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The stretch of Lawrence is suspended between the storyline and poetic inspiration.
Although it would seem the logical in his verses to take over the heart,
though all his knowledge is stretched in giving a reason, even if the thought must lead the quiet shores of a plausible explanation, everything about him is full of anxiety , and a desperate need to communicate these nagging doubts,
this illness progresses, line by line, with a lively rhythm, penetrating, we av-turn, involves you.
You can not stay out because it drags you into his world of raw findings, anger and grief expressed no half measures, no compromises and you will remain shaken, struck, wounded at times.
The truth hurts, to be frank, true, it is often uncomfortable, but there are gains in health to spit some toads because we can not always be: Flags!
Luca Fiorani
Illustration Marco Stagnozzi
The sun dries the weather cools
The rain from the burning sun There
size, no space, no pedestal on which to rest without
A flag pole, s'infanga
falling tears, repent
Lancia flushing with pride in the air flying in the air It flows
is lost in the vortices, has a tremor trembles
An object does not have an ethics
A flag is worn
is dirty, regardless of the value conferred
What you spit on it or sing the praises of its splendor, little change is
an object, a lifeless thing
That curse is spewing complaints against
glorify or praise its merits
matters little
I do not care, I told you
You can keep your reality
Your digging in the mud to grumble satisfied
Take that flag there, I will have more blood in this
I will be empty without a shred of hope the world quota
I have always been and I do not I never realized I do not understand what it's
analyze the problems of this if the only way is to re-establish the future
I leave this flag in the wind, waiting to be pinned to a pole
Hope without an owner who no longer shines . I give you what you see of me. My smiles,
my presence here and now.
but I'll keep my spirit, cast it
violent into the future (not live without money, I can not buy)
It makes no sense now, the tears. I am no longer here, among you
I am elsewhere, without illusions of asceticism or speeches by guru
Only the future, only the project every day on a canvas than a reasonable level of reality
What you build from now on then no longer makes sense. It's just a point.
We will tear down everything and shedding new light
I wait for the new day by giving visibility to many future projects that will be practical ideas for speeches or mere intellectual futility. What I lose, after all, this life?
Lorenzo Ramadoro
Although it would seem the logical in his verses to take over the heart,
though all his knowledge is stretched in giving a reason, even if the thought must lead the quiet shores of a plausible explanation, everything about him is full of anxiety , and a desperate need to communicate these nagging doubts,
this illness progresses, line by line, with a lively rhythm, penetrating, we av-turn, involves you.
You can not stay out because it drags you into his world of raw findings, anger and grief expressed no half measures, no compromises and you will remain shaken, struck, wounded at times.
The truth hurts, to be frank, true, it is often uncomfortable, but there are gains in health to spit some toads because we can not always be: Flags!
Luca Fiorani
Illustration Marco Stagnozzi
The sun dries the weather cools
The rain from the burning sun There
size, no space, no pedestal on which to rest without
A flag pole, s'infanga
falling tears, repent
Lancia flushing with pride in the air flying in the air It flows
is lost in the vortices, has a tremor trembles
An object does not have an ethics
A flag is worn
is dirty, regardless of the value conferred
What you spit on it or sing the praises of its splendor, little change is
an object, a lifeless thing
That curse is spewing complaints against
glorify or praise its merits
matters little
I do not care, I told you
You can keep your reality
Your digging in the mud to grumble satisfied
Take that flag there, I will have more blood in this
I will be empty without a shred of hope the world quota
I have always been and I do not I never realized I do not understand what it's
analyze the problems of this if the only way is to re-establish the future
I leave this flag in the wind, waiting to be pinned to a pole
Hope without an owner who no longer shines . I give you what you see of me. My smiles,
my presence here and now.
but I'll keep my spirit, cast it
violent into the future (not live without money, I can not buy)
It makes no sense now, the tears. I am no longer here, among you
I am elsewhere, without illusions of asceticism or speeches by guru
Only the future, only the project every day on a canvas than a reasonable level of reality
What you build from now on then no longer makes sense. It's just a point.
We will tear down everything and shedding new light
I wait for the new day by giving visibility to many future projects that will be practical ideas for speeches or mere intellectual futility. What I lose, after all, this life?
Lorenzo Ramadoro
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