- And do you feel yourself more italian or romanian? –
– Neither, I’m a nomad. –
(Dialogue in a snowy night at ACU (Utrecht), Winter 2015)
But what I know?
Who I am, I don’t know well it yet.
I mean, I have an idea, sure, but it is still in endless change…
And I see all my old incarnations slide away…far, far.
I don’t have yet a stable idea, but step by step it is taking a form.
And I see all my fears burn like scarecrows.
I take more distance from a compliance that I don’t understand,
that seems to devour my peers bite after bite, night after night.
I see them lose themselves and sink into a indolence of the thinking that becomes little by little intolerable for me,
these embroideries of a presumed normality close my throat.
This paths of fake freedom, walked hundreds and thounsands times, in circle, because in truth they are little gardens, shop windows staged with certainties, by who don’t desire nothing (of this) and had yet accepted everything.
I discover again the simple and cheerful me, that we can be happy everywhere there is still the music, the chitchat and the wine.
That everything can be changed, dismantled, reassembled, rebuilt.
That nothing is already written.
That you can discover, change, add, without loose yourself.
But this city, after a while, like always, clasps to me.
All it’s the same.
Words, words, words….and then a fuckin’ nothing changes.
Same people, same things, same paranoia, same stories.
They stagnant like in a endless loop.
The water’s level that step by step increases, submerging everything, from Torre Maura to San Basilio, from Centocelle to Laurentino.
And I can’t see myself, I can’t find my place in this play.
I think that somebody has forgotten to write my part.
And out from Rome? Even worse.
The favourite activity of the almost thinking italian person, 30 years old on the average, it’s to correct, criticize and laugh of what others express.
The problem is that something changed in me, inside me, I mean that I can’t see things in the same way.
I have no more will to find a deal in the middle.
It changed in a heightened “but, just to know it, who fuck asked your opinion?” together with “but don’t you have nothing better to do in your life than interfere into my business? No, because I can reassure you that if you turn your eyes to something else, and start to change for real, the things in your life, you will find that you don’t have time for this…you will not have even the will to do it, ’cause you will have too many better things to do”
You are boring and steril, you are going rotten looking for an answer that you don’t have to find, but you have to build it.
The problem of this country is not the politic, isn’t even the crisis, it’s the mental laziness, the indolence, the belief that the best you can do is the “Maybe-the-less-horrible”, is a cancer that eats you from inside.
No one wants from you big heroic actions, but something really more easy and useful.
To discover again unknown paths, for example, to change something sometime, not in the world, in your head, in your life.
Just for once let behind all the grey certainties of “but I know that I’m better than you”, of your fuckin’ comfort zones, because in this way it’s very, too much, easier.
To find always the wrong side in what others do, think, try.
To act like this means to illude yourself that you are thinking, without never put yourself in the game, it is to hide yourself behind a (accuser) finger.
And it doesn’t give me anger o fear anymore.
So, do you know?
I say bye and leave.
I don’t know.
But I go to dream something better, to built something better, to laugh, to drink, to make love, to write, to sing with too loud voice unpolite music, even if I’m off-key, that in the end who cares?
I go to discover something different, to do all that things that inside you envy to me, I go to find out too much bright mornings and too much full of everything nights, I go to fall in love, to find beautiful what and who I think is beautiful, to love someone that you think is wrong.
To eat lollipops in the middle of the night, to travel without a destination, to free desires and sensations chained for a too long time, to make a fire in the middle of the desert with all our fears, our indecisions and all the expectations from our good and polite persons.
To find myself beautiful a morning after a terrible drunk night.
To don’t pretend never again of to be another girl.
To be happy, to be me.
ΕΜΕΙΣ ΟΙ ΛΙΓΟΙ
Είμαστε εμείς οι ονειροπαρμένοι τρελλοί της γης
με τη φλογισμένη καρδιά και τα έξαλλα μάτια.
Είμαστε οι αλύτρωτοι στοχαστές και οι τραγικοί ερωτευμένοι.
Χίλιοι ήλιοι κυλούνε μες στο αίμα μας
κι ολούθε μάς κυνηγά το όραμα του απείρου.
Η φόρμα δεν μπορεί να μας δαμάσει.
Εμείς ερωτευτήκαμε την ουσία τού είναι μας
και σ’ όλους μας τους έρωτες αυτήν αγαπούμε.
Είμαστε οι μεγάλοι ενθουσιασμένοι κι οι μεγάλοι αρνητές.
Κλείνουμε μέσα μας τον κόσμο και δεν είμαστε τίποτα απ’
αυτόν τον κόσμο.
Οι μέρες μας είναι μια πυρκαγιά κι οι νύχτες μας ένα πέλαγο.
Γύρω μας αντηχεί το γέλιο των ανθρώπων.
Είμαστε οι προάγγελοι του χάους.
Γιωργος Μακρής (1950)
We, the few.
It’s us, the insane romanticized of this earth
with our fiery hearts and frantic eyes.
We, the unredeemed thinkers and tragicly smitten with.
A thousand suns run into our veins
we, the always chased by the vision of the vast.
We, the non taken by formal controls.
The ones who fell in love with the essence of their being
and which in all of their loves, they still fall for.
We, the overlly excited and proudly refusing.
Holding the whole world inside us, and being nothing of it.
Daylight is our blaze and nightime is our sea.
Echoeing laughter, all around us.
We, the heralds of chaos.
Giorgos Makris, (1950) ]