Another cult movie is certainly “The Truman Show”: a very skilled Jim Carey is the unintentional protagonist of a show in fashion among the mass media…everything surrounding him is not real but constructed, a set of life where only the protagonist doesn’t know to be shot…to be part of a tv show. When he realizes it he’ll attempt an escape following love…he’ll cross a stormy sea…, will go beyond the horizon depicted on the backdrop at the edge of the set…. towards the nothing that represents for him the only way out …the escape from fiction!
Jim Carey redeems his life
Taking that reality as a hint I’d nearly be shot me too only to have the possibility to tell to the people I love: “thank you”, thank you for the memorable moments you gave me…when the joy was so great to burnst in unrestrainable laughs…the happiness of sharing a great love…. immense.
Till when I was three I still lived with both my adored parents, my mother Halina, my father Ingo and my sister Ala in a very beautiful two storied house in english style, many fireplaces, a big dark wooden staircase that linked the ground floor with the floor with the bed-rooms…Villa Sant’Andrea in Alassio…there, at the gate of entrance my father had my birth date written…in Hollywood style… april 24th 1953, Taurus ascendant Capricorn cusp Aquarius!
My parents in front of Villa Sant’Andrea
So I’d like that my father, my mother, my sister were participating looking at me from where they are now and I would be able to say them: “I love you…. And I’ll never forget you! …Do you remember when in the evening, near the staircase that went upstairs, you put me onto a tartan rug and, keeping it by the edges, you made me fly free from everything, free from gravity, from thoughts, from sorrows and anxieties…..Happy to be hanging in the air I was looking at you with love and thankfulness…with that act you wanted to signify to me all your wish to exceed every limit to give me a knowledge of freedom superior even to the existing earthly ties. I laughed heartily…I loved you a lot to have permitted me to fly since my childhood, to glide free……..thanks to you I’m still so!
Ala and Eli
I remember my sister Halina , Ala for we all, born in Swiss of the first wedding of my mother, stateless… she had seen me born when she was twelve and…as soon as I was grown enough to crawl my first steps, she took me in a room of the house all wood panelling and mirrors and here she danced on the wooden parquet for me: I adored her turns on the points, I went into ecstasies looking at the white cloud of her tutu, her brown hair in plaits long to reach the bottom, twirling as a top while an old gramophone was passing music from the needle to the loudspeaker…The Voice of the Master…
Jack the Voice
Green eyed, huge heart, a grapes mark under a knee, fleshy and sensuous lips…this was my sweet and much beloved sister Ala.
When the moon was round high in the sky in the moolight I had taught to my mother to address to our satellite a particular greeting bound to a silent desire: so, in the three nights of moonlight we were joint, the glance up towards the white shape in the sky: “good evening lady Moon, let me be happy” repeted three times and with a light bow of the head, a sort of curtsey, of homage to the lady of the time, the one who causes the tides to rise and the seeds to bud…who could have complied with our hopes, our wishes of a best life or…to have the chance to meet the ideal mate …well, a very special exhortation!
In the egyptian papyri there is the history of the birth of time, wanted by Thot , and it is closely bound to the Moon who cadences the days pushed in our world by Anubi the master keeper of the doors, it comes to delimit the time in the second earth. For the ancients there are two mirror-like worlds, two earths.
Tawi and Yalu
One, that from where we come, it’s without time and space then lacking in acoustics…silent… ours,” Tawi ” , has space and time then decay but is cheered up by the voice, the music, the echo.
It is specular to the earth of origin, a passage defined by time that flows in the space, a sort of school of life in which the mirror was considered by ancients an intermediary for the rejoining with their own essence, what makes reflect: it allowed the comunication with our own being in the other specular dimension in order not to forget who we really were…Often it happens to me to come home exhausted in the evening and not to recognize me in my image reflected…as if the proofs overcome during the day had marked my face’s features changing them, removing from it the light…With pertinacity I look for me in the mirror till to rejoin myself , with simple gestures I tidy my hair, I smooth the features of my face, moisten my lips taking them back to life, I smarten up till to find myself… to feel closely to be again myself even if not really quite…it suffices to see again myself nearly similar to my specular image and I don’t give up till I don’t recover it, till I don’t find in my glance the same light, the same communicativeness. However it would be a nonsense living without! But sometimes on my return I’m so exhausted and tired that is my mirror to say to me: “why don’t you shower first…so I steam up and don’t see you!”
