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'embarrassment' s Administration on Culture Week

We had already written in the previous post, from April 16 to 25 is celebrated throughout Italy the twelfth week of culture.

Each municipality may organize events, create itineraries, maintaining open their museums. Once everything is organized shall forward the application the Ministry of Culture or to the Regional Cultural and if the officials deem attractive and interesting "offer of culture" that the municipality will be presented included in a special list of municipalities where there are such events publicized national level on the Internet.

Just click on this link and you can know which town and which participates in the program of events.

It 's a promotional campaign at no cost since it does not require the appropriation of special funds, but enough to keep open its cultural jewels and let the spill-overs of tourists bring a bit of money in the country. Why are we returning

sul'argomento since we had lingered a week ago on this blog? It 's a question that all readers legitimately ask.

So do not get us as those who are repetitive and boring in the things we point out now that this new post will attempt to lay bare the shortcomings in managing the website of the bottle to the common lack of attention and commitment demonstrated on this occasion by the head of our common culture. Exactly

April 16 on the reactions of a debate prompted by some readers on this blog, some reader pointed out that began a few days a week of culture and stressed that the website was not our common councilor in 'list of those municipalities participating.

Day April 19 at exactly 14:35, from the upper floors of the Town Hall something strange happens in the website of the municipality. Announced pdf poster of the twelfth week of culture with the caption below that S. Marco d 'Alunzio participated in the cultural event.

On April 19, then, three days after the start of the show.

The following day some readers have pointed out that we were wrong to write that St. Mark was not there because it actually was!

"To think evil is a sin but in politics sometimes s'azzecca, we think that someone wanted to stop and remedy embarrassment to the objective in creating the document in pdf format delay and especially after our report on the blog.

not have to be computer wizards to go see the creation date of document San Marco that inserted in the event, and the document is unambiguous.

So someone has added to the delay of our common participation in the show.

The review began on 16 April the site was last updated on 19. Better late than never

someone could answer.

The fact is that those who have entered the country late in the national culture has forgotten to do so on the website of the Region, or the institution and the source from which all stakeholders should see and be aware of our program during the cultural festival.

The paradox is as follows: aluntini know that St. Mark's participates in the review but those who link to the official national website can not find any reference to our country.

Take for example a group of tourists, taking advantage of the holiday weekend of April 25, he decided to take a trip to Sicily and exploit the benefits of weeks of culture.

Go on the official website of the National Review and decides to visit Sicily and in particular the province of Messina.

Once you click on the province you see scroll 's list of the municipalities San Marco Messina and since there are not even aware of the existence of our country so as not to brush against their curiosity about it. On the other hand, however, are

Funari (sic), Mistretta (sic) Lipari, Capo d'Orlando, Tusa, etc. .. etc. ...

filled our mouth when we speak rightly of our country as a jewel but what do I need to have the jewels if you do not show up and worse, are kept in the safe?

And the dream of Taormina Nebrodi?

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The stuff of dreams - Nevio Del Longo - "The function of poetic reverie in the imagination"

