#federico errante

[quentinbidaud22-23]

POST 1

L'aventure de madame Muir, Joseph L. Mankiewicz 1947 Une histoire d'amour entre une femme et un fantôme, une vieille maison sur une falaise. Incontournable.

Mon oncle, Jacques Tati 1958 La rencontre poétique de deux mondes, l'ancien et le moderne. Des personnages attachants. Cela pourrait être un poème de Prévert, mais c'est un film de Tati.

L'année dernière à Marienbad, Alain Resnais 1961 Un immense jardin à la française, un colossal escalier, Delphine Seyrig et Giorgio Albertazzi qui ne cessent de rejouer la scène d'un rendez-vous manqué. Un chef-d'oeuvre qui gardera son mystère à jamais.

Judex, Georges Franju, 1963 Digne des romans feuilletons du XIXe siècle, un justicier mystérieux qui s'attaque au banquier malhonnête. Des combinaisons noires, des intrigues, des masques en forme d'oiseau.

Les lèvres rouges, Harry Kümel, 1971 La suite vampirique de Marienbad, Delphine Seyrig en comtesse immortelle buvant le sang des pensionnaires d'un hôtel d'Ostende.

La montagne sacrée, Alejandro Jodorowsky, 1973 Délire hypnotique et fou, conte alchimique dans lequel les maîtres des neufs planètes devront gravir la montagne sacrée pour trouver la réponse savoureuse au grand mystère de l'existence.

Céline et Julie vont en bateau, Jacques Rivette, 1974 Deux sorcières solaires errant dans le Paris des années 70. Une maison mystérieuse, des numéros de magie. Un film à regarder à l'endroit ou à l'envers, éveillé ou endormi.

Complot de famille, Alfred Hitchcock, 1976 Le dernier film d'Hitchcock, une fausse voyante et un chauffeur de taxi à la recherche d'un diamant volé. Un film du dimanche soir.

Stalker, Andreï Tarkovski, 1979 Un voyage à travers des paysages de science fiction délabrés porté par une musique sublime. Une sorte de rêve.

The Fog, John Carpenter, 1980 Une malédiction s'abat sur une ville de Nouvelle-Angleterre. Un brouillard vert fluorescent duquel émerge des fantômes. Une animatrice de radio tente de sauver les habitants depuis un phare isolé. Un film glacial et génial.

Fitzcarraldo, Werner Herzog, 1982 Un homme passionné d'opéra entreprend de faire passer un bateau par dessus une montagne en pleine jungle amazonienne. On ne saurait le décrire autrement.

Et vogue le navire, Federico Fellini, 1983 Un film comme un roman, au début du XXe siècle, des personnages hauts en couleurs embarquent à bord d'un paquebot afin de rendre hommage à une célèbre cantatrice.

Paris, Texas, Wim Wenders 1984 Un homme qu'on croyait mort sort du désert et retrouve peu à peu les vestiges de sa vie passée. Une sorte de mirage porté par une musique sublime.

Phenomena, Dario Argento, 1985 Un film d'horreur comme on n'en fait plus. Un adolescente qui parle aux insectes sur les traces d'un tueur en série. Jennifer Connelly invoquant une nuée de mouches, scène culte.

Les ailes du désir, Wim Wenders 1987 Un très grand film de Wim Wenders. Un ange tombe amoureux d'une acrobate de cirque et décide de devenir mortel. Une promenade dans le Berlin des années 80. Peter Falk se frottant les mains dans la brume matinale. Incontournable.

Prince des ténèbres, John Carpenter, 1987 Le film d'horreur le plus terrifiant. Un groupe de scientifiques découvre que l'Eglise a caché au monde le fait que Dieu n'existe pas. A sa place, une entité ténébreuse qui va bientôt se libérer. Vous ne vous regarderez plus jamais dans un miroir sans penser à ce qui vous attend de l'autre côté...

Drugstore Cowboy, Gus Van Sant, 1989 Une petite bande de camés braque des pharmacies pour se défoncer. Leur chef décide de se ranger mais le passé ne s'oublie pas facilement. Un conte étonnamment léger. Une apparition de William Burroughs dans toute sa majesté.