…At a party in seventies fashion on the sea of Latium in a moonlight night I had made friends with a very beautiful top model swiss/english, Charlotte Vieli…the fact of being present in her surname had joined me to her even more….long fair hair, a vestal body, a fire glance, Charlotte knew very well what she wanted, she was independent at most and she didn’t allow overwhelmings. Friend of Donyale Luna , the most beautiful coloured top model of the moment, he had organized that moolight party in a roman theatre lit up for the occasion only by torches and …with mastery they had cooked sweets stuffed with “mary-jane” able to disinhibit even a sloth as me…..everybody had eaten them and we began to loose control of time and things!
The mother of us all Donyale Luna in Fellini’s Satyricon
Charlotte was intimately close to me, I felt her a sister a friend, I didn’t stand her as a rival even when Ettore looked at her as a prey…. “bring her to sleep with us this evening”…..he wanted this: to know her without knowing her, to leave to me the freedom of choosing his infidelity, his transgression. His superficiality saddened me but Charlotte didn’t see anything bad and at the end of the evening agreed with enthusiasm in following us in the house in Porto Ercole …….There laying on the bed….naked ….invited me to reach her without prejudices; Ettore was standing at the sides of the room looking…The long fair hairs of Charlotte were caressing my belly, her tongue was slipping into my nymphaes to give me pleasure, she lightly bit my clitoris keeping my legs opened ….to make me come……but when he tried to approach Charlotte lifted his head “leave us alone” said she peremptory “it’s not for you that I’m here”…..she had she-wolf-eyes in telling so, strange glares were lighting her face….magic Charlotte ….magic Moon, what a pity not having the possibility to clinch my dislike for that alienation.
I remember Ettore, vexed, leaving the room Charlotte’s laugh cheering up the incipient dawn…no, I hadn’t been betrayed that night, my friend was my friend and that’s enough.
But any exclusion is an imposition, it mines relationships if they are moreover already frail: it was of no help the circumstance of having been me the excluded of another evening when a friend of Ettore had secured him before my very eyes….she had took it to him lustfully in her mouth…looking at me with defiance. I had preferred going out in the night on the beach of Sabaudia…. a friend of ours’ house, protected under the promontory of San Felice Circeo was perfectly integrated in the landscape…the outer walls mingled with the rocks and the Moonlight light gave them elfin charm… ….I was looking around: the water of the sea was lapping on the small pier on the beach…it filled me with peace to be alone among those stones under that dark mountain, it is still true that it had been the house of the sorceress Circe, I was contemplating without desiring, without feeling resentment for the exclusion from plays to which I preferred sincerely to give up being not at all near my ideals…I didn’t wish to challenge anyone love him, yes and if it wasn’t possible to refrain from vulgarity better to refrain quite! Had you ever thought that ideali (ideals) are…ideas with ali (wings)!!! You should know how to let them fly…..
Maxfield Parrisch’s Circe San Felice Circeo’s cliff
Not all my lovers had had the skill to understand my freedom in refraining from the sexual intercorse when the mates chosen by them were not of my satisfaction. Maybe this had been possible only with Franco Rapetti.
In Capri with Franco, Rapage
Older than me, he was thirtyone when I met him at sixteen he put our friendship at the first level and it’s for this reason that it has lasted in the years…I would have always been his “little sparrow”…ready to make herself scarce when the companionship was not to her liking! How many adventures together…beginning from the evening of saturday 19th july 1969…we had all met at Rodolfo Parisi’s at Piazza dell’Orologio in Rome to watch on tv the live broadcast of the moon-landing of the space shuttle Apollo 11….” Tutta mia la città…un deserto che conosco …..” ( The town is all mine…..a desert that I know…..) the music of the Equipe 84 was perfect for that evening….coming back from the Tavern Flavia there wasn’t a single person around….everybody was shut up in his house to attend to the live broadcast ..in black and white ….what a bloody nuisance…..an endless wait till 4 and 17 minutes 43 seconds in the night when both the astronauts landed on the lunar soil.