I was asked to give priority to the views of the writer than the "more technical" psychotherapist and this position appears to be a bit 'more uncomfortable. I could have used Freud's words and explain how and why the dream is the "royal road" to the unconscious, or speak of Bion and the fact that the end of our interaction with the reality we live in a dream state, continuous even awake.
I will, however, the function of reverie poetry and its ability to awaken in us, through the forces of imagination, the experience of the creative act, and then the dream.
The term reverie has the same root rêve, dream, and it is virtually impossible to translate into Italian. Perhaps it is close to fantasy, imagination, daydreaming. In fact we can define the reverie as a "state of mind" that you leave the register of the imaginary. Unlike rêve, where the ego is essentially the result of sleep, there is still a reverie in the dawn I, able to perceive its presence, albeit loose, and re-surrender to the dream worlds. The dream "kidnaps Our I "and overthrowing the hidden part of the iceberg showing the forces of our nature unconscious reverie expresses a" cogito "infant returns the matrix subjective imagination. In psychoanalysis
reverie, feeding of empathy is the ability to grasp and wonder of the specificity of the other, the same quality that makes a mother invaluable in meeting the needs and desires of the newborn. Over the artists, is the ability to create new worlds and to awaken in others the same germ of reverie, by sharing the wonder of the creative act.
The poet, writer, painter, composer and all those who use language creatively watering and allow us to deepen those roots that dream will stay at the basis of our ability to re-dream of raising our being along the imaginary axis, making unnecessary the frantic search for the Psychoanalysis is unconscious on the antecedents. Every reverie arouses all the senses and then harmonize them, particularly the poetic reverie that leaves us the maximum of inner freedom to re-imagine. The poetic reverie was originally the "sound of the word" word communicable, provocative word, a word that his destiny along with beauty and harmony we can reconcile with our human frailty and makes us, as well as "dreamers" and to "New World", also part of lively and authentic act of giving us a chance to create "well-being" and "longer".
The creative imagination, therefore, can not be violated and betrayed by the interpretation, but can only be lived within the phenomenology of the poetic resonance that transcends the subjectivity of taking it over itself, making it universal and accessible to the sensitive consciences, thus offering new opportunities and become happiness and development. If the male animus, as suggested by Jung and Bachelard, like things for their own use, stopping concreteness, the anxieties, fears and ambitions of the projects, the feminine soul, inherent in the register of the imaginary and poetic art throughout, is the quality and depth of experience, is an ontology of values. Then you realize that the more we can grow and develop our capacity for reverie and our creative potential, the more we give the man an opportunity not only to dream of a better world, but to actually experience it within themselves and out. Give more space for art to culture in all its manifestations, the more we create a better society and less alienated, less ill. Conversely, the more we enter the logic of making, profit, real, the technology, to appear, more losses the stuff of dreams for which we are mixed, making it an empty shell and producing around us only grief and desolation.

"Listening to certain words, such as the child listens to the sea in a shell, a dreamer of words, hear the sounds of a world of dreams." (G. Bachelard, The poetics of reverie)
Minimum Bibliography

G. Bachelard, The poetics of reverie, Daedalus Books, Bari;
G. Bachelard, The right to dream, Daedalus Books, Bari;
Del Longo N., psychoanalysis of objective knowledge and phenomenology of the imagination, Piovan Ed, Abano T.me, 1987;
Del Longo N., Capriccio n.24, Ed Mann, 2008;

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The stuff of dreams - Monique Gun - "Spiral invisible

