Written by Zeferino Siani. Posted in ZEFERINO'S TALES
Margareth
Margareth was proud of her work and of her position. And the people who knew her were in favor of seeing her as a good financial consultant, with a quality that could hardly be precisely defined, and that her most discerning clients identified in a kind of wonderful certainty that what was being decided about or diversification of the securities of a portfolio or a brilliant pick-up would have been a sure success.
With slow steps, she approached the large window of his office, at the 30th - and even last - floor of HSBC Tower, 452 Fifth Avenue, New York: during the night the wind had swept the sky from all the clouds, and the view was magnificent.
Then, as he had done before, she took a key from the desk, closed the office door behind him, ran up the two flights of stairs and then - two turns in the lock and a push - went out onto the terrace!
Now nothing stood in front of her eyes and, satisfied, she could look up to the Hudson to the left, to the East River to the right and, behind him, to all the Central Park to the north, ... and beyond, and beyond! Then, as always, her gaze slowly receded, retracing the previous vision backwards, until she pinned herself on Bryant Park just below her: New Yorker for generations, she loved her city, and in particular she loved that meadow which today shone like a face well polished of an enormous emerald.
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Written by Zeferino Siani. Posted in ZEFERINO'S TALES
Salerno, Tuesday 5 March 2013.
That morning, a happy cloud wandered lonely in a blue sky, punctuated here and there by other white clouds, some in groups, others lonely as she.
A light wind pushed the cloud, and it stroked and gently molded the her floating body, white and soft as freshly fallen snow.
The cloud looked slide under her all that green of the hills, valleys and meadows, interrupted here and there by the peasants' houses.
Front farmyards some figurines of people did not stop going back and forth; others were rather in the brown fields of fresh cultivated; two instead, that's great !, they stood motionless, lying on 'grass in the sun. Intrigued, she wished to observe them more closely, and tried to get out of proportion, but the wind direction not allowed her to do so.
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Written by Zeferino Siani. Posted in ZEFERINO'S TALES
The woman closed the door of the chalet behind her, so as not to make it slam by the wind.
Slender, tall, she slowly advanced towards the sea, face raised towards the sky, arms slightly extended along the body and palms of hands open upwards, welcoming with pleasure the raindrops of that summer storm that suddenly broke out in the early evening.
When a bolt of lightning crossed the cloud-darkened sky and illuminated her face for a moment, you could have seen a shiver of pleasure in her green eyes: that day had been quite hot.
n a short time that storm increased in intensity, almost becoming a storm. On the right, the cliff was barely visible; in the glare of lightning, high waves, dark, massive, jagged with foam, ran straight towards the beach. And the woman seemed fascinated but not afraid of it all.
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Written by Zeferino Siani. Posted in Artisti, cantanti/autori, poeti, ecc.
Di seguito riporto integralmente la bellissima introduzione di Carlo Mormile al suo manuale/romanzo "Harmonville - Storia di uomini e di musica".
In un pomeriggio di fine estate, seduto in riva all’oceano, osservavo il moto delle onde e sentivo il ritmo del mio respiro, quando all’improvviso ebbi la consapevolezza che tutto intorno a me prendeva parte a una gigantesca danza cosmica… “vidi” scendere dallo spazio esterno cascate di energia, nelle quali si creavano e distruggevano particelle con ritmi pulsanti, “vidi” gli atomi degli elementi e quelli del mio corpo partecipare a questa danza cosmica di energia, percepii il suo ritmo e ne “sentii” la musica, e in quel momento “seppi” che questa era la danza di Shiva, il Dio dei Danzatori adorato dagli indù. La citazione è del fisico austriaco Fritjof Capra (l Tao della fisica, Adelphi, 1993, pp. 11-12), che può essere così sintetizzata: la musica è vita e la vita è musica. In Harmonville si compie un percorso di strutturazione e destrutturazione della materia musicale, alla ricerca di quell’oro che è dentro il nostro essere. Un percorso interiore che deve condurre il ricercatore a modificare i propri stati di coscienza, per poter guardare oltre il cielo stellato.
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I dreamed of going around the city, in the middle of July, wearing only white underpants and a sleeveless cotton tank top, also white. So I went everywhere, and I spoke normally to anyone, wearing only a white underpants and a sleeveless white cotton tank top, and everyone spoke to me normally, and I answered normally, and nobody paid any attention to my way of dressing. When I woke up I remembered exactly like that, and I tried to figure out what that fucking dream meant, but I couldn't. Later, after a shower and a shave, I thought about it, and I was still fucking thinking about breakfast. But nothing. Nihil, nain, nothing, nichoho!
