I am a force from the past
Tradition is my only love
I come from the ruins, churches
Altarpieces, forgotten hamlets
In the Appenines and the foothills of the Alpes
Where dwell our brothers
I walk the Tuscolana Way like a madman,
The Appian Way like a dog without a master
I behold the twilight, the morning over Rome,
Over Ciociaria, over the world
Like first acts of post-history,
Which I witness by privilege of birth
From the utmost edge of some buried age.
Monstrous is the man
Born from the bowels of a dead woman.
And I, adult fetus,
Wander more modern than any modern
In search of brothers
Who are no more.

Pasolini

--------

M.A. Visual and Media Anthropology,
Freie Universität Berlin

2011

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