willing to give Gregorius a good interview, or the omnipresence of chess-game); this failed attempt to plausibility is futile and unnecessary, and subtract energy to the book. However, the existential questions which are posed by this atheist preacher, the deep investigation of the human soul, let us forgive and forget those literary blunders and support us in our mid-life crisis.

Sun

The sun is not here. It has departed for southern destinations a couple of weeks ago, and has not given any news of itself, or sent a postcard. Its absence makes me feel alone.

Solitude.

I take the bass and start playing, but my fingers follow hollow patterns. Nobody's listening.

Why do I miss the sun so much? Why is this grey sky able to color my mood with melancholy?

I wanna go wherever it goes.

Trial

[Prosecution]:
Your honor, the nature and occurrence of defendant's behavior are washing away any doubt. Despite of his age, defendant has been caught reading books with existentialistic content, engaging in sport activities, writing prose and diffusing it via Internet in the attempt of catching the attention of a large audience, buying clothes, losing weight, going out at night - even during the week- and playing music. Defendant has publicly admitted of rejecting society roles rigidity and looking for the happiness of the small wonders. Defendant has renewed his passion for politic dispute. Defendant's emotional state has peaked in dynamics and frequency, quickly alternating euphoric states with period of melancholy, reflexion, and even sadness. Your honor, collected evidence is aiming only in one direction, and I request for Defendant a condemn with maximum severity.

[Defense]:
Your honor, defense admit defendant's behavior as presented by prosecution. However defense wants to highlights how these behaviors have not been developed in recent times, but are present in the normal conduct of defendant's life since high-school times. Defendant lives a happy life, full of interests and intensity; defendant has given his contribution to politics, society, industry, science, engineering, visual arts, music and literature, and pursues an active social life, with a large number of friendships. Defendant emotions might be intenser lately, but his libido is large as it has always been. His eccentricities make him as interesting as valuable to our society.
We deny any charge, and ask the Court to rest this case.

[Court]:
Defendant, have you got something to say at your discharge?

[Defendant]:
...

[Court]:
...

[Defendant]:
...

[Court]:
Well, than Defendant will hear this Court's verdict.
Defendant has pursued acts and behavior that clearly not fit his position and role in society. Defendant has admitted to this Court his manners, and claimed to belong to Defendant's personality and way of being since adolescence. But adolescent behaviors belong to High-School times, might worsen during College; they need to be abandoned without hesitation after these periods, and should not re-occur at Defendant's age! It's not the vanity of the late sport activities, however ridiculous, that strikes this Court; nor those frivolous hobbies and their pretensions. But how is Defendant imaging this society to go on, if every one in this world would question himself whether he or she, or his best friends are happy, or worse, how to conjugate our lives misery with its limited duration. Inadmissible!!! People of defendant's age are required to produce, open newspapers with a frown, drive middle-class cars and pay the mortgage! That is why this Court embraces Prosecution request and declares, without any chance of appellation, GUILTY OF

MID-LIFE CRISIS

Defendant's identity shall be immediately revealed to public, and all his statements shall carry the mark "Stated under mid-life crisis" so that they can be immediately discarded without their content infecting our society. Defendant shall not be taken seriously, and defendant's jokes shall not make laugh or even smile. Conviction will last for a period of at least 1 (one) year, and will be cease only after Defendant's denial of all his eccentricities and return to a normal life. The case is closed.

Don't be Running Late

Cleaned up

Everything should be ordened. Cleanedup. All the shirts in the closet, all the towels folded and piled up, according to color. Everything in its place. Also remarks. Like that remark, at the dinner; completely out of its place! Who do you think you are, we don't do compliments here. Even if you mean it. Even if you really mean it. Avoid embarassemnt. Change subject. Music, books.

"Have you read this book?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"This book"

When confronted with a title like that every human being of male gender suffers of a temporary mental black out, spanning from a few seconds to several minutes depending on hormonal levels. After that, military erotic visions take possession of the mind and interfere with any conversation for a prolonged period, occasionally popping up in umpredictable manner. Avoid embarassement. Pretend to listen. Clean up the mess. Pay the bills, and go home. Everything in its place.

Is God a delusion?

Not to me.
At the age of 10 I decided that God does not exist. Since then, I have encountered no evidence of its existence, and discarded the question as irrelevant to me. Never illuded, never deluded.

Richard Dawkings thinks differently about it. For him, the existence of a super-natural God is highly improbable, and in his The God Delusion, he explains why. First he comfutes all the major arguments which have been used by theologician to demonstrate God's existence, one by one, in a hilarious spiral. Later in the book, it becomes more clear what is he fighting against, and that is religion - i.e. the system of beliefs based on beliefs.
The book is well written and enjoyable. The thesis are rigorous and compelling. A good book. It could help a lot of people, especially in these highly religious times.

There are some minor remarks - but those are for the scholars. For instance, I cannot understand and appreciate the anthropofic vision or assumption. Moreover, I hate the lack of phantasy of people imagining extra-terrestrial life. Life is a process whose output is highly impredictable, so I would guess that extra-terrestrial life would look as shocking different to us, as australia's wildlife looked to the first occidental sailors.

Finally, a godless life is a sinless one! Can you imagine what kind of impact that would have on your sexual life?

Suzanne Vega - Pornographer's Dream

Who's to know what she'll show of herself,
In what measure?
If what she reveals, or what she conceals,
Is the key to our pleasure?

Today listened to it on an airplain.

