Photography of Lorenzo Manetti

Photography of Lorenzo Manetti  – “Scogliera artificiale al vecchio faro di Fiumicino – Roma”

Lor is a dear friend and a sensitive photographer. There are no lies in his art.

Please look at this picture carefully.

Here is the other face of Rome. This is a face of the place where i grew up. The sea that surrounds a dirty sand. The annihilation of the structures. The notion of “urbanistic” disapears, and we always come back to a place that seems to be too old to let us move on. Dehumanization appears somehow romantic, as we loose ourselves in silents questions with no answers.

We Romans are a so old civilization.

We live in the past and present like shadows of our ancient glories and fresh mistakes.

We surrender in the shame of our politics, enchained to silence by the blackmails of crosses and mafias.

Lightings incapable to stay still. And an endless sky where we can hide our dreams.

Like Feathers in the Wind.

I walk in the streets of Paris, painted in grey.
And i feel like an ancient soul, trapped here.
That lingers, here.

Persons i see – a big part of them-
Seem to me like feathers.
Light, unconscious, small, beautiful feathers.
They are pushed by the Wind.

A Wind that decide where they have to go
The Rhythm,  intensity and shapes.
They fly away, all around me.

And here I am
like an Old stone into a garden of feathers.
A rude, ancient stone, with my eyes wide opened.

Everyday i stand
Alone and strong
The wind whispers at me, tries to blow me away in his chaotic dance.
But here i stay, huge, motionless
Here I linger
with my faith, my useless presence, while thousands of Feathers
Dance all around me,
Puppets of the Wind God.

Everyday i stand
Everyday i write for them
Because i know that all these Feathers, together
Would become a powerful Bird
A Bird with strong wings
a deep voice, and an understanding of the geometry of the Universe

Capable to tame this Wind
To use him to reach Freedom.

Everyday i stand
As an ancient Stone
With my ancient and forgotten stories.

Maybe next time, i’ll be a Bird.

An old drawing i did

An old drawing i did

To be or not to be a writer.

Every word linger.
A blank, yellow page is the gate.

The gate to that world i visit everyday. That world i’m the only one to see, to discover.
I live there for several hours everyday.

At North, the frozen mountains of the White Sea stand silent. The Lord of the White only care about the diamonds in his mines…. but someone stole them… He sent all his ships to South, travelling through the wasted lands until the Korahk Falls, the gates of the South Dominion. Magic is just an old memory. At West, the large Fadar See hides ancient mysteries, and in the capital of the South, there are rumors of a powerful civilization who live beneath the waters. In every dark night, i follow the paths of this world, imagining faces, lifes, secrets, love, life and death. Dragons, swords… but i never write about that… I don’t know if the world would be interested in my fantasy world.