Entangled relation

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Entangled relation
Diego CIbelli
writers
Lilli Messina . Roberta Colavecchio . Antonia Stasi . Francesca La Rocca . Roberto Terraciano . Nina Ferrante . Max Andersen . Alessandra
Cianelli .
illustrators
Debora Califri . Giuseppina Maria Cozzolino
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introduction
The different stories presented in this book ‘ Entangled
Relation ’ are ispired by the topic of the ‘Shifting Cultivation’.
Starting with the ‘format’ of the Shifting Cultivation the
tales are based on two pre-emptive assumptions: the
relational nature of collaboration, and the paradoxical
nature of thought as a relation with difference in itself; as
such, collaboration cannot be other than thought.
The basic question addressed in the stories is how to
think (and therefore collaborate with) difference, how to
draw a rhythmic nexus out of this encounter.
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White Between Blackness
And at the beginning stays the end.
As the day to the night.
As the White to the Black.
And as the head to the tail.
But this head is a head without a tail.
The head eats his tail, swallows it with only one bite of his
serrated
Jaws, thinks, the tail would follow him, burst through his
inner and once again
spring out.
But it isn´t so...
And the tail remains eaten and the head remains tainless.
And the tainless head cries. And the crying tainless head
thinks:
Once I was a head with a tail, once I was turning around
and my true
fellow followed.
But now...
What´s the use of a head without a tail?
Who bathes in my light?
Who do I offer my shadow?
And the head eats his tail and togetherness leads to loneliness.
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And the head eats his tail and loneliness leads to emptiness.
And the head eats his tail and emptiness leads to blackness.
And where blackness is, there is no being.
And where no being is, there is no life.
And where no life is, remains only the death.
And the lonely tainless head rots and dies.
And as the death is the nothingness, the dead head in the
nothingness thinks:
A head without a tail is nothing.
And nothing is empty as death.
And the death is as black as the night.
And the night is as stiff as the rest.
And the dead head rests and hardens to stone.
Stiff and inanimated, as black as the death and as restful
as the night.
And the blackness in him becomes to blackness around.
And the Earth´s core inside pulls, and Earth outside pushes,
and the stony head tightens.
rotund as a star, Fruitless and deserted and stiff like wasteground.
Cold ash lays over him, and the tainless head rests.
Closer to the Black than to the White.
Closer to nothing than to the being.
And the dead stony head thinks:
Once I was a head with a skull.
Once I was a skull made of bones.
Once I was bones, made of pure white stardust.
And once I was shiny and once I was bright.
And now...
Now I am black and now I am matt.
And the matt dead head thinks:
But where Black is, there must be White. Like the day to
the night.
And where White comes upon Black, where the dry meets the wet,
where black rain the white light, a rainbow breaks through,
between the earth and the sky.
And a rainbow is colored.
And colours are variety.
And variety is plentyness.
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And plentyness is life.
And the dead head revives.
The inanimated becomes animated.
And the dead head blooms.
And the blooming head thinks:
Thinks the head, is the head.
Lilli Messina
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Octopus and the Thin Tellin or
The Eternal Return of the Nascent Estate
“ ‘Once upon a time’, that’s how fables always start” - Octopus thinks, while turning the pages of his pop-up book
of fairy tales. “Once upon a time”. Indeed, the figures
popping up, and out, from the pages seem to be so near
in time and space. They seem to be here, now. He can
touch them, he can feel them with the sensors of his electrical tentacles. “Look!”, Octopus says to himself, to his
figure reflected on the black mirror of his tablet, “you can
do the same on this screen. Creating new worlds. Building
them up with your electrical touch. Fish, sand, ocean floors, ships sailing the surface of the floating waves, green
and blue, and black too.”
Octopus tries to turn his tablet on. Once upon a time,
stories were written and sketched in ink, worlds and their
inhabitants popped up from sheets of paper. But now…
but he… he belongs to another generation, when and
where electricity, instead of ink, goes from the tentacles
to the sea, to sketch out new worlds, to impress and express new words, like holograms floating from the screens
toward the liquid reality of the ocean, and backwards.
The tablet does not work. Octopus can’t turn it on. That’s
because it’s out of power and it needs a charger to come
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back to life… Energy is a matter of cooperation, of exchange and connection. Octopus can’t find the charger, so he
decides to buy a new one. “There is a pop-up store selling
mobile devices near here, just behind the barrier reef. I’ll
swim till the relict of the old wrecked ship, I’ll be there in
two shakes of a fish’s fin… oops… better to say, in eight
shakes of an octopus’ tentacles.”
Octopus swims till the relict of the old wrecked ship, then
he turns the barrier reef and here it is: DELICACIES – MOBILIZE YOUR DESIRE, the neon sign says. A thin tellin is
fitting the shop window with chocolate and tablets, candies and smartphones, lollipops and ultrabooks. “Thank
God you’re still here! I was afraid I would not find you
anymore. One can never know when the shop is moving!”
Octopus is really happy, because it’s not easy to find the
same shop at the same place again. Flash retailing: stores disappear as fast and unexpectedly as they pop up!
“Hi ya! Here we are, still and again! The shop was meant
to stay until next week…but actually it’s going to move
tomorrow”, the thin tellin says. “Oh, really? So, I’m a very
lucky mollusc!” Octopus exclaims. “Yes, you are! Just in
time! Didn’t you hear about the campaign for pollution
and the emergency evacuation plan? The sea is too dirty
and dangereous for our survival and that of the marine
flora, so the Sea League has announced the evacuation
plan and a selection of projects for the proposal of new,
smarter ways of inhabiting the sea, for reinventing a new
one where to move and live. The contest is called SMART
SEAS. In the meantime, we all have to escape somewhere
else!” the thin tellin says. Octopus remembers his fairy
tale book, the figures popping up from the pages, the
world of magic and imagination, of dream and desire,
exceeding the pages and floating together with the waves
of its real world of water and filtered light. “That’s why
I’m here!” he exclaimes to the thin tellin. “To buy a charger, a piece of wire that can help me revive my tablet and
connect to it so that we can start up a new world!” The
thin tellin smiles, her shell click-clacking, both amused
and perplexed: “What are you saying, Octopus? I can’t
understand you!” “I need a charger to power my tablet.
