Tuesday, December 14, 2010

I.m.pandey Financial Management

Maurizio Marotta: A fragment from the Sultan CHEELI 'Shadow

The following page should have been presented by Maurizio Marotta in the course of the opening of the Editions of the Shadow in Pistoia, December 12 last year. Too much discretion and not an oversight allowed the reading. It is published here for common understanding with the author and with his permission.
June 10, 1998 Get
lying on the grass, his face toward the sky. Look
movement there in the universe. If your having a great time the clouds carried by the wind toward the landing of the highest mountains or in the open heart of a valley-de-sac. See how the plants themselves are affected by his gentle hand, how many leaves and pine needles falling off pouring on the ground, such as wheels, which surprised falling headlong.
And all the birds that there is no air and color.
then lean on his stomach. Keep your eyes stuck to the ground and look how huge that is small at times. He runs a beetle to a blade of grass and crushed. A black ant drag a piece of paper over her here somehow. Right this way a frothy slug above a bud just checked and here is a caterpillar is closed in her shyness and her fear curled in the shade of a stone, there as a shell without the water, dangling a fly cocooned in the canvas of a tiny spider , A sudden stroke to pass before your eyes the dark trails of flying insects buzzing trombones, violins rapid or high wind music.
All this happens as long as this life is not an auction stands the shiny green lizard. And everything goes out. Who was vanishes. And you're alone, you beast's eyes and the points that you have seen and recognized as nails still in my own life and the same fate.
Cheelì, my Sultan, tell me anything that does not know whether this might seem an empty fantasy is closed or not a deeper meaning. You who read these words in a gilded room in your home bright, maybe have a key or perhaps a machine of iron that can leave an imprint on the paper clearer and more sharply than that I do not know. And if today between those mechanisms secrets buried your cat's favorite golden snake or carry with you, I beg you to remove them from the hard toothed gears, start the wheel, correct design intent and the phrases that I wrote, to create more permanent ink and hell. You
you can, pull the rope that hangs from the edge of this pit. Shake the rusty pulley and see if you print at the bottom of the bucket of water or light the black carcass of a dead bee too much there for the thirst of all.

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