Palazzi e Giardini

www.inritum.com

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"Men often deal with their princes in a similar way as with their God, since after all the Prince was often God's representative, or at least his high priest. This almost uncanny feeling of reverence and fear and shame had, and has, become much weaker, but sometimes it flares up and attaches to powerful people generally. Worship of the genius is an echo of this reverence for gods and princes. Wherever one endeavors to elevate individual men to the superhuman, the tendency also exists to imagine whole classes of people as rougher and more base than they really are."

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poetry in motion self-evident

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Et si nous partions éclairés devant Avec une chance de rester vivants Laisse moi te suivre Laisse moi m'enfuir Nous étions forts Nous étions grands Est-ce que tu veux encore de moi Est-ce qu'on s'aimera encore longtemps Quand on sera vieux ou bien mort J'ai peur pour toi J'ai peur de moi

J'attends mon âge avec toi Et sauve moi encore aide moi Et embrasse moi encore À nouveau

On a changé le lit de place On l'a vidé avant que tu m'effaces Je me rappelle de ton sommeil Je me rappelle de ton réveil Maintenant qu'ils sont fauchés et tous morts On ne parlera plus jamais à Dieu

J'attends mon âge J'attends que tu m'embrasses J'attends la vie J'attends que tu m'embrasses

Indochine - Little Dolls

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folk it. folk it all folk it all the way, yeah i love it! my dear folk bunker

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For all organisms, then, opposing and obliterating power is evil—it threatens to stop experience. But men are truly sorry creatures because they have made death conscious. They can see evil in anything that wounds them, causes ill health, or even deprives them of pleasure. Consciousness means too that they have to be preoccupied with evil even in the absence of any immediate danger; their lives become a meditation on evil and a planned venture for controlling it and forestalling it. The result is one of the great tragedies of human existence, what we might call the need to "fetishize" evil," to locate the threat to life in some special places where it can be placated and controlled. It is tragic precisely because it is sometimes very arbitrary: men make fantasies about evil, see it in the wrong places, and destroy themselves and others by uselessly thrashing about.

Ernest Becker, Escape from Evil

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Counting years. Then decades. Time pass, time will pass... You grow older. Missing out, and somehow, you miss out again and again. And you will, miss out again. If you only knew what is to count centuries... and somehow, life still fresh...

[metropolitancrocodileliving]

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My Kind of Mourning

There are different longings. Such as mourning for who hadn't passed away. This longing is not worst, is not easier. It is just, strange. There should be a word, for the ghost, not from a dead inanimate carcas. But from the living and yet jovial body that is still alive, however the person is forever gonne.

This is strange. Different from death caused. It is paradoxal. This kind of longing and mourning, that make you comprehend, that at least in actual death that isn't betrayal. It is a note about humans and some of their tragic eco errors. 20-apr-2026

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If I had money enough to spend And leisure time to sit awhile There is a fair maid in this town That sorely has my heart beguiled. Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips I own she has my heart in thrall Then fill to me the parting glass Good night and joy be with you all.

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I paid a flying visit to my first and only love She's as white as any lily, gentle as a dove And she threw her arms around me, saying Johnny I love you still Ah, she's now a farmer's daughter and the pride of Spancil Hill

I dreamt I knelt and kissed her as in the days of yore Ah, Johnny you're only joking as many the time before Then the cock he crew in the morning, he crew both loud and shrill I awoke in California, many miles from Spancil Hill