I want to turn it on and play with it, I want to touch the
worlds we can build together, I want to augment the sea
we’re living in with all our real imagination. And now, you
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tell me about this emergency plan, and about this selection of proposals for a new world. Come on, tellin! Come
out of your shell! Stop moving from place to place with
this same changing store popping up hither and thither!”
“I’m very (am)used to move from place to place, from sea
to sea… I pop up with the store everytime we move. And
I think it’s funny!”, the thin tellin answered back. “Funny?
Moving a temporary shop from sea to sea? Following
the stream’s currents? Seasonally changing with them?
What about your desires? I want to propose you a new
temporariness!”, Octopus incites. “A new temporariness?
I’m okay with the flexibility I learned popping up with(in)
this shop. It changes everytime we move. The stuff inside
changes, too. So, now we sell delicacies, both foods and
technologies. Other times, we had books and clothes,
plants and shoes… it’s not boring, Octopus. Believe me! I
love this flexibility! I change everytime I move. I’m mobile
too!” the thin tellin insists. “Plus, now that the Sea League
is asking us to move away from these polluted waters, it’s
not shocking for me! I’ve nothing to pack, being my shell
my only home.”
“You know, tellin? There is the possibility to keep moving
from place to place, from sea to sea, from this ocean floor
to many other ones, but in a smarter way: by learning to
be resilient, while feeling at home everywhere. Resilience
is about springing back to an original form after it’s been
squeezed or stretched. It is about desiring the changement you perform in mobility. Pop-up stores allow you to
explore different places and seas, while selling the stuff
someone wants you to sell. At the end of the day your
shell is your home: the door locked, you are your only
host. Why don’t you join me in a start-up project? It’s
temporary too, I mean, it’s changing. It’s inventive and it’s
ours! It is about evolving, growing, exploring and sharing desire! That’s the moment to start up a new world!
Better than the one we live in now, cleaner and smarter,
sustainable and resilient! Let’s collect the forces and do
project an app for clearing our oceans. Let’s contaminate
waters with other energies: love and careness. Let’s make
a team, a smart, plural, synergetic team! Let’s reconcile
our creativity and desires with those of the machines.
Let’s become all together desiring machines! Maybe a
smart sea is possible!” The thin tellin takes a charger from
the shelf and takes Octopus by his third tentacle. “Let’s
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go home and turn your tablet on. Let’s take your pop-up
book from the shelf. Let’s eject all inks for the writing of
a new story. I share my experience as a traveler who has
seen so many places, who has filtered so many sediments
in the sand of so many ocean floors.” “I’ll put the force of
all my tentacles, and all the smartness of my short- and
long-term memory.” Octopus says. Technology will do its
part in the starting up of a shared, resilient, eternal movement of return of the nascent estate.
GLOSSARY
Octopus – it is a mollusc, with two eyes and eight arms,
called ‘tentacles’. Octopuses are amongst the most intelligent and behaviorally flexible of all invertebrates. They
inhabit many diverse regions of the ocean, including coral
reefs, pelagic waters, and the ocean floors. They have
numerous strategies for defending themselves against
predators, including the expulsion of ink, the use of camouflage and deimatic displays, their ability to jet quickly
through the water, and their ability to hide. Octopuses
have a relatively short life expectancy, with some species
living for as little as six months. Problem-solving experiments have shown evidence of a memory system that can
store both short- and long-term memory.
Tellin – tellin is a species of marine mollusc, hermaphroditic or bisexual. It is found off the coasts of north west Europe and in the Mediterranean Sea where it lives buried
in sandy sediments. It burrows in clean or slightly muddy
sand and has a large foot and two long siphons which it
extends to the surface of the sediment. The longer one
gropes around for organic debris which is drawn down
to the mollusc through this si phon while water is espelle
through the other. It is both a deposit and a filter feeder.
Pop-up Store – flash retailing, a trend of opening shortterm sales spaces. The trend involves popping up one day,
then disappearing anywhere from one day to several weeks later. There shops, while small and temporary, can build up interest by consumer exposure. Pop-up retail allows
a company to create a unique environment that engages
their customers and generates a feeling of relevance and
interactivity. They are often used my marketers for seasonal items such as Halloween costumes, Christmas gifts
and trees, fireworks…
To pop up means to appear suddenly from below, like pa-
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ges that rise when opened to simulate a three-dimensional form or windows suddently appearing over or above
the open window on a computer screen.
Start-up – it is a business in the form of a company, a
partnership or temporary organization designed to search
for a repeatable and scalable business model. These companies, generally newly created, are in a phase of development and research for markets. Conversely than small
business, implementing a well-known existing strategy,
start-ups explore unknown or innovative business models
in order to disrupt existing markets. They are characterized by uncertainty and instability. They essentially
go from failure to failure in an effort to learn from each
failure and discover what does not work in the process of
searching for a repeatable, high growth business model.
They are designed to grow fast: the value of a start-up
rests entirely on its future growth potential.
To start up means to come or cause to come into being
for the first time, originate; to spring or jump suddenly
from a position or place; to set in or go into motion, activity, etc.
Roberta Colavecchio
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The eternal Nexus,
and the scar of the missed encounter
Remember “I never perish but I’m never the same. I’m an
endless flow.”