Meurtre mystérieux à Manhattan, Woody Allen, 1993 Un couple farfelu mène l'enquête sur la mort de leur voisine de palier. Le New York des années 90, des rebondissements, et Anjelica Huston au faîte de sa gloire en auteur de romans policiers.

La cité des enfants perdus, Jean-Pierre Jeunet, 1995 Dans une cité portuaire verdâtre, des enfants disparaissent. Un savant fou tente vainement de voler leurs rêves. Un film génial, complètement glauque et immersif. Des costumes incroyables de Jean-Paul Gaultier. Un monde en soi.

Dead Man, Jim Jarmush, 1995 William Blake tue un homme par erreur et prend la fuite, accompagné de l'indien Nobody, qui le prend pour l'esprit du célèbre poète anglais. Un récit initiatique tout bonnement génial, bercé par les improvisations de Neil Young à la guitare. Le meilleur rôle de Johnny Depp. Une apparition éclair de Robert Mitchum dans son dernier rôle.

The pillow book, Peter Greenaway, 1996 La fille d'un célèbre calligraphe, devenue mannequin, recherche un homme capable de lui écrire un compliment sur toute la peau. Elle finit par devenir elle-même calligraphe et décide d'écrire un livre sur le corps de son amant. Un film sublime.

La légende du pianiste sur l'océan, Giuseppe Tornatore, 1998 Un bébé est retrouvé dans la cale d'un paquebot. Devenu adulte, ainsi qu'un pianiste légendaire, il se mesure aux plus grands musiciens de son temps mais n'a jamais posé le pied à terre. Un conte magistral et bouleversant.

Mulholland Drive, David Lynch, 2001 Un rêve, un cauchemar. Une femme amnésique, aidée par une actrice en herbe, part à la recherche de son identité. Un film porteur d'un mystère insondable. A voir et à revoir à l'infini.

La famille Tenenbaum, Wes Anderson, 2001 Une famille de génies, disloquée par des querelles intestines, tente de se retrouver. Un vrai poème visuel, drôle et touchant. On aimerait vivre dedans.

Kill Bill, Quentin Tarantino, 2003 Un chef d'oeuvre absolu. Le personnage d'Uma Thurman en guerrière vengeresse que rien ne pourra arrêter, figure allégorique mue par une force supérieure. Les cinq points et la paume qui font exploser le coeur.

The Fall, Tarsem Singh, 2006 Un homme alité dans un hôpital raconte une histoire à une petite fille. En échange, elle dérobe pour lui des ampoules de morphine. Et le conte se mêle à la réalité. Visuellement grandiose et éblouissant. Une scène d'ouverture mémorable.

The Fountain, Darren Aronovsky, 2006 Trois histoires entremêlées pour n'en former qu'une seule, celle de la recherche de la vie éternelle. Des scènes se déroulant dans le plan astral, toutes d'or en fusion et d'extase mystique. A couper le souffle.

Melancholia, Lars Von Trier, 2011 Une planète s'approche dangereusement de la terre et s'apprête à l'engloutir. Deux soeurs, deux entités contraires, se dirigent en silence vers la fin du monde. Une expérience totale portée par des symphonies sublimes et des tableaux de Bruegel.

Only Lovers Left Alive, Jim Jarmush, 2013 Un couple de vampires sublimes portent sur le monde un regard désabusé. Sur fond de rock indé lancinant, à travers Détroit ou Tanger, la décadence d'une communauté en train de disparaitre.

Les Garçons Sauvages, Bertrand Mandico, 2017 Un groupe de jeunes garçons commet un crime impardonnable. Ils sont condamnés à accompagner en mer un capitaine étrange et colérique. Un voyage vernien, totalement organique et sensuel. A la croisée de William Burroughs et de l'île au trésor, de Cronenberg et du club des cinq.

