"Maybe one morning walking out in glassy air,

arid, turning around ..."

If the crisis was meant to be and to speak of an encounter that barely suggested a plunge into pain, then the possibility of speaking and writing revealed itself to be a casual encounter that rang out imperceptible messages, which took shape only in the sound of the film's rare words and in its music.

Having found the image of woman, without seeking it, has shattered an identity of knowledge x which masked the mortal illness of being male. So never seeing this image that the woman encounters means that we hear it only. Like when we were completely blind and heard the voice of the person who kept us from falling and dying, and that was the only basis for understanding, and only by creating a mental image could we realise who it was that saved us from that death which is never knowing where we come from.

Now you can trample on the black shirt, the silk that will remain like stains on the road will be the traces that the yellow phantasm you held prisoner can follow without turning back.

Massimo Fagioli