e poi l'alba che ci coglie
buon cinema al duomo
il programma completo sul sito del comune di milano
is it not better abort than be barren
unless they love you
Samuel Beckett, 1936
from Collected Poems in English and French, S. Beckett, Grove Press, Inc. N.Y. 1977
"Ma un giorno pensai: io riuscirò a trovare qualcuno che mi ami al cento per cento ogni giorno della vita. L'ho deciso quando ero al quinto o sesto anno delle elementari.""Incredibile, e ci sei riuscita?""Beh, non è facile. Forse per via del fatto che ho aspettato tanto a lungo, io cerco qualcosa di assolutamente perfetto. Perciò non è facile.""Un amore perfetto?""No, nemmeno io aspiro a tanto. Mi basterebbe poter fare i capricci. Questa perfetta libertà. Mettiamo che io ti dicessi: 'Ho voglia di mangiare torta di fragole' e che tu lasciassi perdere tutto il resto per correre a comprarla. Tu ritorni col fiatone e dici: 'Ecco,Midori, la tua torta di fragole' e io rispondo: 'Ah, ma adesso non mi va più', e la butto dalla finestra. Ecco, è questo quello che cerco.""A me sembra che questo non c'entri niente con l'amore.", dissi io esterefatto."C'entra e come. E' solo che tu non lo sai. A volte per una donna queste cose sono molto importanti.""Cosa? Scagliare torte di fragole fuori dalla finestra?""Anche. In un caso del genere vorrei che lui mi dicesse: 'Ho capito, Midori. Avrei dovuto immaginare da solo che ti sarebbe passata la voglia di torta di fragole. Sono uno stupido, senza spina dorsale, una merda di cavallo. Per farmi perdonare andrò subito a comprare qualche altra cosa. Cosa vorresti? Una mousse al cioccolato, una cheesecake?' ""E allora?""Lo amerei quanto merita per quello che ha fatto per me.""Mi sembra un ragionamento piuttosto folle.""Però per me l'amore è questo. Anche se nessuno mi capisce." - disse Midori scrollando leggermente la testa sulla mia spalla - "Per un certo tipo di persona l'amore comincia anche da cose terribilmente piccole o addirittura triviali, o non comincia affatto".
Night Time, The xx
"Ehi..Ehi..mi senti? Dì qualcosa" disse Midori, la testa ancora sepolta nel mio petto."Che cosa?"."Quello che vuoi, purchè sia qualcosa che mi faccia sentire meglio"."Sei molto carina"."Midori", suggerì lei, "mettici anche il nome"."Sei molto carina, Midori", corressi."Molto quanto?"."Tanto da far crollare le montagne e prosciugare i mari".Lei sollevò la testa e mi guardò."Sai che le espressioni che usi tu sono assolutamente uniche?", disse."Solo tu mi capisci davvero", dissi ridendo."Dimmi qualcosa di ancora più carino"."Mi piaci tanto, Midori"."Tanto quanto?"."Tanto quanto un orso in primavera"."Un orso in primavera?", chiese lei sollevando di nuovo la testa, "come sarebbe un orso in primavera?"."Un orso in primavera.. allora, tu stai passeggiando da sola per i campi quando ad un tratto vedi arrivare nella tua direzione un orso adorabile dalla pelliccia vellutata e dagli occhi simpatici, che ti fa: 'senta signorina, non le andrebbe di rotolarsi un po' con me sull'erba?'. Tu e l'orsetto vi abbracciate e giocate a rotolare giù lungo il pendio tutto ricoperto di trifogli per ore e ore. Carino, no?"."Carinissimo"."Ecco, tu mi piaci tanto così".
Norwegian Wood (Tokyo Blues), Haruki Murakami
menomalechec'è la kika..
stare con te
condividere il sollievo per la fine della giornata
la bistecca della mamma
i pomodori con il limone e l'aceto
e poi la tristezza, la liberazione, l'affanno, la crescita.
poi riempirsi un bicchiere di rhum
e un altro
e un altro
giocarci mentre tu mi fotografi
mentre mi ordini, mi trucchi, mi disegni con lo sguardo
He came to my shop around 10.30am. You could tell straight away that he had just been released. His face was bruised all over. His teeth were broken and he could hardly open his eyes.
He was not even into politics. He was just an ordinary 18-year-old in the last year of school. Before the election he came to me and asked how he should vote. He looks up to me. His father is an Ahmadinejad supporter.
He had gone home directly after his release, but his father did not let him in. He didn't mention he had been raped. At first, he didn't tell me either. It was the doctor who first noticed it and told me.
When he came to my shop he collapsed in a chair. He said he had nowhere to go and asked if he could stay with me. I called a friend of mine who is a doctor to come home and see him. Then I brought him home.
His shoulder blades and arms were wounded. There were some slashes on the face. No bone fractures, but he was bruised all over the body. I wanted to take some photos but he did not let me. The doctor said only four of his teeth were intact, the rest were broken. You could hardly understand what he said.
Then the doctor told me what had happened. He had suffered rupture of the rectum and the doctor feared colonic bleeding. He suggested we take him to the hospital immediately.
They registered him under a false name and with somebody else's insurance. The nurses were crying. Two of them asked what sort of beast had beaten him up like that. He was a broken man. He told us not to waste our money on him, and that he would kill himself.
He was arrested in Shiraz on 15 June, the Monday after the election. Some sturdy young men made a human shield around the demonstrators. He was among them. He said he managed to hit some of the anti-riot police. But then they caught him and beat him up.
"I was kept in a van till evening that day and then transferred to a solitary cell where I was kept for two days," he said. "Then I was repeatedly interrogated, beaten and hung from a ceiling. They call it chicken kebab. They tie your hands and feet together and hang you from the ceiling, turning you around and beating you with cables.
"They gave us warm water to drink and one meal a day. Repeated smacking was a regular punishment. In interrogations, they kept on asking if I was instructed from abroad. I believed I was going to be sent from the detention centre to prison. But they sent me to where they called Roughnecks' Room. There were some other youths of my age in there. I asked a guard why I am not sent to prison and the reply was: 'You have to be our guest for a while.'
"I refused to confess during interrogations. They said: 'Ask your friends what we'll do to you if you don't co-operate.' Others in the room were also arrested on 15 June. I was tempted to confess at this point but I didn't. On the third and fourth day, they beat me up again. They insisted we were instructed from abroad. I kept on saying we were only protesting for our votes.
"It was on Saturday or Sunday that they raped me for the first time. There were three or four huge guys we had not seen before. They came to me and tore my clothes. I tried to resist but two of them laid me on the floor and the third did it. It was done in front of four other detainees.
"My cell mates, especially the older one, tried to console me. They said nobody loses his dignity through such an act. They did it to two other cell mates in the next days. Then it became a routine. We were so weak and beaten up that could not do anything.
"Then the interrogations started again. They said: 'If you don't come to your senses we will send you to Adel Abad [another prison in Shiraz] to the pederasts' section so that you receive such treatment every day.' I was so weak I did not know what to say. Then they asked for my contacts. I told them I had no contacts and I was informed about the demonstrations through the internet.
"The same routine was continued till this morning when I was released. In the last week, there was no interrogation, no beating. Only rape and solitary confinement."
This is what he recounted. But he couldn't articulate quite like this. He was in much physical and mental pain as he talked. I asked him to tell his story in the hope of making a difference to those still detained.
guardian.co.uk, Wednesday 1 July 2009 16.46 BST
• Esfandiar Poorgiv is a pseudonym.