[tarditardi]

8 & 9/11 #CERCOMIOFIGLIO #SICHIAMAFEDERICO al No'hma di Milano, dalle 21

Mercoledì 8 e giovedì 9 novembre, alle ore 21, il No'hma di Milano presenta il primo spettacolo della Stagione di Prosa 2023/2024, la sedicesima diretta da Livia Pomodoro e intitolata In Viaggio.

Il sipario di via Orcagna 2 si aprirà sul 1936:  un viaggio, proprio come suggerisce la nuova stagione, nel tempo e nello spazio, per condurre il pubblico nell'anno e nel luogo – Viznar, in Andalusia - dell'assassinio del più grande poeta del Novecento spagnolo, Federico Gracia Lorca. Sul palco l'attrice Caterina Vertova e Marco Carniti, che firma anche la regia. 

"Siamo molto legati a Marco Carniti che ha già diretto alcuni spettacoli per le stagioni di No'hma. Questo suo nuovo lavoro ci è sembrato particolarmente adatto al momento e al mondo  in cui viviamo, dove ci sono sempre più conflitti e brame di potere e in cui la pietà ha bisogno di essere riportata alla luce, oggi come ieri".

Lorca, vittima della guerra civile spagnola, uomo e artista che ha pagato a caro prezzo la sua diversità e i suoi ideali, è stato un'anima errante, un osservatore dall'immaginazione "folle e vivace" e  non da ultimo, un viaggiatore attento. Lo spettacolo ricostruisce il suo assassinio attraverso materiali poetici, teatrali e di cronaca. Caterina Vertova evoca la figura della madre Vicenta Lorca Gonzales che, attraverso le sole parole del poeta, cerca l'anima e il corpo di suo figlio Federico,  "un figlio importante, un grande poeta".

"Teatrale nelle poesie e poeta nei teatri – spiega Marco Carniti – Lorca  ha saputo racchiudere nel suo piccolo pianeta agreste un intero universo poetico dando una  nuova visione del mondo, in una Spagna alla soglia della guerra civile che dopo averlo ucciso, ne fece sparire il corpo che non fu mai ritrovato ".

Le due date dello spettacolo saranno trasmesse in streaming sui canali del teatro.

L'ingresso è gratuito con prenotazione obbligatoria. Per informazioni consultare il sito www.nohma.org o scrivere a [email protected].

Spazio Teatro No'hma

Stagione di Prosa 2023/2024 – In Viaggio

1936

#CERCOMIOFIGLIO

#SICHIAMAFEDERICO

(Grido su Roma)

con Caterina Vertova e Marco Carniti

regia di Marco Carniti

testi di Federico Garcia Lorca

drammaturgia di Francesco Tozzi e Marco Carniti

Video Artist Frederic Amat

Musiche originali David Barittoni

aiuto regia Francesco Lonano

foto Mirco Magliocca

www.nohma.org

[teenagedirtstache]

#casa veneta #bruno sironi #federico errante #fiorenzo sironi #1981 #80s #leather jackets

[dswcp]

This week’s theme: Masters and Apprentices!

“Knight Errant” is a fantastic comic series written by John Jackson Miller which follows the recently knighted Kerra Holt on her brave adventures a thousand years before the Star Wars movies take place. In the first arc, “Aflame,” her former master Vannar Treece leads an ill-fated group from the safety of the Republic to liberate those who live under Sith tyranny. They have a fun, familiar dynamic which becomes more tragic as her backstory is revealed in later arcs and her Jedi identity strengthens.

The comic’s assertion of the value of life is relevant and moving. In my opinion, it is the perfect comic to read right now, when life is more important than anything else. Kerra is one of my favorite Jedi of all time, and the story goes to places both incredibly dark and inspiring; it never fails to break my heart. The third arc, “Escape,” features what I believe is the darkest scenario in all of Star Wars.

“Knight Errant: Aflame,” issue 1. Dark Horse. October 13, 2010. Writer: John Jackson Miller. Penciller: Federico Dallocchio. Inker: Mark Kenna. Colorist: Michael Atiyeh.

