casamorta

not for me, but on this we are more or less all in agreement

*performance, without "s"

Nes, even a concert can be a performance. Whether you like it or not, that's your problem; if you were going to a GG Allin concert, you knew you weren't going there for the music, you know...otherwise, you just go listen to the usual Dream Theater.

Look, I don't side with GG ALLIN, whom I find gaudy and in poor taste (and I'm not just referring to his performances, but in general...), but I wonder what the boundary is between creative freedom, gratuitous provocation, true insanity, fetish marketing... and so on. In short, GG Allin was a controversial figure, but it should make us think that he became a character adored by thousands of fans around the world!! Why? That’s the point... Then, @ Nes... what you wrote could easily apply to Piero Manzoni as well, paraphrasing you: "If you end up shitting IN A JAR ARTISTICALLY, you must really be worth nothing." With the necessary distinctions between the two people, which I’m sure are clear to both you and me. R.I.P.

I don't know the artist well, other than "fame" (...), but reading just now some information about his childhood on Wikipedia, I must say I've understood a lot... poor guy! Anyway, dear Giordano, is this the DVD with the scenes from his funeral-party?

and vanished.

“Just look at her!” exclaimed Perpetua. “Oh, what a rascal! Oh, what a tyrant! Oh, what a man without the fear of God!”
- “Will you be quiet? Or do you want to ruin me completely?”
- “Oh! We're here alone, and no one can hear us. But how will he manage, poor master?”
- “Oh, you see," said Don Abbondio, in an irritated voice, "you see what great advice this woman gives me! She comes to ask me how I will manage, as if she were the one in trouble, and it were up to me to get her out of it.”
- “But! I could give her my poor advice; but then…”
- “But then, let’s hear it.”
- “My advice would be that, since everyone says our archbishop is a holy man, a man of resolve, who isn't afraid of anyone, and, when he can, makes these bullies behave, to support a parish priest, he takes pleasure in it; I would say, and I say that she should write him a nice letter to inform him how…”
- “Will you be quiet? Will you be quiet? Is this the kind of advice to give a poor man? If I were shot in the back, God forbid! would the archbishop get me out of it?”
- “Eh! Shots aren’t given away like confetti: and woe to those dogs if they had to bite every time they bark! And I’ve always seen that those who can show their teeth and earn respect are treated accordingly; and precisely because you never want to state your case, we are reduced to the point where everyone comes, with permission, to…”
- “Will you be quiet?”
- “I’ll be quiet right away; but it’s certain that when the world notices that someone, always, in every encounter, is ready to…”
- “Will you be quiet? Is it time to say such nonsense?”
- “Enough: think about it tonight; but in the meantime, don’t start harming yourself, ruining your health; eat a bite.”
- “I’ll think about it,” replied Don Abbondio, grumbling; “sure; I’ll think about it, I have to think about it.” And he got up, continuing, “I don’t want to take anything; nothing; I have other things on my mind: I know too that it’s up to me to think about this. But! It had to happen to me of all people.”
- “At least down another drop of this,” said Perpetua, pouring. “You know this always settles your stomach.”
- “Eh! It takes more than that; it takes more than that; it takes more than that.” Saying this, he took the light, and, still grumbling, “a little trifle! for a gentleman, mind you! and how will it go tomorrow?” - and other similar laments, he started to go up to his room. Upon reaching the threshold, he turned back toward Perpetua, put his finger to his lips, and said, in a slow and solemn tone: “for the love of heaven!”

