La sua fine è stata al tempo stesso simile alla sua opera e dissimile da lui. Simile perché egli ne aveva già descritto, nella sua opera, le modalità squallide e atroci, dissimile perché egli non era uno dei suoi personaggi, bensì una figura centrale della nostra cultura, un poeta che aveva segnato un’epoca, un regista geniale, un saggista inesauribile.
A. Moravia sobre Pier Paolo Pasolini
Han pasado cuarenta años desde esa historia equivocada, esa historia de periferia, esa historia nada mal encubierta.
Para esta noche de domingo recién empezada, para que sea más llevadera, para machacar antenas de televisores y adornar cuartos de baños a menudo refugios miserables para los monstruos que tenemos adentro… Tal vez el único remedio refugiarse en la psicodelia: ¼ de Hoffman, 45 minutos de Mahavisnhu.
¡Higher!
Llegar a ver la realidad como verdaderamente es: infinita.
Wow, I’m sick of doubt Live in the light of certain South Cruel bindings. The servants have the power dog-men and their mean women pulling poor blankets over our sailors
(And where were you in our lean hour) Milking your moustache or grinding a flower?
I’m sick of dour faces Staring at me from the TV Tower, I want roses in my garden bower; dig? Royal babies, rubies must now replace aborted Strangers in the mud These mutants, blood-meal for the plant that’s plowed.
They are waiting to take us into the severed garden Do you know how pale and wanton thrillful comes death on a strange hour unannounced, unplanned for like a scaring over-friendly guest you’ve brought to bed Death makes angels of us all and gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven’s claws
No more money, no more fancy dress This other kingdom seems by far the best until it’s other jaw reveals incest and loose obedience to a vegetable law.
I will not go Prefer a Feast of Friends To the Giant Family.
J.D.M.
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