stanza101

Questo è un Paese in cui non mi riconosco più.
Non mi riconosco più negli italiani.
Forse hanno fatto bene a definirmi anti-italiano”.

“The best fantasy is written in the language of dreams. It is alive as dreams are alive, more real than real … for a moment at least … that long magic moment before we wake.

Fantasy is silver and scarlet, indigo and azure, obsidian veined with gold and lapis lazuli. Reality is plywood and plastic, done up in mud brown and olive drab. Fantasy tastes of habaneros and honey, cinnamon and cloves, rare red meat and wines as sweet as summer. Reality is beans and tofu, and ashes at the end. Reality is the strip malls of Burbank, the smokestacks of Cleveland, a parking garage in Newark. Fantasy is the towers of Minas Tirith, the ancient stones of Gormenghast, the halls of Camelot. Fantasy flies on the wings of Icarus, reality on Southwest Airlines. Why do our dreams become so much smaller when they finally come true?

We read fantasy to find the colors again, I think. To taste strong spices and hear the songs the sirens sang. There is something old and true in fantasy that speaks to something deep within us, to the child who dreamt that one day he would hunt the forests of the night, and feast beneath the hollow hills, and find a love to last forever somewhere south of Oz and north of Shangri-La.

They can keep their heaven. When I die, I’d sooner go to middle Earth.”

The difference between the strong emperor and the weak is simply this: the former makes the world his arena, while the latter makes it his harem.

Uffa con ‘ste puttane
Del resto, se Silvio riesce comunque a farla franca malgrado sia tuttora immerso nello scandalo più maleodorante e ridicolo della storia patria, con chi vogliamo prendercela? Con la sua maggioranza di parlamentari miracolati che tutto gli devono e che mai oseranno criticare l’origine della loro fortuna? Con l’opposizione ondivaga e pigolante che per paura e coda di paglia non è riuscita a mobilitare nel paese uno straccio di reazione? O con l’Italia del ghiacciolo e del pattino che già guarda annoiata (quando non ammirata) alle imprese del premier puttaniere e dice uffà e volta pagina?