- I'm coming, - he replied, placing on the small table, in the usual spot, the flask of the favorite wine of Don Abbondio, and he moved slowly; but he had not yet touched the threshold of the sitting room when he entered with a step so constrained, with an expression so shaded, with a face so distorted, that even Perpetua's keen eyes would not have needed much to see at first glance that something truly extraordinary had happened to him.
- Mercy! What's wrong, sir?
- Nothing, nothing, - answered Don Abbondio, letting himself sink breathlessly into his armchair.
- What do you mean, nothing? Are you trying to convince me? Looking as awful as you do? Something serious has happened.
- Oh, for heaven's sake! When I say nothing, either it's nothing, or it's something I can't say.
- Something you can't even tell me? Who will take care of your health? Who will give you advice?
- Alas! Be quiet, and don’t prepare anything else: give me a glass of my wine.
- And you expect me to believe that you have nothing! - said Perpetua, filling the glass and then holding it in her hand, as if she wouldn’t hand it over until she received the long-awaited confession.
- Give it here, give it here, - said Don Abbondio, taking the glass from her with a not very steady hand, and downing it quickly as if it were medicine.
- Do you want me to be forced to ask around what has happened to my master? - said Perpetua, standing before him, with her hands on her hips and elbows pointed forward, staring at him as if she wanted to draw the secret from his eyes.
- For heaven's sake! Don’t gossip, don’t make a fuss: it’s... it’s about life!
- Life!
- Life.
- You know well that every time you’ve told me something sincerely, in confidence, I have never...
- Good! Like when...
Perpetua realized she had touched a false note; whereupon, changing her tone immediately, - sir master, - she said, with a voice both moved and moving, - I have always been fond of you; and if I want to know now, it’s out of concern, because I would like to be able to help you, give you good advice, lift your spirits...
The fact is that Don Abbondio had perhaps as much desire to unburden himself of his painful secret as Perpetua had to learn it; so, after having continually brushed off her new and increasingly pressing assaults more feebly, after having made her swear more than once that she wouldn’t breathe a word, he finally, with many pauses and many oh dear, recounted the miserable affair. When it came to the terrible name of the instigator, Perpetua had to make a new and more solemn oath; and Don Abbondio, upon uttering that name, collapsed against the backrest of the chair with a great sigh, raising his hands in a gesture both of command and supplication, and saying: - for heaven's sake!

"I’m coming," he replied, placing on the usual little table the flask of wine that Don Abbondio favored, and he moved slowly; but he had not yet touched the threshold of the sitting room when he entered with a gait so stiff, a gaze so shadowed, and a face so contorted, that even Perpetua’s expert eyes wouldn't have been needed to discover at first glance that something truly extraordinary had happened to him.
- "Mercy! What’s the matter, master?"
- "Nothing, nothing," Don Abbondio replied, letting himself fall, all out of breath, into his armchair.
- "What do you mean, nothing? Are you trying to make me believe that? With how miserable you look? Something serious has happened."
- "Oh, for heaven’s sake! When I say nothing, it’s either nothing, or something that I can't say."
- "You can't even tell me? Who will take care of your health? Who will give you advice?..."
- "Alas! Be quiet, and don’t prepare anything else: give me a glass of my wine."
- "And you expect me to believe that you have nothing!" Perpetua said, filling the glass and then holding it in her hand as if intending to give it only in exchange for the confidence that was long awaited.
- "Give it here, give it here," said Don Abbondio, taking the glass from her, with a hand not quite steady, and drinking it quickly, as if it were medicine.
- "So you want me to be forced to ask around what has happened to my master?" Perpetua said, standing before him, with her hands planted on her hips, elbows pointed forward, gazing at him intently as if she wanted to suck the secret from his eyes.
- "For heaven's sake! Don’t gossip, don’t make a fuss: it's a matter of... it’s a matter of life!"
- "Life!"
- "Life."
- "You know well that every time you’ve told me something sincerely, in confidence, I have never..."
- "Good! Like when..."
Perpetua realized she had hit a false note; so, changing her tone immediately, she said, "Master," with a voice quivering with emotion, "I have always been fond of you; and if I want to know now, it’s out of concern, because I would like to be able to help you, give you good advice, lift your spirits..."
The fact is that Don Abbondio was perhaps as eager to unload his painful secret as Perpetua was to know it; so, after having resisted her increasingly pressing inquiries more and more weakly, after having made her swear more than once that she wouldn’t breathe a word of it, he finally, with many hesitations and many "oh dear’s," told her the miserable tale. When it came to the terrible name of the instigator, Perpetua had to give a new and more solemn oath; and Don Abbondio, having uttered that name, collapsed against the back of the chair, with a great sigh, raising his hands in an act of both command and supplication, saying, "for heaven’s sake!"
- "Of his!" exclaimed Perpetua. "Oh, what a scoundrel! Oh, what a tyrant! Oh, what a man without the fear of God!"
- "Will you be quiet? Or will you ruin me completely?"
- "Oh! We are here alone, and no one can hear us. But how will you manage, poor master?"
- "Oh, you see," said Don Abbondio with an irritable voice, "you see what fine advice this one gives me! She comes to ask me how I will manage, as if she were the one in trouble, and it was up to me to get her out of it."
- "But! I would have my poor advice to give you; but then..."
- "But then, let’s hear it."
- "My advice would be that, since everyone says that our archbishop is a holy man, a man of strength, and that he fears no one, and when he can, he puts one of these bullies in their place to support a curate, we should write him a nice letter to inform him how matters truly are..."
- "Will you be quiet? Will you be quiet? Is this the kind of advice to give to a poor man? If I were to get shot in the back, God forbid! would the archbishop take it out for me?"
- "Eh! Gunshots aren’t given away like confetti: and woe to us if those dogs were to bite every time they bark! And I have always seen th