My alarm goes off, it’s 6.30AM. I wake up in agitation;
sweat is running down my temples, a sort of metadata
breakage has gone through. Something interfered with
my brain-board. Again…
I feel the weight of my past following me everywhere. I
can’t run away, not even in my dreams.
I must get through this, once and for all. What am I scared
of?
Nexus’ words resonate in my head incessantly. I thought I
had got over it. Perhaps, as a coward: data- brain quarantine.
It always comes back, just in a different way. How is that
possible? I can’t delete it. It won’t go. Why? Why can’t I
get past it?
I killed Nexus. That’s the reason why. I’m scared to face
the truth at the other end of the stick waiting for me.
“This has happened many times… the energy won’t be
lost, ever” Nexus used to say.
I’ve never understood what it meant. But now I think I
might. I guess it referred to its potential contagion. Or did
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it? It had never crossed my mind that Nexus would have
haunted me.
Cyber-organisms, I thought, were toys. I was too young to
deal with such a responsibility.
But I did blame myself. I missed it; I didn’t make it on
time.
Wired up, I reset and update my bio-software. I’m back to
my homeostatic levels. I check my remote storage driver.
Here it is. I open the folder PAST, I encrypt it and close it.
I’m safe now. Firewalls, anti-malware and anti-virus software are all running. I can’t believe after all this time it is
still clinging onto my system. Why is this? I must resolve
this riddle.
****
It feels different though. Each time, I’m changed. I can’t
define it. It’s like Nexus is infecting my system without
corrupting it. It’s not a vicious alteration; it’s more like an
unexpected generative process whose outcome I’m not
able to define. What’s it trying to tell me?
I plug the data-chip about cyber-plants into my brain to
extend my research. I’m quivering while I’m reopening my
PAST folder.
I scan trough everything, different processes are on at the
same time; I don’t feel safe.
I get lost into images of the past, recordings and academic
definitions about cyber-organisms. My childhood, my first
chip, the seed of Nexus planted, the video of the missed
encounter. I’m smiling with my friends. Everything goes
fragmented. Death. Overload. “Go back to right levels!”
It’s not responding. Security warning…
****
5 hours later I find myself crouched down on the floor. I
had passed out.
I’ve got an excruciating headache.
I open my eyes, but I’m still wired up. All I see is Nexus
under the bright springy sunshine. Its colours are unbelievable, from a silver purple to indigo, it changes according
to the position of the sun, getting touches of crimson and
emerald at times. Its scent is so sweet, a mixture of citruses, flowers and vanilla. I will never forget that perfume.
It takes me straight back to my early days.
The images move quickly backward in time.
I’m smiling, happy as ever. I had waited patiently for 3
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weeks to see the little seed changing shape and piercing
through the vitaminized soil. I had watered it every two
days, according to the instructions, left it in the sun for 2
hours in the morning and under the nurturing lamp for
1, every night. My mum had got it for me to teach me
about collaboration, she said.
“Honey, the seed needs you along with the little bioevolving chip and all the elements like the sun, the water,
the soil and… it’s a question of collaboration. Do you
understand? It’s not a toy like the others. If one of you
guys misses the encounter when needed, Nexus would
change its flow and you might not see him again in the
same shape.”
****
“Are you a special flower?”
“Me? I’m Nexus, that’s what I am.”
“What do you mean? Is that your name?”
Gosh, I had forgotten everything about it. Now I understand. I had been scared for ages to go back to my past.
I learnt how to put my folders in quarantine when I was
only 8. When you put your folders in quarantine you forget about what’s in it. It tricks the brain, that’s its purpose.
Even if Nexus has been able to infect my system, every
time, I had been able to keep everything hidden.
That’s it now! With my eyes wide open again, I start from
the very beginning; from my mum’s words.
Open search engine. Search for collaboration. Collocation found. Definition: the creation of a nexus. A ‘togetherness’ of occasions of experience, a participation of
elements where every actual entity, is the temporary
singular ‘encapsulation’ of many different and diverging
potentials .
“The creation of a nexus?? Nexus!!
No way! its name…
Hallucinations. Nexus again is rubbing against my optic
nerve. I see it.
“ You took your time. “
“What? This isn’t real. It can be you. I killed you!”
“I can’t die. My life is a transformative curve.”
We are all part of a collaborative nature, of a bigger
nexus. We never dissolve. We just change. We are potential, energy flow, that at times become resilient. We
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influence each other into different directions. I was a
resilient being that now has changed its configuration. I
don’t exist in the same shape but my energy is still going
around in an endless flow. I was born from a potentiality.
I took my configuration thanks to you and the elements.
You guided me into that direction.
I was the result of a generative collaboration.
“I don’t understand. That day I forgot about you. The sun
burnt all of your constituents. I found you lifeless, the
chip was discharged, and…”
“Mother Earth kept my nutrients and made food out of
me for the constitution of other beings. My chip sent
a scarring virus into your metadata at the moment you
found me out and realized you had missed our encounter.
That was not my act. I can’t stop anything from flowing
and changing and collaborating. That scar was only to tell
you the secret of the silence of transformation that lies
upon every being. It was my way to tell you that I still exist, I do in you, in the soil and in every little thing around.
But at the same time that’s not me anymore.”
“ We are contagions. Whatever kind of living organism we
are. You are the product of collaboration, you are a nexus
too. You are being resilient, the “temporary singular ‘encapsulation’ of many different and diverging potentials”.
Soon your energy will change its shape. I’m guiding you.
Like me, you will fight to perpetuate your flow without
even realizing it.”
I see the flashing lights of the recovering chamber. Doctors and programmers are working on me at the same
time. I open my eyes, from above I see my body on a
stretcher. My brain-board will be reprogrammed, they
say, to be implanted along with my eyes into another
being. My lungs will be kept into a self-evolving solution
to experiment the latest technology on breathing and my
heart will be held in reserve for a month connected to
a pumping appliance and after being restored it will be
donated to a patient of this branch.