#star wars #star wars comics #dark horse comics #knight errant #master and padawan #sw ancient history #kerra holt #vannar treece #john jackson miller #federico dallocchio #pure jedi content #2010 #sister

[sottileincanto]

PROLOGO (Federico Garcia Lorca)

Ecco il mio cuore, Dio mio,

trapassalo col tuo scettro, Signore.

È una cotogna troppo autunnale

ed è marcio.

Strappa gli scheletri

dei lirici sparvieri

che tanto l'hanno ferito

e se hai un becco

togligli la sua scorza di noia.

Ma se non lo vuoi fare,

non importa,

tienti il tuo cielo azzurro

che è tanto noioso,

il trescone degli astri.

E il tuo Infinito

perché chiederò in prestito

il cuore d'un amico.

Un cuore con ruscelli e pini,

e un usignolo di ferro

che sopporti il martello dei secoli.

E poi Satana mi vuol molto bene,

è stato mio compagno a un esame

di lussuria e il furbo

cercherà Margherita me l'ha offerto -.

Margherita bruna,

su uno sfondo di vecchi olivi,

con due trecce di notte d'estate,

perché io laceri le sue cosce bianche.

E allora, Signore!

sarò ricco come o piú di te

perché il vuoto non può paragonarsi al vino

con cui Satana saluta i suoi buoni amici.

Liquore fatto di pianto.

Che importa!

È lo stesso del tuo liquore composto di trilli.

Dimmi, Signore,

Dio mio!

Ci sprofondi nell'ombra dell'abisso?

Siamo uccelli ciechi senza nidi?

La luce si spegne.

E l'olio divino?

Le onde agonizzano.

Ti piaceva giuocare

come se fossimo soldatini?

Dimmi, Signore,

Dio mio!

Non giunge il nostro dolore

alle tue orecchie?

Le nostre bestemmie non hanno fatto babeli senza mattoni

per ferirti, o ti piacciono i gridi?

Sei sordo? Sei cieco?

O sei guercio di spirito

e vedi l'anima umana con toni invertiti?

O Signore sonnolento!

Guarda il mio cuore freddo

come un cotogno troppo autunnale

che è marcito!

Se verrà la tua luce

apri gli occhi vivi:

ma se continui a dormire,

vieni, Satana errante,

peregrino sanguinante,

portami Margherita

bruna tra gli olivi

con le trecce di notte d'estate,

io saprò accenderle gli occhi pensierosi

con i baci macchiati di gigli.

E udrò una sera cieca

il mio Enrique! Enrique!

lirico,

mentre tutti i miei sogni

si riempiono di rugiada.

Qui, Signore, ti lascio

il mio cuore antico,

vado a chiederne un altro

nuovo a un amico.

Cuore con ruscelli e pini,

cuore senza serpi e gigli.

Robusto, con la grazia di un giovane contadino

che attraversa il fiume con un salto.

Vega de Zujaira, 24 luglio 1920

[spanishskulduggery]

i know you got a question similar to this earlier, but im just curious, what are some books you'd recommend to an intermediate to advanced spanish speaker? I only have my hands on Rudolfo Anaya's "Bendíceme, Última" and I'd like to expand my library a bit more

Depending on how you feel about Gabriel García Márquez, I would say Cien años de soledad but only if you can find a copy with a family tree in it. Otherwise El general en su laberinto or some of his short stories

Isabel Allende has some great stories too like La casa de los espíritus and La isla bajo el mar

I also really like some of Borges’s short stories like Los dos reyes y los dos laberintos but steer clear of El jardín de senderos que se bifurcan unless you’re pretty advanced and even then you’re going to need the wikipedia or sparknotes to understand it

I do like Julio Cortázar but my personal favorite of his is La noche boca arriba. He’s best known for his novel Rayuela though

Javier Marías is also really good. I like Corazón tan blanco from him

And who could forget Como agua para chocolate by Laura Esquivel

I have La regenta in my library from Leopoldo Aras but I haven’t gotten to it yet

I also haven’t read it yet but everyone recommends La sombra del viento by Carlos Ruiz Zafón, but I have heard it can be a bit difficult

There’s also La catedral del mar by Ildefonso Falcones which was so famous it became a show and you can watch it on Netflix. It’s set in 14th century Barcelona. And it’s good, but there’s a lot of thematic violence in it if I remember right and that’s sometimes difficult to read.