Let my twenty-five readers now consider what impression the story I just recounted must have made on the poor soul. The fright of those grim faces and foul words, the threat of a gentleman notorious for not threatening in vain, a system of quiet living that had cost so many years of study and patience, disrupted in an instant, and a step from which there seemed to be no way out: all these thoughts swirled tumultuously in the lowered head of Don Abbondio. "If Renzo could be sent away with a simple no, fine; but he’ll want reasons; and what am I to answer him, for heaven’s sake? And, and, he is quite a headstrong fellow: a lamb if no one touches him, but if someone contradicts him... oh! And then, lost behind that Lucia, in love like... those rascals, who, not knowing what to do, fall in love, want to get married, and think of nothing else; they don’t consider the troubles they put a poor gentleman through. Oh poor me! do you see if those two ridiculous figures had to really block my path and take it with me! What do I have to do with it? Am I the one who wants to marry? Why didn’t they go speak... Oh, just look: great is my destiny, that the right things come to my mind always a moment too late. If I had thought to suggest to them that they go deliver their message...” But at this point, he realized that regretting not having been a counselor and cooperator of wickedness was too wicked a thing; and he directed all his annoyance against that other who had come to take away his peace. Don Rodrigo he only knew by sight and reputation, nor had he ever had any dealings with him other than to touch his chest with his chin and the ground with the tip of his hat those few times he had encountered him on the street. It had happened to him to defend, on more than one occasion, the reputation of that gentleman against those who, in low voices, sighing, and raising their eyes to heaven, cursed some of his deeds: he had said a hundred times that he was a respectable knight. But, at that moment, he gave in his heart all those titles that he had never heard applied to him by others, without quickly interrupting with an "oh no!" Arriving, amidst the tumult of these thoughts, at the door of his house, which was at the end of the village, he hurriedly inserted the key into the lock, which he already held in his hand; he opened, entered, and carefully closed it again; and, anxious to be in trusted company, he immediately called: - Perpetua! Perpetua! -, making his way towards the living room, where she must certainly be preparing the table for dinner. It was Perpetua, as everyone can see, Don Abbondio’s servant: a devoted and faithful servant, who knew when to obey and when to command, tolerating the grumbling and fantasies of her master at times, and making him tolerate her own, which became more frequent day by day, since he had passed the synodal age of forty, remaining single, having rejected all the suitors that had been offered to him, as she would say, or for never having found a dog that would want her, as her friends would say.