Collaboration and change.
I laugh. Nexus freed my energy. I’m ecstatic, and on the
move, again and again…
Antonia Stasi
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A paper puddle
When I was a little girl, I would often go to my uncle’s
a-telly. I called it like that because I could not pronounce
that French word the grown-ups said. It was an enchanted place, packed with all things strange, coloured objects
looking like mechanical harlequins, space indian totems
from another galaxy. It was a a world of shapes, pure shapes: it was like standing in a funny Eucleadean geometry
book. Spheres, cubes, zigzag lines.
And yet, when I was there, drawing on my scrapbook on
his desk, my uncle would tell me that those shapes were
not really real, they were abstraction, that is, they were
rules of repetition humans learned from nature, they exited the natural thing and entered another object.
The evident proof was in my doodles: the blue sun i drew,
my mom’s and daddy’s eyes in the same size of their
mouth, pink trees and yellow meadows. It was just a matter of time, he said, and those abstraction would return to
nature. My uncle explained to me that his job was getting
those abstract objects grow in something else. Planets are
round, the Earth is round, yet it is not a perfect sphere,
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and probably a perfect sphere does not exist in nature.
And yet it can serve as the base of a cup or it is the empty
belly of a teapot. It was just a matter of time: that shape,
that sphere, that cone or pyramid was a reincarnation of
abstract objects and archeologists could guess what time
and whose civilization that object belonged to, beyond a
shadow of the doubt. That concrete object was made of
different matters and ideas, eternal ideas, that just like skrews and linchpins kept together the matter of the thing
in a certain composition, it worked like a signature of the
times.
“See, my dear” he told me once “ideas are waves, they do
not move horizontally, but up and down rhythmically: it
looks like water is moving but its surface is not. Have you
ever tried to throw a stone in a pond? the leaf resting on
the surface does not follow the ripple, it rather stays or
drifts gently in other directions. So are ideas, they travel
through people and return to the object. For example,
when I was young, me and other people like me whose
job is to imagine new things, thought that glossy was the
quality of future things, so we stole the gloss and the
glare from the honey and the water and brought them
to almost everything: cloths, furniture, cars. But again,
it was just a matter of time. That ripple had just passed
from hand to hand, from heart to heart, from head to
head, from one object to another. When people meet,
just like ripples in a pond or a puddle coming from different stones, they create other ripples, a different set of
waves with different patterns, different ideas. So my you
young lady, forget about heroes and geniuses, they deserve being celebrated only because they organize things
so that they propagate and repeat like waves, they melt
things, they take eternal objects and make them mortal
for the mortals”.
Those obscure words echoed in his a-telly. That place was
the puddle where those waves became everyday things,
that transformed themselves in the houses of who bought them or found them: they were born all the same,
well not exactely the same...if you know what I mean.
Then they turned into many other things: a gift, a roman-
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tinc thought, an unwanted present. A mug is also its sharp
vein from a violent argument, and the glue of peacemaking. I remember that magic place like that: a lamp
hanging on my uncle’s desk like the leg of a spider, pencils and brushes in all shapes and sizes, coloured cryons,
scattered sketches, seeming to resonate in a harmony of
mathematical precision. A math I couldn’t grasp the sense
of, if not today, when I see that place form afar with my
memory’s eyes.
At times, my attention was caught mainly by a book
showing the rims of certain polaroid photos. Well it is not
a book, rather a diary, a scrapbook where he wrote down
everything he was thinking of and reading about meticulously. Polaroids were the stone he threw into that paper
puddle. That book, filled with thoughts and quotations,
was a machine that produced the ideas my uncle gave
to the industry so that they could be brought materially
into our world. Here they are, his polaroids from Sardinia,
Paris and Nepal. But let me share with you some of his
notes...
ATTRAZIONE MEDITERRANEA
…una reazione alle materie lucide e cellophanizzate del
1920, ai vestiti di lamè, alle brillantine, agli smalti delle
automobili (…) nasce un certo amore per tutto quello che
è mediterraneo …è un amore per tutte le cose fatte con le
mani e corrose nei secoli, dal sole e dalle sabbie bollenti;
amore per i colori violenti e vecchi, per le materie dolci e
granulose, per le paste tenere e fragili (67)
SARDEGNA 1950: Sardegna meridionale, pianeggiante.
Le case sono costruite in mattoni crudi di fango e paglia e
naturalmente non si può dire che siano case solide. Non è
raro che le inondazioni le facciano sparire sciogliendole…
Il ramo di gerani rosa che il miserabile accattone dell’isola di Sant’Antioco ha piantato sopra l’ingresso bianco di
calce della grotta che è la sua abitazione è una specie
di avvertimento: l’architettura può essere fatta di poco,
di molto poco, purché questo poco sia tutto quello che
gli uomini devono avere per non dimenticarsi di esse-
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re uomini e niente altro… la miseria che non vuol dire
pessimismo e non vuol dire melancolia ma anche serenità
e freschezza… legare una sedia a un muro per metterci
sopra dei fiori (52-58)
MATERA 1956: La casa, la grotta più oscura del più povero abitante di Matera è un congegno infinitamente più
complicato e raffinato di un superbombardiere o di una
portaerei… Più complicato e più raffinato perché più misterioso e più magico. Perché la tecnica dell’architettura
è la tecnica della magia : in essa giocano tutte insieme le
carte umane dalla pazzia al sesso, dalle lacrime ai sorrisi,
dalle emozioni ai ragionamenti. (98)
FILICUDI 1988: Quando comincia il giorno, all’alba, l’isola
di Filicudi è soffocata da tonnellate bollenti di luce solare,
è come schiacciata da strati di miliardi di watt di luce che
bruciano le erbe, gli animali, i sassi… Su tutto il mediterraneo e su tutta l’Africa del Nord, giù fino ai deserti sahariani e su tutta l’Asia Minore fino ai deserti bassi dell’Iraq
e dell’Iran e su tutti i lunghi, interminabili deserti a nord
dell’Himalaia…la luce dell’immensa lampadina del sole
arriva senza filtri, precipita senza pietà, acceca gli occhi,
brucia i polmoni, violenta i corpi, impedisce la vita… ombra oscurità, tenebre immobili, asfissianti, sembra fossero
una specie di visione continua attraverso la vita quotidiana… una specie di luogo ottico da cercare possedere e
non abbandonare mai. (356-360)
UNA TECNICA MICIDIALE
I giapponesi hanno lavorato alla materia molto più di
quanto abbiano fatto i mediterranei in millenni, fino ad
arrivare ad un risultato astuto e teso, molto più liscio e
lucido che non il cellophane o il cromo degli anni ’20.