I also can’t forget about Laura Gallego again. I first came across her work with La leyenda del rey errante and I’ve been meaning to read more of her things. She’s more on the fantasy adventure YA side of things so her writing is more approachable than a lot of the ones I’ve listed

Another of my personal favorites is El conde Lucanor which is by Don Juan Manuel, and it’s more on the old side but it’s much more approachable than some of the older things because it’s all about morals, so it’s more like Aesop’s fables and easily understood

I also enjoyed reading El burlador de Sevilla y el convidado de piedra by Tirso de Molina, which is a play but on the older side [1600s] so it can be more difficult to read

And this isn’t necessarily a book but if you can find the play or a script of it to read, La casa de Bernarda Alba by Federico García Lorca is a great one

And if you just want well-known Spanish-language stories, there’s Horacio Quiroga with El almohadón de plumas, Rosario Ferré and La muñeca menor, Elena Poniatowska’s Cine Prado, and other writers and authors like Gabriela Mistral, Octavio Paz, José Martí, Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, and Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

And if you just want to suffer and read the classics of the classics, it’s Cervantes, or it’s Calderón de la Barca, or it’s Lope de Vega, or you could read La Celestina by Fernando de Rojas

[eveningreading]

To find a kiss of yours what would I give A kiss that strayed from your lips dead to love My lips taste the dirt of shadows     To gaze at your dark eyes what would I give Dawns of rainbow garnet   fanning open before God— The stars blinded them one morning in May And to kiss your pure thighs what would I give Raw rose crystal   sediment of the sun * [Por encontrar un beso tuyo] Por encontrar un beso tuyo, ¿qué daría yo? ¡Un beso errante de tu boca muerta para el amor! (Tierra de sombra come mi boca.) Por contemplar tus ojos negros, ¿qué daría yo? ¡Auroras  de carbunclos irisados abiertas frente a Dios! (Las estrellas los cegaron una mañana de mayo.) Y por besar tus muslos castos, ¿qué daría yo? (Cristal de rosa primitiva, sedimento de sol.)

[To find a kiss of yours] Federico García Lorca - 1898-1936 translated by Sarah Arvio

#federico garcía lorca #to find a kiss of yours #por encontrar un beso tuyo #sarah arvio #poem #poema

[gatakira]

Cuando abatido dejo mi casa

Y al campo salgo, triste y sombrío,

Tal vez me quedo mirando al río,

Tal vez me quedo mirando al mar:

Como esa linfa que pasa y pasa,

Fueron mis dichas y mis venturas;

Como esas olas mis amarguras;

Que van y vienen sin descansar.

Mudo y absorto, solo y errante,

Ya en mí se cifra mi vida entera:

Nadie se cuida, nadie se entera

De los suspiros que al viento doy.

Ya no me queda ni un pecho amante

Que con sus penas mis penas junte.

Ni un dulce labio que me pregunte

De dónde vengo ni adónde voy.

Autor: Federico Balart

[ravynshire-loyal-arthurian]

At 38, abuse still informs every step of my life. I want lots of ladybugs 🐞 or just one. (Abuse ⚠️ Trigger)

I can remember going to bed on my birthday at 8 years old. I always felt guilty for taking free toys — but it was because I was an “awful child” who should have just been left “... at the hospital when I was born.”

The spit in my eye, was of no mention as being why — but it also didn’t change the fact that since I wasn’t, all of the toys and togs were thrown away. By me, as she stood there smacking me on the back of my head. Hard. Repeatedly.

But as I said. I was an awful child, I was worthless. I smelled and simply wasn’t worth the effort.

