Here Come the ‘Therefore’

(Fry, Blue Sun and the Story of Young Saracinesca)

An’auction of thoughts. I am looking for the best (s)oferent to enchant the verse of things: perhaps of bird or poet.
I start from the disproportion, for the recast, with the conjunction, I cross the misunderstanding, up to the unity, between art and fate, fammings and pyromaniacs, van Gogh and Bangkok, good and Mahler, blood out of hand and stigmata, stigmata and astigmatics, Dal’till Allah. C’reality! Lunire all’existing the’atranuova san(t)itá, in our larvae fry. Roughly, following my extinct ones, begging to continue infnire. I got carried away (married or saved from drowning?). Time is running out, not always embrace, but rope or sheet. It is enough to stand on the percipice and feel the unmistakable shamanism translated into exasperation.
The “è& scatological” set, the blue sun, the young shutter up (hermetic because I am a mystery), altrista in a the other side where nothing happens without everyone.
Are we almost there? So much é useless?
Not for nothing everything asks!

Alessandro Bergonzoni