The city is redundant: it repeats itself so that something will stick in the mind […] Memory is redundant: it repeats signs so that the city can begin to exist
― Italo Calvino,Invisible Cities
I feel blessed by life because what just occurred during my dreams. You and me, recreating our special and intimate ritual, just before awakening to find out that we’re immersed in calm waters. Secret devotion to my pervert little temptation, that one common to introvert people with closed eyes, laying on dusty carpets, illuminated by light pollution and senses plugged to metallic wires, endless sources of cathartic sounds.
In my dream, we are silhouettes tightly seizing our centre of mass. We don’t like to fit in obsoleted compromises when we can tenderly caressing our bodies. Hands and mouhs in harmonic movements to the rhytm of The Jazz Messengers – Oh, baby, no doubts, you’re karate! I lay my lips and teeth on top of your tiny shoulders, and in seconds, your tranquil breathing creates the ether that keeps the world floating in the Universe.
I become able to decipher mysterious maps encrypted in the marks decorating your back. Heavily intoxicated by the sweet melody hidden in your tender moaning. Curious about what is hidden in the last mark that pictures the boundaries of the Universe. I reach the dunes of sand just below your breast, where I stumble across this esoteric message: Saria per me sventura un serio amore?
I conclude my lucid dream sketching in the air what I imagine your shadow could be cast on the white snow during the last sunrise of Earth. Maybe this is my last memory about this time. There’s a wee silence, and then ambient noise of any megacity at night. My acoustic installation includes basic clichés for modern chaos: sirens, strident underground, indifferent crowd, demonstrations and an endless list of noisy etceteras. The needle is reaching the end of side B, and I am ready to say goodbye wonderful world…