Basta guardare i legnetti dove si arrotolano in quadri dei
giapponesi e come sono fissati i nastri per legare il rotolo
e poi l’astuccio per metterci il rotolo: si capisce che tutto
questo è un affare di tecnica arrabbiata e micidiale, dove
non resta più niente di naturale, dove il sole e la pioggia e
tutte le altre cose misericordiose di questo mondo, queste grossolane e immediate cose misericordiose si dimenticano subito …
… e gli americani del primo Novecento hanno scelto
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giusto quando hanno scelto l’Oriente invece del Mediterraneo, perché da americani dovevano trovare un fondo
folkloristico che continuasse a funzionare con il mito
meccanicistico (68)
TRA FRANCOFORTE E TORONTO 1991: Mi viene in mente
che più nascono le città, più spuntano case ovunque sul
pianeta, più siamo chiusi in mezzo ai muri e più si moltiplicano le agenzie che ti fanno vedere la natura… vedo
la natura dal finestrino dell’aereo, vedo nuvole, strati
di nuvole orizzontali sul pianeta. Non capisco bene, sto
andando da Francoforte a Toronto ma fuori ci sono strati
orizzontali di nuvole come si vedono su Marte, su Giove:
deve essere davvero la natura.
COESISTENZA DI CORRENTI VITALI
Nelle città indiane circolano liberamente le vacche sacre,
che pensose attraversano strade e viali; sostano e dormono sugli spartitraffico e rubano verdure dai negozi. Investirle o ucciderle è proibito e soprattutto è peccato mortale e comporta la maledizione degli dei che le proteggono.
Qualche elefante contende la precedenza ai camion,
mentre cammelli trascinano carri carichi di verdura; le
scimmie e i babbuini si fanno dispetti sopra computer e
stampanti … spesso si vede volare in alto gli avvoltoi che
mangiano i cadaveri dei nobili parsi, esposti sulle torri
appositamente costruite. Sui teleschermi, decorati come
altari fioriti, scorrono a puntate i sacri miti Veda; i vivi
e i morti convivono, le tecnologie avanzate con le teologie antiche, dentro a un sistema di flussi vitali che non si
interrompono mai.
Queste sono le città dove l’ospitalità è interpretata nella
sua dimensione più cosmica, come un sistema nel quale
convivono il sacro e il profano, il regno umano e quello
animale; davanti a loro la rigida logica antropo-centrica
delle nostre città occidentali dimostra tutti i suoi limiti di
ambiente mono-logico, ossessivo, istericamente specializzato; che può solo crescere di spessore e di dimensione,
senza aumentare mai la sua profondità universale. (Andrea Branzi)
BIRMANIA 1962: Nel tempio buddista, che poi non è un
tempio ma una città di tempietti e vetrine e portici, ci
sono bambini che giocano e gente con grandi fornelli che
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fa da mangiare per i banchetti e ci sono anche i banchetti
con le belle ragazze sorridenti birmane, occhi neri e fiori
nei capelli, che bevono strane cose con i cucchiai di porcellana mentre i suonatori accoccolati suonano melodie e
i grassoni dormono sdraiati vicino a Buddha … e i monaci
color zafferano passeggiano alla luce del tramonto e poi ci
sno quelli che vendono caramelle… (108)
INDIA DEL SUD 1962: … templi che ho visto sono come città immense, enormi postriboli, grandi luna park, sterminati caravanserragli, giornate di festa con fumi che salgono al cielo e odori, scimmie, lebbrosi, miserabili, bambini,
donne, prostitute, vecchi e preti, cesti di fiori color zafferano e petali sulle scalinate, scalinate bagnate d’acqua, e
suoni di tamburi. (118)
JAIPUR 1962: è una città costruita su un piano reticolare
molto rigido, e al centro c’è il palazzo, circondato da late
mura, affondato nel silenzio dei suoi cortili… illuminato da
penombre, collegato da rampe incassate tra mura perché
le cortigiane, che si spostavano soltanto in portantina,
non fossero viste o rapite… Così questa Jaipur intorno al
suo palazzo metafisico è una città fredda anche se rosa.
