Saying About Butterfly

The good soul of Shen-te

"I want to go with the man I love I do not want to know how much I do not know if I do well or even if I'm hurting I just want to love what I love." It is the soul Shen Te-good singing love with this poem by Brecht and may seem strange to talk about his love borrows the words of a poet known for his cultural and political penalty for his epicit & # 224;. Just like when I put on a show that spoke entirely in love, the good soul of Sezuan, there is no triumphalism, no small stubbornness, no nostalgia for consistency, talk again in love, once again, through the words of Brecht. Instead, there is a finding clear, almost serene, that these words have regained - if anything they had lost - their needs, their tragic news, their shocking new formal , when they had at the time of writing. And that in a world like ours, where, I think, is really losing any measure, in which we go towards a destiny arid, perhaps to a nuclear catastrophe is dominated by the coldness and intolerance, unable now of looking at life as a "daily action" as "normal" and not as an exception in a world in which the problem of evil is only proof of the horror that has become a habit, almost with indifference when we set the violence around us, the corruption, the spread of a tangle of interest only to materials where even our entertainment has become a continuous, futuristic, massacre in color. In this world, a word like love can be frightening, if not pronounced with a side of heroism, is impossible, of schizophrenia, coded character, where even the advertising suggests words and behaviors that should come from the heart. It is a paradigm of the "schizophrenia society "in which we live, this spiral of dissociation seems to be no solution of continuity. I think the madness of the era "Atomic" - as he calls Fornari - atomic terror that makes us exorcise evil through the continued acceptance of violence. I think of men now forced to live in the twilight of the garden of the world where asylum is still in its pearly empty space, around an expanse of water and mud and waste, moons and suns rise and set, and so little love . And it was dissolved only in us. It is our business, to us precisely as Brecht says, "ephemeral of this planet, the last refuge that is like that. " So, even love, one of the few things "green" that remain in us, becomes a symptom, the way, the light for shelter lâeterno not dream, but to expand, live to the full these small areas of truth intimate, personal, often secret, that still remain. So insinuiamo in us the suspicion that sweet weakness. Brecht said: "... weaknesses, you or I had not had one, I loved".

Pokemon Soul Silver Usa Freeze Fix

pills poetry

WOMEN OF MILL

Women of the mill

not have an 'identity,

have guts and rotting dreams, as successors of copies

avi,

other anonymous beings condemned to

white and perfect results.

Women of the mill

as Venus does not have hair only tangible

shells into the belly of intercourse

stripped

flour only longed for the day and night

briefly tasted and scattered on the body as

a white curse.

Women of the mill and nothing being

nots,

anonymous petty and underprivileged aware

wake up at dawn and go to sleep on

dust rags

the last shadows of the evening. They

nothing else to do but wait another

blessed ....

uncertain which day!

Roberta Bagnoli

Donating Old Towels And Robes

"There is still a good soul on earth ?".... Discover it with us:)

The Soul of good Sezuan

1938-40 darkest years of the recent history of Europe when fascism seems to have become an irresistible force: the years in which it consumes the sacrifice of the English Republic and the Western democracies capitulate to Hitler and Monaco, with fierce determination, began its war machine and invaded Czechoslovakia, crushing Poland, Norway deals, strangles her back to France; and not just the bold hatches Mussolini, but alas, the same Soviet Russia will participate in the crumbs of the bloody banquet, and whoever tries to make sense of all this horror, we read in the face of despair, dismay at the abyss populated by wolves and fires to which the world went on. In turn this years Brecht, in exile in Denmark and Finland, is a measure of maturity now reached by his genius composing those who are perhaps its two most highly theatrical works freely and ponder: "Life of Galileo" and "The good soul of Sezuan.
For if the grandeur of the character and the dazzling (especially since August '45) issue of responsiveness to the problems of our age have given up and continues to give, to Galileo a force of unparalleled power of the public everywhere , it is certain that no other Brechtian text (except as examples of didactic works - "The exception is the rule," "The Orazi and Curiazi" - Where the predominant character and purpose are, however, indisputable experimental) reaches the purity of design and consistency of thought, the vividness of poetic-ideological "parable stage" of Shen Te.