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Digital Photography, Animal, Digital, 100x100x1cm
Eulogy of the Speed
With growing fury we hurtle towards the illusion, the fiction hypocritically called progress.
The thinking that leads this trip is: "I am part of the dominant species, I can not have limits!"
The rapid destruction of many species, and of all diversity, is accomplished simultaneously with the complete inaction of human minds
As the thoughts slow down, they diminish in number, quality, diversity, the human it runs, it runs more and more furiously opposing itself at the best of the respect for that it is other from himself.
We race every day, more and more fast, more and more useless, more and more deaf, more and more you blind, more and more insensitive toward what we inexorably crush.
Me, that don't succeed really to feel inserts me in the circle of the human race, together with my brother earthworm, to the friend forest, to the immense sea that is me mother and father, and to the fox crushed on the asphalt, we remain in attended that earth avenges us.
With growing fury we hurtle towards the illusion, the fiction hypocritically called progress.
The thinking that leads this trip is: "I am part of the dominant species, I can not have limits!"
The rapid destruction of many species, and of all diversity, is accomplished simultaneously with the complete inaction of human minds
As the thoughts slow down, they diminish in number, quality, diversity, the human it runs, it runs more and more furiously opposing itself at the best of the respect for that it is other from himself.
We race every day, more and more fast, more and more useless, more and more deaf, more and more you blind, more and more insensitive toward what we inexorably crush.
Me, that don't succeed really to feel inserts me in the circle of the human race, together with my brother earthworm, to the friend forest, to the immense sea that is me mother and father, and to the fox crushed on the asphalt, we remain in attended that earth avenges us.
Comments 7
t.v.b. sorella )
Quando la realtà è brutta, credo si possa e anzi, si debba, mutare.
Parlare d’arte equivale a produrre menzogna a meno che ciò non serva a mutare la realtà.
Io son colma di esplosiva rabbia per tutto l’orrore che vedo, ed alla rabbia s’unisce il disprezzo per il diffuso e comodo non agire e l’ancor più comodo non vedere.
Quando incontro la bellezza però, la mia pelle che vive senza anestesia, prova una gioia che sta pari alla rabbia.
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