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Post n°22 pubblicato il 30 Giugno 2007 da uglyqueenmab
Non riesco a far finta di niente. La felicitá del momento viene subito inghiottita da un senso di impotenza alla quale posso solo piegarmi. Ultimamente in questa mia testolina frullano tante cose, troppe cose. Ma quella che mi dá piú fastidio é la mancanza ... di tutto quello che al momento é mio ma che fra poco non lo sará piú. É un sentimento strano, mi ha accompagnato per tutta la vita. A volte lo adoro, altre non lo sopporto. Per quanto ne so ora vorrei solo strapparlo dalla mente, da questo cuore che ogni tanto si fa sentire. Ancora un’altra Marlboro rossa, i polmoni bruciano e soffocano, peró fumo, fumo di continuo. É l’unica cosa che mi viene di fare ... cosí come consiglia Freddie “When you’re feeling down and resistance is low Light another cigarette and let yourself go”
… mi sento cosí ipocrita. Rido di quelli pieni di paranoie che si lamentano di quanto inutile sia la loro esistenza, e poi mi ritrovo a fare la stessa cosa. In fondo ognuno ha diritto a sentirsi un pó come il centro di tutto l’Universo. Ma rimango dell’idea che quella dell’esistenzialismo sia una tendenza ormai scontata. Anche se sta alle radici della nostra natura umana. “Ashamed to be human” Ben detto Kurt. |
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“La vita umana é un continuo
oscillare tra il dolore e la noia”
Schopenhauer
CERCA IN QUESTO BLOG
The Hollow Men
I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
(T. S. Eliot, 1925)
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