È una città fredda intorno al suo palazzo anche più freddo, immenso labirinto meraviglioso, tutto rosa. Intorno
al palazzo la gente vive la sua vita quotidiana e grazie a
Dio, piano piano, distrugge con l’orina e con lo sterco,
con la negligenza e la pigrizia, con l’assassinio e lo stupro,
distrugge piano piano la città tutta rosa, irreale e piano
piano ne fa una città reale (119)
NEPAL 1966: Siamo arrivato a Kathmandu alle due del
pomeriggio, ma il tramonto è arrivato rapido e freddo con
il sole precipitato dietro le creste dell’Himalaia… rovine e
roghi che bruciano adagio; fiumi di piombo e cadaveri grigi messi da parte sul bordo della strada; scimmie aggressive; impolverate statue di Buddha, di Avalokiteshvara, di
Uma-Maheshvara, di Lakshmi-Narayana spruzzate di minio; boschi trasparenti di faggi dove le tibetane con fiori
nei capelli e orecchini di turchese fanno il picnic; sbiadite
antiche bandiere sacre e fumetti pornografici scolpiti nei
legni delle pagode; falchi precipitati sulle carogne intoccabili e fontane dove gli uomini si lavano nudi; idoli infernali
dipinti di blu da drogheria e del sacro zafferano; vergini
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bambine dee dagli occhi bistrati e sassi idolatrati affondati
per terra… (166)
LA METROPOLI DEGLI UMANI
La città oggi è fatta dai corpi degli umani, il paesaggio è
fatto dalla massa degli umani, e tutti noi componiamo un
landscape. Questo landscape è fatto di noi con su i nostri
vestiti che sono le trame, i colori, le forme, e non a caso
oggi la più grande forma di espressione è la moda. La
moda oggi costruisce la forma della città; se voi andate in
Oriente dove gli umani sono molto più numerosi che qui,
vedete solo umani.
Sappiamo anche che dopo le grandi distruzioni delle città
sono gli umani che rimangono e le loro relazioni; dopo
Hiroshyma, non è stata l’architettura a ricostruire e continuare e ricordare ma sono stati gli umani, intendo che
sono i nostri corpi.
I corpi oggi sono la dimensione più straordinaria che
potete usare per vivere insieme, perché tutti noi siamo
diversi (Italo Rota)
COSTA AZZURRA 1953 : La gente si mette scarpe di corda
e vestiti qualunque, si veste e si spoglia dietro a un asciugamano, si siede sulle pietre e sull’erba sotto gli alberi,
mangia per strada, si lava nei fiumi. Gli uni con gli altri si
guardano e non si guardano, si salutano e non si salutano
e tutto questo vuol dire che la gente di tutto il mondo è
terribilmente sociale, così sociale che tutti possono fare i
loro comodi senza isterismi e sciolti come se tutti i gesti e
tutti i movimenti fossero snodati, smontabili e rimontabili
come le tende bianche, gialle e verdi che riempiono la
Costa (61)
CALCUTTA 1962: Per due ore abbiamo attraversato la città
di non so quanti milioni di abitanti e poi periferie senza
fine, viaggiando nella nebbia e nel fumo di sterco di vacca
bruciato per scaldare milioni di scodelle di latte per quei
milioni di fantasmi indiani che cominciavano la giornata.
Muovevano adagio lunghe tibie e femori marrone, costole
e scapole e mani con le palme bianche.
Dalla nebbia, come vascelli, ci venivano addosso giganteschi autobus azzurri straboccanti di fantasmi.
PARIGI 1964: È stato a Parigi l’altro giorno che mi sono
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trovato al primo piano di Vog a guardare centinaia di
ragazzine che salivano la scala stretta spingendosi indaffarate per arrivare in tempo a comprarsi magliette,
giacchette, pelliccette, pulloverini, berretti, gonne, calze,
calzette e cose da vestire… si stavano vestendo di pezzi
di vestito messi insieme come si mettono insieme i pezzi
di un meccanismo o i pezzi di una carrozzeria, in rapporti
da choc, senza più le gradazioni, i pendant, il colore che
va con questo colore che va con quello e la borsetta che
combina e quelle storie normali eccetera…. Vestite come
erano dalla testa ai piedi – senza testa, senza braccia,
senza piedi – sembravano segnali o segnalazioni… se le
donne si convinceranno che braccia, gambe, seni, piedi
e testa possono anche rientrare in un gioco semantico
d’altro genere, nel quale il sesso quasi quasi sia dato per
scontato…i colori erano come di gesso o vernici di automobili… i vestiti erano come imballaggi, industrial design
per corpi di ragazze.
SAN FRANCISCO 1966: …la vita quotidiana non è un mito,
non si svolge mai per strade mitiche… Quello che so è che
quando siamo stati l’ultima volta a San Francisco e siamo
andati in giro di qua e di là di notte nelle case di amici
degli amici e amici degli amici degli amici, una specie di
fiumana notturna di ragazzi e ragazze, studenti, poeti, pittori, omosessuali, drogati, cantanti, impiegati, operai delle
stazioni di benzina, amici degli amici dei quali non sapevamo né nome, né cognome, né origini, né futuro, né fedina
penale, né camicia, né portafoglio, né amante né niente
e siamo passati in case di cui non sapevamo né indirizzo,
né entrata, né uscita, né proprietario e nessuno sapeva
niente di noi che venivamo da un altro continente… (158)
Le case degli amici degli amici degli amici della West
Coast non sono proprio altro che bucce. Poi si buttano.
La casa è diventata non altro che un packaging per i gesti
della vita quotidiana.
FLUSSO ININTERROTTO DELLE DIFFERENZE
Nelle nostre città si è formato una sorta di filtro attivo,
una cortina dinamica costituita dai corpi di centinaia di
migliaia di persone, che formano un vero e proprio paesaggio di presenze espressive, che invade ogni spazio e
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ogni luogo… Ciò che fa la differenza tra una città e un’altra, tra una strada e un’altra, tra un territorio e un altro,
non è più l’architettura e i suoi simboli formali, rigidi,
immobili e lontani, ma le presenze umane, invadenti,
viventi, varianti; uniche cellule portatrici di vere diversità,
di eccezione, di informazioni culturali profonde; terminali
di memorie viventi di storie diverse.
