At the compartment window

There remains little, very little to say, maybe nothing, the artistic expression is at its end, we ride the new course devoid of humanity and overflowing with power that condemns us to consumption, It doesn’t matter whether they’re bombs or diapers, by now fannies are dampened only by piss, this latter action carried out in a hurry to boot, let us resign ourselves, it cannot be said they are wrong, in the end they too are supported by nerves and muscles, tibias and femurs, impulses, and it follows they are used in contributing to the moving of the infernal dynamo rather than in taking care of it, and herein lies why everything has already been written, performed, the only thing left to do is lean your forehead against the window of that perpetual train setting out at dawn every morning, and to look out indifferent, observing the passing of time, without even the hope of catching sight of what is out there, in the distance, small and fleeting, the silhouette of something to be added.

© Copyright 2023 Mauro Giovanelli “Seventy-nine writings or thereabouts”, life, love, death and the usual, second edition – Translation Italian-English: Philip Mc Court. – “Settantanove scritti o giù di lì”, vita, amore, morte, i soliti discorsi”, seconda edizione, publicazioni GEDI Gruppo editoriale S.p.A. sito ilmiolibro