have Alba, I have forty-five, fifteen working as an architect in a group practice. I live alone, no, with a budgie on the top floor of an old building downtown.
I had a rich social life, meetings between frivolous and important meetings. Normally, up to two years ago.
I started with two bus tickets to go and return, reported the date of the day I met him.
inside a pastry shop, crammed with people, I loved it even before he could ask to sit at my table with a croissant and a cappuccino. We exchanged a few words. The
I glued my eyes on him, as the most shameless of courtesans, regardless of his years at least. Him with the smile of children playing, after less than an hour I was pushed into a doorway, taking expert, without any embarrassment.
I had played with care, as you would a porcelain doll, dismissed with a tender kiss on the tip of the nose and leaving a note in his hands: his phone number. As a teenager I was enchanted path flying the long way home, I never had happened.
I had thrown on the couch, curled up, decided to keep all the ecstasy, the unbelievable. Did not wish to bathe or eat.
I just wanted to keep. I was unable to separate myself from that clash sparks whose providential I had entered in the flesh.
so I spent an afternoon and night unable to move, to find a solution. Then the idea: I have sealed in clear plastic bags inside the clothes I wore, numbered. Panties and bra bring the number one and two.
have told me this: just a game, the collection. Of course I have not washed them and I never made.
The matter now has become cumbersome. Each time was a new lipstick, a perfume, a pair of socks, shoes and more ... Need to amaze me, to cover my rust, but his eyes went immediately over to cannibals, proceed regardless.
I hated the blatant indifference to my wasteful, but I could not do without his assaults. I was the booty, he is the bandit.
Dirt bandit.
repulsive for its hygiene Spartan served by thousands of outdoor work. When marked with black nail points that I tried the scent of talcum powder in my respectable lady, totally at the mercy of opposing forces. But the desire broke all reasoning.
I know, it was the fault of that look grainy, innocent, in which confused me sinking in a spiral of evil.
bought some things for him of course, to remind him that I appreciated that I wanted. Perhaps only to repay him for his being in excess. Licked.
was a constantly licked from the looks of women, though.
Despite, or in any window display I could never choose it.
hair I kept them after a few meetings in envelopes with stamps, long, golden, thick as fusilli. Appetite. I could not
separami from skin sauce that I penetrated to the throat. One day I found myself in the bathroom and, with a quick gesture language of lizard, I stuck my hand into the water - catching the condom he had used - I have heard that the game took me. I wrapped in a piece of toilet paper and I have hidden in her purse and placed it in the box. Then, I sensed the danger. Like a magpie I seized a piece of fingernail or hair remained between the sheets, but also set aside the bills sip with the layout of our telephone conversations. The relics
all there, well preserved, available to testify.
comforted me when he was away fishing, in a bar or in the arms of others. At first I did not care. I called, he would come. He spoke little but at least his hands were so able to explore simultaneously all my territories.
gives itself with the instinct of a predator, always with that smile, lively little boy with primitive gestures, concentrated sull'attimo.
No promises.
Over time, these fleeting encounters - between strangers and different - not enough for me anymore. I pretended to be content. But in that silence that I belonged celavo jealousy and resentment inside.
My goal was not to lose, clinging slowly in a transparent texture.
I began to weave a golden lasso in the first meetings rarely - trusting in the rising tension of waiting - then a first holiday for two. After a year of fleeting encounters: with every day! So triumph, victorious, won on that everyday.
We can defy time. Overbearing feelings emerge huddled with their claims, now you're mine! Confident of victory, check the impetuous Marzia seized - that by six feet - which asks, demands, demands ... I break the spell and while it discovers that they really are, a woman madly in love with that show on his behalf, is separated discreet. On tiptoe. He saw the move but are unable to recover, even forcing myself. He regained the silence but he, perhaps, that intuition in the affected animal walks away. Start chasing him, study strategies for riacchiapparlo, nothing. Then the pieces, the vomit on me all my anger in the crowd, slipping eroded under his eye of compassion.
I get home destroyed, as if I had a hyena heartbreaking. I take the relics and place them inside two bags per order. Seal everything with duct tape, three rolls of the wrapping.
Closed. Finished.
throw scissors, to remove the temptation to reopen, to begin again. Then go to the kitchen exhaust. I need to drink something, to recover.
knife.
I see him there, leaning on the edge of the basin, long, shiny: how could I forget. Pregnant with his hands, used to cut a watermelon - sucked together - where I keep the seeds. It's a sign.
I took it and went out. I walked like a robot to the pier. When I was close to me it was natural to stick in your belly. With all my affection. It was like punching the balloon to a spoiled child and spiteful.
finally free from the spell.
dismay and terror on her face showed me what he really was: a stupid man who afraid to die.

Now I'm here like you. Employee. Addicted. Consumed. Abstinent. In a therapeutic group of alcoholics, smokers, drug addicts, with the only peculiarity of myself enslaved to a substance but not a man. Sick of that substance or maybe just my obsession.

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Matter Dream - Roger Zanin - "The dream material"

What was that, that time, which prevented the old Uncle Karl (Marx, I mean) you're right? Remember those things like alienation, liberation, revolution? Perhaps his was an excess of materialism?
Nah, just the opposite: in fact he stopped to historical materialism and did not have the courage to go further, to arrive so the more rigorous and final "dream material".

You say: "Hey, it should 'calm down to put together words that pull in opposite directions. If you talk about on talk of reality, tangible, and that reality is opposed to the dream itself, which is illusion, fiction, nothing. "
But are we really sure about this?

Uncle Karl said that the material facts of which we are all called "social relations of production", which means, in short, that is the economy that makes the world go round, and inside this world we women and men to pursue the true raw material of all, that is vulgar and mean what we call "money". Got
perhaps the dreams of all this?
You will say that no, and instead here's the catch.

