Nelle fessure delle parole, quando il confine con le immagini si fa scivoloso, incerto, tagliente, allora il pensiero celato si rivela attraverso sinestesie solo apparentemente casuali, frutto dell’accumularsi nel tempo dei sedimenti di un’intera cultura.
Quando il sole brucia i suoi ultimi istanti e la memoria solidifica certezze destinate a crollare insieme agli edifici costruiti sulle sue fondamenta, allora è nel buio che vivranno esseri mostruosi e belli ad un tempo, e il contrasto striderà fra le piaghe di Sabrina.


Sabrina - Einstuerzende Neubauten

It’s not the red of the dying sun
The morning sheets surprising stain
It’s not the red of which we bleed

The red of cabernet sauvignon
A world of ruby all in vain

It’s not that red

It’s not as golden as Zeus famous shower
It doesn’t come, not at all, from above
It’s in the open but it doesn’t get stolen
It’s not that gold
It’s not as golden as memory
Or the age of the same name

It’s not that gold

I wish this would be your colour
I wish this would be your colour
I wish this would be your colour
Your colour, I wish

It is as black as malevitch’s square
The cold furnace in which we stare
A high pitch on a future scale
It is a starless winternight’s tale
It suits you well

It is that black

I wish this would be your colour
I wish this would be your colour
I wish this would be your colour
Your colour, I wish