I was pulled along by the hair back into the basement where a book of magic tricks and the planets and stars were put above Father’s tool bench and I watched in horror as the books were slaughtered one by one... my friends. I would whinge and whimper as I scrubbed my feet against one another and clawed at my face. At 8, questioning my own reality. Believing I was a good kid. Sleeping thru a nightmare that would wake up somewhere with parents who liked me. I’d even made a pact with God and Satan that I’d settle for being... “liked”... at 8. I went to bed that night and having been a young catholic I did the sign of the cross and rather than crossing at the heart I crossed at the belly and said “God will be so angry now” and I began reliving the trauma I felt for being such an unworthy child that I couldn’t keep a secondhand book about Space.

So I called the deal off with God and Lucifer, preferring that he took care of Nicholas — my handicapped brother who truly deserved the love he received because it would be a long life until he got to heaven where God would give him the ability to run and play with the other kids. Besides, I already knew my fate. If I got to go to heaven, God was going to lock me away somewhere so nobody had to deal with me anyway because... it was heaven after all. So I asked God and Lucifer simply “don’t let me wake up please. I don’t want to be bad anymore and I lost my favourite books anyway.”

Neither God or Lucifer answered. In fact, in very condemning fashion they even blocked every attempt at dying. Sitting at the bottom of the pool trying to drown myself. Running through traffic aiming for freedom. Taking all mommy’s aspirin.

Into my teenage years, after being cracked with the central vacuum wand (it was the 90’s nothing wasn’t steel) because there was garlic paper on the floor. I wouldn’t admit it because it seriously wasn’t me. My sister’s plushie rabbit, Sunstain or Butterfuck whatever she called it was decaptiated (please remember it was a toy) because she said only once it wasn’t hers. But she was to “thank her wonderful brother that she no longer had...” Shitcake the magic fucking bunny. Got to school — got in trouble for leaving my library book in the library. Nothing major just an inquisition into my reason for actually being spaced tf fuck out.

The topic of having garped down 7 bottles of medicine I knicked from the Ward when Nurse Collette wasn’t watching. Not a thought. Still... nothing. Not even a heart murmur.

By 17 I was much more capable and after picking my sister up from her pals house I got a stop sign warning. A warning. So we stopped at Sweetbay where I bought more than the legal quantity of a sleep aid. 128, 50mg gels. Best high ever but alas... Death did not need an awful child with a bad attitude who couldn’t manage to bathe. “Smart-Boy” she called me.

I was such a cute kid. I mean if I had kids I’d want a boy that looked exactly like me — just without the permanent broken heart in his eyes. I’d flat out feed the mother to the gators if she so much as hinted at restricting his weekends but it’s exactly that as to why I never did. I look at pictures of me then. With Bobby the babysitter’s brother, I was always smiling and laughing and happy. Like Peter Pan finally caught his shadow I glued myself to Bobby.

Pictures at home even being told to “smile silly” I looked like I’d just come away from a murder scene. I still look that way — well also because Bobby is 55 or summat and has weirdly developed a taste for a life of his own. Without the need of a shadow. Now the same behaviours are occurring again. My eyes would go from sea blue to jet black at home.

At 38, my family (mother died with my forgivenesses having told her there was nothing to forgive, so she’d know if she died I wanted her to know she was free of any poorly feelings. It wasn’t really her anyway I said).

I still beg the Gods to steal me in my sleep every night especially since losing Bendis. Let a car collide with my errant step. A plane landing on my face. I always imagined a tornado having jettisoned the Eiffel Tower at me would be boss af too.

But no such luck. Even after 3 months of 600 pills a months of sleep aid that made me smell like a goat if I got the intel that it would be warm.

No. Only good people get to die. No... I don’t.

So I just gave up.

There’s a story from Under Tuscan Sun, Diane Lane tells us that she knows a woman who once looked all day in her very best dress given her by Federico Fellini darling, and she searched and searched for those lady bugs. Until finally giving up and falling asleep in the field of what I assume would have been Violeta or Lavender — upon waking she was covered with ladybugs. Lots and lots of ladybugs 🐞

This all was allegedly a discussion on Federico’s predilections — though as the insect is concerned, I truly think if I just find some lavender and have a lie down, I may perhaps be able to swing it with God, to have a field of my own actual ladybugs.