All men give their lives in search of the base money for what?
to meet their own needs, of course!
What needs? Something to eat, a rag to cover themselves, things like that?
Do you remember that passage of the Gospel [Matthew, 5, 26-29], which says: "Look at the birds of the air do not sow or reap, nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. (...) And why take ye thought for raiment? Observe how the lilies of the field do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of them. "? He
Bravo! - You might say. This is poetry, if badassimo literally what He said, we still Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. But we must grow and to do this we must always create new needs.
But that is precisely what has cheated Uncle Karl, one not content to satisfy those who are his needs "necessary" to free it the rest of their lives from the requirements, from work, dependence on, chasing the other hand needs always new, to become a compulsive consumer. This is the real engine of the economy lead to ever new needs! That is to induce dreams, always different, to be implemented as soon as possible in increasingly fabulous shopping malls - so forgetting, among other things, to make a social revolution, which has become a dream of a third category.

This is also the essence of what we call the civilization of communication, our civilization. The Communication truth, falsity and fiction intertwine inextricably. Not understanding this means not understand how going on the world in which we live.
To illustrate, I draw from a major newspaper some time ago: "The man who turns everything on television is able to reduce the political talk shows and institutions, the leadership jokes in international competitions, the government in a festival, the old questions in a quiz, even earthquakes in a set. Now plans to make the election of the President of the Republic as much fun as Big Brother, perhaps due to remote voting from home. But in the meantime we need to see what is holding the trick. "[Curzio Maltese, La Repubblica, 21.3.2010, p. 35] How
holds the trick? But what are we talking about? This is a man who makes the good and the bad weather for over 15 years!
We call it "trick"? This however, is the true stuff of dreams, will also be an illusion, but this is what moves the blades of the large mill that we are all brought around.

Now, however, the real problem of the dream material is: why, even in the dream, I happen to live increasingly in a nightmare, or at least have the impression of having been cheated? Is there anyone who can tell me how to make a revolution dream? No, not for anything else, it's just that I would like to talk with Uncle Karl - and, given that there are, indeed, even his uncle Sigmund.

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The stuff of dreams - Michele Zaggia - "Shadows"

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The stuff of dreams: meet at the Candiani Wednesday, April 14 20:45

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Mica stories! William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act IV, Scene I, Prospero: "We are made of the same stuff of which dreams are made, and our short life is surrounded by sleep."
But what dreams are made of matter? Perhaps the dust Tink? Either you want the flour? Or perhaps this is a particular electro-chemical discharges? What substance can give life to the imagination?
Usually we think that the dream is the opposite of reality and that reality is only made up of matter. And we do everything to costrigerci within this reality of things are always the same, predictable, obvious. Our materialism, by now, it's easy consumption, accumulation, mountains of garbage. That materialism is no momentum or "ideal"?
We then offer a higher degree of materialism, materialism dream.
is not, as in the case of idealism, to replace a reality "more real" than that in which we find ourselves, but to sublimate alchemically this reality, very petty materialistic, materialism into a more sophisticated - a dream material, in fact, which is a fantastic realism.
We can not only alerts the business task to awaken in us dormant desires and needs. Nor is it possible that the food to feed our imagination is made exclusively from goods on display in shopping malls. They are well aware of the possibility that the dream can also turn into a nightmare - still worth the risk!
paraphrase Plato, we say that the food suitable for the best part of ourselves comes from the meadow that lies in the plain of the Imagination, and the nature of the wing with which we can fly, eats grass and flowers that grow in that field.
the Editorial oral
In this issue of the viewer will find art, music, video, stage action, fiction, philosophy, photography, theater.

speeches
Carbonere
Carlo Enrico Cavalli
Mariateresa Cristobal
Nevio Del Longo
Mario Edwards Pippo

Paul Indelicato Pistellato
Monique Pistolato
Roberta Rizzo Riccardo
Sartorel
Laura Soave
Zaggia
Roger Michele Zanin