Hur stoppar man tiden i sin marsch?

Inte ens du som är fysiker kan ta slut på dödsspelet.

Hur håller jag mig fast så djupt och högt när jag hittar på en dikt?

Vem som helst jag skulle fråga skulle inte ens förstå mitt frågetecken.

Tiden flyger med bomber, vulkaner bevarar romerska städer och jag kan inte städa mitt rum för jag har inget rum,

men en rymd mellan mina farföräldrars solnedgångar och marssoluppgångar.

och jag kan inte städa mitt rum eftersom du inte har kunnat stoppa tiden och jag inte fått bosätta mig  i himlen. Det är inte där uppe i himlen som tiden marscherar, men det är därifrån som bomber, asteroiden som gav oss livet och regnet som skänkte oss kärlek kommer.

Om det är nu är slut på kompositionen eller om jag borde fortsätta tills jag ser en spricka som reflekterar en smula av hopp vet jag inte.

Matteo Iammarrone.

Se in Italia parlassimo come gli svedesi

Se in Italia parlassimo come gli svedesi (tentativo di rendere il modus pensandi svedese nella lingua italiana):
– Hei! Mi chiamo Matteo, ho letto (pensa te) un intero programma in Filosofia Antica, era un programma al 50% e intanto ho lavorato al 20%. Ho cominciato settimana due del venticento diciannove.
– Un intero programma? Quanto contributo hai ottenuto?
– Nessun contributo, uno deve avere la cittadinanza svedese per ottenerlo. Comunque, sei prenotabile per una passeggiata la settimana trentaquattro? Non preoccuparti, non inviterò nessun extra amico.
– Lo penso sì.
– Molto bene! Ciao! Ci vediamo la settimana trentaquattro. Ma che tempo?
– All’orologio 12 e 23.

Beings who never settle down

When I came across the diary of our preliminaries
I got fascinated by our attempts to connect us as if we were space devices and the NASA had to prepare every attempt with apophatic computer calculators.

If you also believe in time
you know that the double-edged picture of this reality is disintegrating every single instant.
A mountain dies,
a star perishes,
an idea is thrown away to garbage,
two loves are born
and four end.
And every ending is the opposite of carpe diem.
Not to sound nihilist,
but I challenge you to convince me that one or two night stands
are not equal to one or one hundred years of marriage
which are not equal to loneliness.
If they were equal to loneliness I would be a sophist-populist or a solipsistic polish mr. Dabrowski.

Now I speak from the shadows of a future from the drink not yet drunk
from the saliva that the earthquake has not yet dropped
from the inside of the hurricane of the verses I won’t write for you
but for someone else.
and it is gonna work anyway.
Because someone else is connected to you anyway.
because someone else is gonna be you anyway.
Touching your same buses, playing your same carnivals, dirtying your same hotel rooms, dropping the same keys.
It is gonna work anyway, if  by ”work” we meant the acceptance of the condition of the above-mentioned temporal contingent desperate tender melancholia growing from the defeated undone beds…
the unwritten atmospheric conditions we all go through
we all wanderers who believe or claim or believe and claim to be different
as if one could be someone else than different.
as if one could be non-nomadic! That would be insane for us.
That would be a curse of the Church.
We want to keep God death.
Being faithful to earth,
being beings who never settle down.
And suffer from that.

Matteo Iammarrone.