Until then. Lean On and Siuil A Run on infinite

#Spotify

[lupitovi]

Dors. Ne crains pas le regard errant.              Dors. Ni le papillon, ni la parole, ni le rayon furtif de la serrure ne t'atteindront.                               Dors. Comme mon coeur, comme lui,  mon miroir. Jardin où l'amour m'espère. Endors-toi sans crainte, mais réveille-toi, quand mourra le dernier baiser de mes lèvres.

Federico Garcia Lorca

#federico garcia lorca

[flashfire344]

Family gathering (part 1)

Federico drew in a long even breath. He had been summoned to his families home by his father. He rarely spoke to Gabriel but due to the suddenness of the note he suspected it was something big. He looked before him to a hallway full of memories. Softly he placed his feet on certain boards allowing him to quietly walk down the otherwise old creaky floor. 

He smiled to himself as he remembered the first time he found this particular pathway through the minefield of sound. Allowing him to escape his fathers watchful gaze to meet with his friends. He paused at the pillars positioned halfway through the room for a moment. Now if i remember right he thought to himself, There should be a notch behind this pillar. Reaching behind the pillar he fumbled to find a thin jagged groove in the grain. His efforts were rewarded by finding a series of marks. “This makes yet another.” he softly whispers to himself before turning to walk confidently down the hall. Now no longer caring if he was heard or not. 

He soon arrived at a door to a library where he as a child would be taught by his mother. He still thought of her many times in fact and he often visited Sophia to tell her about her grandmother. He also read the books his mother read to him to Sophia. He let a sigh as his brow furrowed, being home dredged up memories of his youth and in particularly his siblings. He didn’t leave until they were old enough to do well enough on their own. He was the eldest of three, his two younger brothers were close. He however was held higher than them, he was molded to be the perfect young man. "To be a example for your brothers.” Federico shook his head as he spoke. “Hope they haven’t taken after me now.” As he reached for the knob of the door he hesitated as doubts flooded his mind. He took a moment to steady himself before turning the knob and opening the door. 

The door opened inward revealing a wall maintained and stocked library. He immediately saw a fire popping to his left. Stepping into the room he turned his head upwards as he heard a soft shift and creek of wood from the second floor balcony. He kicked the door closed with his heel before stepping further into the room. “Hello? Are my two little shits of brothers he-” he was not able to finish his words as a trap was sprung on him. Two bodies rushed him, one lightly dropping from above and the other dashing around a large chair. The two blurs tackle Federico to the ground and attempt to pin his leg and arms. 

The trap was nearly perfectly executed but that he was a split second faster. He shifted his weight to bare the falling person before shifting and slamming them down onto the other coming for his legs. Both let out a yelp before they scramble up to stand in front of them. “That ain’t fair you little shits. Attacking me like that.” he grinned at the two brothers standing before him. Both looking like they weren’t done. His two brothers, Donatello and Antonio. Donatello was quite strong for his wisp of a frame. Antonio on the other hand was broad shouldered and built more like his father being heavier than Donatello. 

“Look you two I do-” again, Federico was interrupted as Donatello scooped up an errant book and tossed it at Federico’s face. “Antonio get him!” Antonio sprung into action by throwing a kick into Federico’s side. Antonio’s kick lands squarely as Federico stumbles back. Donatello springs forward lashing out with his long arms to slam into Federico’s other side. 

Grunting Federico shifts his footing back to dodge the blows before swinging a whip like cross into Donatello’s face and then a swift kick to Antonio’s stomach. Both stagger back, Donatello holding his nose and Antonio keeling over trying to get his breath back. “Not...the welcome I was expecting from you two.” Federico gives his two brothers a hard look waiting for them to recover. 