The spaceship landing to the moon
Maybe was for the shots in studio really boring or for the television programme still in black and white but something was lacking…there was no pathos…everything seemed artificial…the shades of the flag opposite to those of Armstrong…somebody tells there wasn’t any moon-landing and the shots seen by millions of people were executed by the director Stanley Kubrick on the set of Huntsville, in Alabama….a tall story…in my opinion such a director wouldn’t have made on the set, using the lights, a slip so big as giving to the shades different angle-shots….Instead I ask: if there wasn’t gravity, why did the boots leave trails on the lunar soil?…
When the cinema was still mute in the year 1902 a great french director Géorgè Melies got under way the movie “Journey on the moon” and colouring by hand frame by frame he set the landing on our satellite with a lunar welcome committee formed by the dancers of the parisienne “Cafè Chantant”. Certainly less boring than the real moon-landing!
Play-bill of Géorgè Melies movie
That night waiting for the decisive first step on the Moon Rodolfo, Franco, Gigi Rizzi e Beppe Piroddi were killing the time playing with cards Singapore, a sort of JinRummy but with two packs of cards….a play like Teresina , for gambling houses, sailors and… card-sharpers! I was the only “little dunnock” that evening and I was admiring the handsomeness of my new friends, already playboys…really fine as a picture! Rodolfo, certainly the most elegant, was the financial supporter of the foursome, it was him who payed the bills when the band tightened its belt! Beppe and Gigi, certainly the most “machos”, famous above all for their love stories with important women : the first one for tearing up Odile Rodin from the great seducer Porfirio Rubirosa and Gigi for the intense love with the sex symbol Brigitte Bardot. Franco Rapetti , Rapage for the friends, of the zodiacal sign of the Leo, had the qualities to be the friend as ever, with him you could make love with the heart without fear to be hurt…we love each other all through the sexual intercorse and then we became friends again, mates of life, free…..he didn’t love to bind himself so he pursued relations with married women, as the splendid Myrta Barberini Sciarra, or with friends by a quite particular mentality, as me or Silvia Monti , who become my best friend and with whom I divided wonderful years whose memory I’ll always take in my heart.
Rapage, the great love of my youth, had a passion for art: from Vassily Kandinsky , Matta , Dalì to Jeronimus Bosh a journey backwards in time following his teachings in search of art as a mirror of culture….”little dunnock” he said to me
Palazzo Venier dei Leoni and Peggy’s private gondola
“are you in Venice? Go and see Palazzo Venier dei Leoni, the villa of Peggy Guggenheim…you know, she is a very important woman, wife of the surrealist painter Max Ernst, one of the few great women collectors… she has set up the homonymous Museum of Modern Art in New York and the day she opened it she was wearing one earring by Tanguy and one by Calder, to demonstrate impartiality between surrealism and abstractionism…”
Doubled picture of the throne in Peggy Guggenheim’s garden just to allow the reading of
the inscription: “The shape disappear, but hers root is eternal”
Thanks to you Rapage , since I was young, I discovered that immediacy of colours on the canvas reaches heart and mind through the senses and transmits directly without the aid of words: the sensations are those that add nogs of knowledge to our spirit who, reassured, let him lead to a life with best meanings. In the garden of Palazzo Venier dei Leoni have lied since 1979 the remains of Peggy Guggenheim together with those of her most beloved dogs….
Peggy Guggenheim in Venice
Peggy Guggenheim rests near hers” beloved babies”
Franco’s bedroom in Rome in via Paisiello was all in chinese dark lacquer, the ceiling entirely tiled by mirrors reflected a bed king size covered by a warm blanket in guanaco…it gave a feeling of safety, it seemed to enter in the mother belly and here be able to play with one’s own twin. I liked raising my eyes to the ceiling while making love: it exalted me admiring his body while he arched to possess me to the bottom…to see him rejoicing and receiving his semen that I spread on my belly…with my hands I covered every inch of my skin with that marvellous milk…then….I looked for the spring to absorb every remaining drop in a love sign grateful for all the pleasure received….
Pier Paolo Pasolini’s movie
I’ve loved a lot, in Pasolini’s movie “I racconti delle mille e una notte”(The tales of Arabian nights) the scene where two youngs fall asleeped together after having made love and….during the night her hand descend on his tummy to preserve his so much beloved…..what a lot of love and carnality in that gesture….he keeps on sleeping while she protects both’s dreams …..
Tii Ki from Marchesi’s Iland sent by Hereity
have a look inside the comments at the Maori’s story