Chained

Once, a wise friend of mine insisted on the absence of coincidence. All events, although apparently uncorrelated, hide a deeper meaning, a purpose, an inner goal, a reason for happening. She persisted in telling that the fact that we met was not a coincidence, and that there were reasons for it. And indeed she convinced me. There were reasons. I was walking in that street because I needed to enter a close shop. She was biking on her way to a friend. And it was not a coincidence that we were there at exactly the same time, as it took 5 minutes from the bus stop, and the bus stopped at 14:51, and she, biking at 11km/h from her place, would be there exactly at 14:56. So there was a reason for that meeting! As there's a reason for every coincidence.

Saturday night is the best moment for dispute. So I expressed my coincidence theory to an artist, who agreed on the fact that coincidence it's just an admission of ignorance. When we don't know why things happened, we blame it on casuality. But a world with no casuality is a world without free will. We believe we choose, just because we are too ignorant to admit that we are chosen.

A philosopher from Amsterdam, who just came over for this discussion, introduced us to the indetermination theorem of quantum mechanics. And told us that when I drink a whiskey, there is only a probability that I would get drunk. Only that the indetermination theorem always looked to me like a mathematical trick, like the solution of a sneaky integral (have you noticed that there is always a pi in the denominator?). To me it looks like we represent reality indeterministically because of the limits of our own mathematical tools. Again, it's our ignorance.
At the second whiskey the probability got higher, but no certainty of the event. In a world without free will, we are chained to ourselves, our desperation is useless and our intentions are corrupted. A weight far too heavy for a saturday night in Eindhoven. By coincidence we ended up in a english pub. At the end of the night, the event of drunkness occurred, but it was impossible to determine with high probability at which whiskey it occurred.

We are free.

Are you ready ?

It's here.

Recursion

A system can not know itself. As the Zen master said: a knife cannot cut itself. This statement is mathematically demonstrated by Gödel's theory, which is simplified by the Zen statement This sentence is false. That sentence cannot be true as it cannot be false. So what is it? I guess it's like, as the Zen master says, the sound of one clapping hand (*). The cause of the mechanism is the fact that the system is trying to act on itself. This is called recursion. An event, causes the same event, with different polarity, which causes again the same event, opening the doors for infinity and indetermination. Recursion.

I observed this phenomena happening also in less strict logical environment. It looks like, as soon as something or someone is talking about himself, the door is opened for decadence and decay. That's why I always doubt when people talk about themselves, and turn my head the other way around. The inner directed drive of recursion causes contradiction and implosion.

(*) What is the zen master doing with the other hand?

Taxes (in Italy)

Economia Italiana Un confronto tra CSX e CDX

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Goodbye / Esbjörn Svensson Trio ( EST ) - Carcrash

I like goodbyes. All the unspoken words, all the feelings popping up. Possibilities that will never become reality. A summer sunset, watched on a bike, on the way home. Tides of trepidation. Hesitation. And then the moment is gone.

- Shall we say goodbye?
- Yes. And tomorrow again.

Rita Botto- Stranizza d´Amuri

Cu tuttu ca fora si mori

Gassman recita

Quando la realtá supera la fantasia

Antonio Albanese

Lambs

4 weeks ago we went watching some goats. A farm was open to the public. As we were there, a goat gave birth to a lamb, just in front of our eyes. What a fantastic show!
- What a perfect timing!!!
- Yes great!
- In one month it's easter
- ...
- ...
- You bastard

Are you there?

Are you ready to give yourself completely?
It's coming, it's a matter of days now.

Libelle

I could not resist, so I bought an issue of Libelle. On the cover there was the invitation to "read now"the winning love story. So I did. A fantastic story, titled "Surprise!". A woman is afraid that her husband is cheating on her. So she goes to the hairdresser, and gets a fantastic new hairdo, feeling immediately much better. Actually her husband has preparred a fantastic surprise for her. He arranged for the kids to go to the grandparents, and for her to go shopping, with a huge budget, all day long. What a wonderful feeling! Everything is coronated by a weekend in Paris. The husband arranged this suprise as celebration of their 20th anniversary.

I read further, an article about a 3-star chef. "At the Gala Sergio was wearing just his jeans. Aha, I thought, he has character" - said his partner.

I solved their sudoku in 3 full minutes.

The 10 questions about plastic surgery were very interesting. "4. How can I prepare myself to surgery?" I did not look at the answers.

"Get rid of bad habits" was very instructive. Painting my nails with a disgusting paint will prevent me biting my fingers. I agreed that the best way for avoiding using interruptions as "you know", "sure", or "frankly" is to keep your own mouth shout. I dearly hoped this advice would be followed by a great community.

I enjoyed the Yoga facelift exercise, and I truly believe my wrinkles disappeared.

Are you there?

Are you there?
Are you ready?

It's coming right for you.

Christian Scott

I have put in the sidebar a last.fm radio, playing some Christian Scott. I like this trumpetist a lot. He is playing a simple and groovy jazz. with a great sound and a lot of interesting ideas. If you'll open the blog you'll hear it.

Il re del mondo

Ci tiene prigioniero il cuore

Guilty

So she came to my office and said she felt guilty about it, and that this was her first time she felt like that and she felt so confused.
- Feeling guilty is good. It means you care about it
- That's not really what I wanted to hear
- You don't come here to hear what you want to hear, do you?
-
- You need to be guilty to have good times. There's nothing more boring than innocence
- I should not do this to her.
- I'll take care of it

and then she left, came back, and left again....

Berlusconi is dead!

Here you can read more news about it.