È la qualità delle persone, dei loro gesti, del loro abbigliamento, della loro fisionomia, che fa la differenza evidente
tra Dehli e Milano, tra Parigi e Napoli... Sei miliardi e mezzo di persone stanno costituendo in tutto il mondo una
sorta di plancton orizzontale avvolgente, che invade lo
spazio e crea una esperienza visiva e relazionale del tutto
nuova (Andrea Branzi)
Francesca La Rocca
Roberto Terraciano
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Hey I’m Here
Dear You,
I know that it is very weird that I’m writing you a letter,
but I have to tell you a secret.
I felt too silly and insecure writing it, so I rolled my letter
into a paper ball and threw it out of the window of the
classroom.
Outside the window a kid came by singing a song that
was made up as it passed by:
“Lalalal la la I like to kick to things when I walk in the city
la la lalala or by the sea la lalala or on the country side.
Lalalala la I just like to kick whatever is in front of my foot
when I walk. Not if I run only when I walk. Lalalal la lalala
Like this ball of paper.” The kid kicked the ball of paper
down the hill.
Down the hill someone got excited by the rolling paper
ball and whispered:
“I’m so lucky now I have a paper to write where I buried
my stuff, I can hide it in the hole in the oak over there.”
I hide my favourite leisure
in a box called treasure
if you want to let it free
come and search under the tree.
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“Who dirties my home?” the squirrel said, when the
someone put the paper ball in its home on the hole in the
oak. “I hate this paper. It is messy. I will throw it away”
And out went the paper ball, back out onto the street.
The paper ball was alone on the street, in the grass, at the
foot of the tree for a while. Then a group of friends came
by the oak.
“We will forget all the things for the party, unless we write it down. But where? Look there is a paper in the grass,
next to the tree. Okay, we will need:”
Balloons, Confetti, Plastic cups, Human size paper, scissors, make up in all imaginary colours, sequins, glitter,
glue, sewing thread, tomatoes, sparkle water x10, fresh
spinach, flour, strawberries, cream.
After the friends had been out collecting the things they
needed, they forgot about the paper ball and left it all
straightened out in a shopping trolley, but it didn’t last
long before a small person with a big beard came by and
found it there in the trolley:
“YAY!” the person screamed. “I love it when people forget
their shopping list in the trolley and how beautiful things
they needed on this list. It is a beautiful list. I will fold it
into a paper plane so that it can fly away in the sky.”
And so the person did. The paper ball that had been
straightened out was now folded into a paper plane and
went around led by the wind. Until it was stopped on its
route by the head of a sailor, who was dipping her feet in
the sea.
“Look at what the wind brought to me to this sunny beach: a paper plane. I will write down my wishes and i offer
them to the sea, in the shape of a boat this paper plane
will be”.
On the paper, the sailor wrote:
These are the things I want to give you, my presents full
of hope. With you I can travel far even if I don’t have to
row. Take me to faraway shores where wild things are.
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Then the paper got shaped as a boat and gently put out
on the sea and the sailor waved good bye as the paper
boat disappeared in the horizon. Out on the sea a dolphin swimming by, pushed the boat further out on top on
freshly made waves. There was an octopus who picked
up the boat and joggled it with its eight arms until a big
but nervous whale blew the dolphin, the octopus, and
the paper boat up in the sky. The dolphin and the octopus
quickly went back into the water, but the wind took the
paper boat and dropped it on a big ship. On the ship a
pirate found it an got very confused.
“What is this thing that landed on my ship? I have always
been a pirate and I have sailed the seven seas, but never
have I seen something like this: boat of paper. Hm, i guess
it is perfect as a log for my journey until I reach the secret
island”.
The pirate wrote:
I’ll follow the path of the rising moon, and then i stir to
the eastern star. I’ll turn the helm thrice until i found the
milky way, and then where the waters get calm, here we
reach the island where all dreams come true.
But earlier the same day the pirate had made an enemy,
when a seagull was pushed away from the pirates precious dinner on the ship.
“Squak Squak” the seagull screamed “I hate you pirate
and I will eat your precious paper boat now”. The seagull
grabbed the paper boat and flew away. On its way it pooed on the pirate, who was jumping up and down of anger.
But the seagull quickly discovered that the paper boat
was not a delicious meal, so it dropped the paper boat as
it passed over a small island. That was very lucky because
on the small island was someone who exactly needed a
paper.
“What a blessed castaway am I! The seagull dropped a
paper for me to write a letter for someone to rescue me.
Inside this bottle, on the gentle waves, my SOS will flow”.
The SOS letter said:
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If you are reading this letter, this means that you can take
care of me. Take me to the places that I love. Pizza and Ice
creams, a comfortable bed and cuddles are for sure waiting for me. Give me a sign scream out ‘Hey I’m here!!!’.
The letter in the bottle went on a journey back into the
sea. On its way it went by the dolphin swimming by, and
once again the dolphin pushed the letter further out on
top on freshly made waves. Also the octopus came by
again, it was now joggling the big whale so it didn’t have
time to play with the letter. Instead the whale and the
octopus waves at the bottled letter as it drifted on. After
days and days something caught the neck of the bottle. It
was the string from a fishing rod.
“A whole day sitting on the dock waiting to catch a fish
and what do I get: the strangest transparent beast! No
wait, what is this? I have fetched a bottle with a letter
inside. I will read the letter later, but the bottle is beautiful
and shine I will keep that”
The letter was forgotten on the dock, but a pretty chubby
bird came flew by the dock and recognised the doodles in
one of the corners of the letter, and knew who needed it
back. The bird went back to the class room.
“Tweet tweet, teacher” the bird sang “I’ve found a piece
of paper that I know for sure belongs to one of your kids”.