A few tense moments pass as they both look at him. Federico opens his mouth to break the tension but Donatello holds his free hand up. “We did better this time...both of us never could touch you brother.” he moved towards passively. Federico hesitated seeing him move but seeing Donatello having no more ill will grins. “You both kept training. That old bastard really did us good in that at least.” He reached out to pull his brothers into a hug. “Welcome home Federico.” Antonio spoke finally. 

He was home. 

#GW2rp #Cavalli Family #Gabriel Cavalli #Federico Cavalli #Donatello Cavalli #Antonio Cavalli

[elizabethanism]

[To find a kiss of yours]

Federico García Lorca

To find a kiss of yours what would I give A kiss that strayed from your lips dead to love

My lips taste the dirt of shadows    

To gaze at your dark eyes what would I give Dawns of rainbow garnet   fanning open before God—

The stars blinded them one morning in May

And to kiss your pure thighs what would I give Raw rose crystal   sediment of the sun

*

[Por encontrar un beso tuyo]

Por encontrar un beso tuyo, ¿qué daría yo? ¡Un beso errante de tu boca muerta para el amor!

(Tierra de sombra come mi boca.)

Por contemplar tus ojos negros, ¿qué daría yo? ¡Auroras  de carbunclos irisados abiertas frente a Dios!

(Las estrellas los cegaron una mañana de mayo.)

Y por besar tus muslos castos, ¿qué daría yo?

(Cristal de rosa primitiva, sedimento de sol.)

#Federico García Lorca #kiss #love poem #eyes #you

[teenagedirtstache]

#casa veneta #federico errante #1981 #80s

[dswcp]

This is my favorite Star Wars comics visual parallel: Kerra Holt among the Jedi at the beginning of her series, and among the Sith at the end! I just love her journey (and her style) so much!

(Also, Odion’s ships in the second panel remind me of the Night Buzzard, the beautifully ugly ship of the Knights of Ren. Fun fact: the Night Buzzard was once a prison ship, but the KoR freed the prisoners and took the ship for themselves, which makes them prison abolitionist icons. Hell yeah!)

“Knight Errant: Aflame,” issue 1. Dark Horse. October 13, 2010. Writer: John Jackson Miller. Penciller: Federico Dallocchio. Inker: Mark Kenna. Colorist: Michael Atiyeh.

“Knight Errant: Escape,” issue 1. Dark Horse. June 13, 2012. Writer: John Jackson Miller. Penciller: Marco Castiello. Inker: Vincenzo Acunzo. Colorist: Michael Atiyeh.

#star wars #star wars comics #kerra holt #berluk #mrssk #unnamed jedi #wayman #glenk #unnamed sith #sw ancient history #dark horse comics #john jackson miller #federico dallocchio #marco castiello #2010 #2012 #pure jedi content #hot sith content #lightsabers #dramatic cape #hot girl shit #girl power #the opposite of a reluctant hero #republic #so cool!!! #two panels #we stan a girl jedi #hoods #alien

[lukats]

Balada interior

El corazón, Que tenía en la escuela Donde estuvo pintada La cartilla primera, ¿Está en ti, Noche negra? (Frío, frío, Como el agua Del río.) El primer beso Que supo a beso y fue Para mis labios niños Como la lluvia fresca, ¿Está en ti, Noche negra? (Frío, frío Como el agua Del río.) Mi primer verso. La niña de las trenzas Que miraba de frente ¿Está en ti, Noche negra? (Frío, frío, Como el agua Del río,) Pero mi corazón Roído de culebras, El que estuvo colgado Del árbol de la ciencia, ¿Está en ti, Noche negra? (Caliente, caliente, Como el agua De la fuente.) Mi amor errante, Castillo sin firmeza, De sombras enmohecidas, ¿Está en ti, Noche negra? (Caliente, caliente, Como el agua De la fuente.) ¡Oh, gran dolor! Admites en tu cueva Nada más que la sombra. ¿Es cierto, Noche negra? (Caliente, caliente, Como el agua De la fuente.) ¡Oh, corazón perdido! ¡Réquiem aeternam!

-Federico García Lorca.