May has been surely one of the most prolific and lifegiving month that I have experienced so far. Not only I found out new ideas and visual concepts for my next movie project while I was painting the new canvas that I completed just this morning, but I has been able to finalize and register to the Writers Guild of America my first screenplay entirely written in english. Now it's time to build the foundations for both my upcoming works: this afternoon I'll put the acrylic white ground on the blank cardboard canvas in order to prepare it for the layers of oil veils which will unfold the new treshold of the Central Memory I discovered during the shooting of my music video "Body Locked" (hoping to reprise the writing of my new indipendent movie in the evening).
Recently I read again "The Naked Lunch" by William Burroughs and somehow I realized that under this paranoid patch-work of lushious and morbid archetypes there are still hidden substrata of moods tied to other everlasting epitomes of biological fury such as "The Songs of Maldoror" by Lautreamont, "The Colour out of space" by Lovecraft and "The atrocity exhibition" by Ballard. Maybe my renewed interest in the struggle between the metamorphing pulsion of the cells and the annihilating power of Time derived from the return of some childhood reminiscences. Indeed when I was a child I used to hide myself in the darkest spots of the shacks behind my house in the attempt to prevent my brothers or my mother from forcing me to attend catechism or other boring afternoon activitites. So I spent those anguishing minutes among the shaded straw contemplating the swarming population of insects which embodied the court of the pregnant mother cat crouched in the shadow. Saturday after saturday I noticed out the fast inflation of her abdomen and the frightening growth of her pink breasts which were starting to emerge from the hair like heads of little mices. The evening I discovered that six little pink and weat cats were sucking those turgid breasts I felt a sudden sense of panic and loss. The mother cat blowed angrily as she saw me coming in the dark straw, while keeping suckling with a wild tenacity her sons. Ants and flea crowded on the delicate skin of the pets joining the tumult of that feast of growth and multiplication. Since then this climate of terror and fascination has always been strictly linked in my mind to the mutation of the flesh and the feeling of mistery that surrounds the monstruous marvels of biology.