“Thank you for bringing it back, bird. Let me see” The
teacher started reading it, first inside but then decided to
read aloud, so everyone could hear it:
“ Dear You,
I know that it is very weird that I’m writing you a letter,
but I have to tell you a secret.
I hide my favourite leisure
in a box called treasure
if you want to let it free
come and search under the tree.
Balloons, Confetti, Plastic cups, Human size paper, scissors,
make up in all imaginary colours, sequins, glitter, glue,
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sewing thread, tomatoes, sparkle water x10, fresh spinach, flour, strawberries, cream.
I’ll follow the path of the rising moon, and then i stir to
the eastern star. I’ll turn the helm thrice until i found the
milky way, and then where the waters get calm, here we
reach the island where all dreams come true.
If you are reading this letter, this means that you can take
care of me. Take me to the places that i love. Pizza and Ice
creams, a comfortable bed and cuddles are for sure waiting for me. Give me a sign scream out ‘Hey I’m here!!!’.
In the classroom they felt as if someone had written a letter for them and stood up, jumped, twisted, danced and
yelled “Hey I’m here, Hey I’m here, Hey I’m here.”
“I’m still wondering if that was my letter, i thought that I
was going to be alone with my secret but now that everyone know I have one, I think: WOW the tale is getting so
much better!”
Nina Ferrante
Max Andersen
Roberto Terracciano
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Le due Dee. Chi da il cibo da le regole.
A long time ago, in a luxuriant land surrounded by the
sea, there used to be a powerful goddess with gold hair
and several names.
One of her names was Demeter : she was the goddess of
fertility and vegetation.
At that time, men were nomads who lived on tubers,
plants and fruits. There were no peasants tilling the soil
and the ground spontaneously yielded whatever needed.
Demeter had a daughter called Persephone who also had
many names.
They were both called the two goddesses: the Mother
goddess, Earth, and the Daughter goddess, Korè.
One day Persephone was playing with her friends and
picking up flowers in a field when the earth opened up
under her feet: Ade, the Lord of the Underworld, suddenly showed up and forced her to get on his chariot.
He kidnapped her with the help of her father Zeus in
order to make her his wife as well as the queen of the
underworld.
Demeter heard her daughter screaming but she was too
far away to help her out.
Demeter’s heart broke up just like the earth cut open
under her feet.
Demeter desperately started to look for her daughter.
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After nine days, her search proved to be vain but she met
with the old goddess, Ecate.
Ecate had managed to hear Persephone screaming although she didn’t see anything. Therefore, she suggested
Demeter to turn to Helios, the sun, the only one that
could have seen from above what had really happened.
Helios told Demeter the whole truth. Furious and sad,
Demeter left the Olympus with no care either for men or
gods.
The earth became barren and both men and animals started to die of hunger.
The dreadful plague of famine arrived which caused great
suffering to mankind and lack of sacrifices offered to the
gods.
Demeter, wearing a gloomy mantel over her shoulders,
dashed towards the earth just like a bird.
She crossed towns and fields holding burning torches.
With her heart made hard by a deep sorrow, she disguised herself so that no human being could recognize her.
She was welcomed by the daughters of Celeo, king of
Eleusi. None of them recognized Demeter who, once her
life and soul were left to the harshness of her heart, hid
herself in Eleusi.
Therefore, Zeus talked to his brother Ade who settled to
let Persefone go back to her Mother. However, before
setting her free, Ade made Persefone eat the seeds of a
magic pomegranate which would have forced her to go
back to him over the year.
Whoever doesn’t eat the products of his land, he can’t
belong to it.
I eat what offered by my land, therefore I belong to it.
At last, the Daughter meet the Mother again.
The Mother went back to the Olympus and men managed
to receive food, the Goddess’ fruits.
Men resumed the sacrifices, nourishment for the Gods.
With Persefone close to her, Demeter was able to make
the earth bloom with flowers, plants and fruit. However,
every time Persefone was leaving to go back to the underworld, Demeter’s pain dried up the soil.
As a consequence, the Mother revealed to Celeo, who
had previously welcomed her, the secret of the pomegranate seed and gave to Trittolemo, Celeo’s son, the duty of
teaching it to men.
Three times returned to life
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Three times passed away
In the earth
In the fire
In the stomach
It eats everything and everything is eaten up
Life exists because it devours life.
The earth, just like the seeds in the soil or the vegetation
blooming and withering on the ground, spends some of
the year in the nether world and the remaining months in
the kingdom of the living beings.
Whoever gives food is the giver of rules.
This was also the inmost precept of recurrence
When there was lack of fruits and greens from the woods
there were no hunger and death.
Living creatures are bred by food
They all exist thanks to it and, in the end, they turn into it.
Agriculture made men free from wandering in search of
nourishment : they settled down, they shared out lands,
they started to cultivate the grounds and they founded
the first villages.
The very first town represented the place where those
men had spread their seeds while sharing fields, experiences and the knowledge of agriculture, Demeter’s gift
to them.
I was born in my land,
I’m nourished by my land,
I die in my land.
Close to the fields, men built up their houses and a place
where to worship the two Goddesses who, every year,
managed to meet again in that specific dwelling.
Since then, marvelous ceremonies were held in the
Goddesses’ dwelling to honor them and their gifts : every
year, men met again to recall and whisper to their sons
the secret of the two gifts.
Ancient people used to bury their dead inside terracotta
vases.
Ancient people used to keep seeds in terracotta vases.
Some ancient people used to eat their dead.
Alessandra Cianelli
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5
itroduction
9
White Between Blackness
13
Octopus and the Thin Tellin or
The Eternal Return of the Nascent Estate
21
The eternal Nexus,
and the scar of the missed encounter
29
A paper puddle
47
Hey I’m Here
57
Le due Dee. Chi da il cibo da le regole
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