Fabrizio Ulivieri

non so che faccio qui siedo e taccio lontano lente affondi o mente le ore   e piangi amara sospiri avara lontano sfumi e dolore schiumi e calore di luce volta ritorni storta e mi mordi cane rabbiosa - vane e incolore ascondi le colpe che stanno - e storpie la carne respira e di lontano in silenzio ravviva.

Sono le tue bambine Sono la tua immagine Viva, in te vive. Io ora capisco Come quella viva Altra dalla riva che Stava e stupisco Ora ora capisco Lei ormai sì vaga Cambiata mutata Rinnegata dalla vita Che di qua aveva Prima Prima che passasse Che lasciasse Che si scolorasse E dalla riva Eterna Sparisse.

  Fassbinders „A Doll's House  “ (auf Deutsch „Nora“) ist sicherlich eine Darstellung von Ibsens Stück, die sich deutlich von allen anderen unterscheidet. Es gibt einen Text, aber der Text unterliegt einer ständigen „Deformierung“ durch den Regisseur und die ihn verkörpernden Schauspieler. Wie ein Spiel mit Spiegeln, die das gleiche Bild auf unterschiedliche Weise und aus unterschiedlichen Perspektiven reflektieren. Dies ist bei Fassbinder sehr deutlich zu erkennen. Die gesamte Inszenierung von Ibsens Stück ist eine szenische Deformation. Wie Pirandello sagt: „Das Werk des Schriftstellers endet genau dann, wenn er das letzte Wort geschrieben hat“, was bleibt ist szenisches Schaffen, Veränderung der Darstellung. Das gilt für alle – auch für Ibsen. Doch eines bleibt untrennbar mit dem Autor, seiner Persönlichkeit und seinem kulturellen Hintergrund verbunden: seine Werte. Die Werte, an die er glaubt und die er in die Szene einbringt. Keine Darstellung kann diese Werte jemals ände...

  Fassbinder's "A Doll's House" (in German "Nora") is certainly a representation of Ibsen's play very different from all the others. There is a text, but the text is subjected to continuous "deformation" by the director and the actors who embody it. Like a game of mirrors, which reflect the same image in different ways and from different perspectives. This is very evident in Fassbinder. The entire staging of Ibsen's play is a scenic deformation. As Pirandello says "the writer's work is finished at the very point that he has finished writing the last word", the rest is scenic creation, alteration of the representation. This is valid for everyone - even for Ibsen. But one thing remains inseparable from the author, from his personality and cultural background: his values. The values he believes in and that he brings to the scene. No representation can ever change those values. And if they should be changed, it would be APOSTASY.

  It's Christmas today. December 25, 2023. How many Christmases... How many Christmases in my life... But I don't even remember them. Not a single one was happy. Not even one when I was a little happier than the average. Not even one that I remember. I lived, I lived so much...that I don't even feel like I've lived. And now the end begins. I feel close to the end. It's the beginning of the end. My memories have become so thin, they are so faint that I can't even see them anymore or hear them. They died inside me...NO! they are not dead. They are buried. They are buried under layers, one layer upon layer. Layers of black thin, impalpable matter. Impenetrable. They lie. Here is the right word: they lie buried. They rest, deep buried. But they do not rest in peace. They are restless. They want to live. They beg for a living. Do not tolerate their status. An indeterminate condition of waiting is not their nature. Their nature is that of a wild animal, crouching in a...

È Natale Oggi. 25 Dicembre 2023. Quanti Natali...nella mia vita. Ma nemmeno li ricordo. Nemmeno uno era felice. Nemmeno uno che fossi un po' piú felice sopra la media. Nemmeno uno, che ricordi. Ho vissuto, ho vissuto...che nemmeno mi sembra di aver vissuto. E ora inizia la fine. Mi sento vicino alla fine. È l'inizio della fine. I miei ricordi si sono cosí assottigliati, divenuti cosí tenui che nemmeno piú li vedo. O li sento. Sono morti dentro di me...NO! non sono morti. Sono sepolti. Sono sepolti da strato su strato di materia nera ma sottile, impalpabile. Impenetrabile. Giacciono. Ecco questa é la parola giusta: giacciono. Riposano. Ma non in pace. Sono irrequieti. Perché vogliono vivere. Chiedono di vivere. Non tollerano il loro stato. L'averli messi in uno stato di attesa indeterminato non è la loro natura. La loro natura è di animale selvatico, che sta accovacciato in un agguato, in attesa paziente della preda. E poi la natura del balzo. Quel balzo felino, repente, che...

  You became my drug. I was my I and now I am your I. I wear your colours, listen to your video, eat your dishes, drink your beverages--this chocolate I taste, that you tasted. I became your recipient. When I think about it, it's almost fearful. So great is my love for you! Everything, everything, came from you to me, even your passion! Your soul slid into mine. I cannot fly from you. Did I want it? Did I? I lay with feet bound together under you and I am happy. Happy! The harder I struggle the happier I am. I sink to a bottom which is not a bottom, where you lay like a giant crab ready to catch hold of me with your claws--and I just lay there. Happy! Isn't this frightful? So great is my love for you! Sometimes, when I try to explain my reasons you react like a wounded animal, and spiteful you are because you are wounded. And it seems to me that you are always right. And never wrong. Possibly, all in all, at this moment I am really the weaker and you are the stronger. You get n...