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Rating: 1. The vehicle moves through hills awaiting the change of a scorching summer. Inside, young men are discussing: in search of some place in the complexity of the cosmos, absolution, and condemnation.
Here, the Field of the Pieve and the skeleton of a domus gentilizia; «because this world that seems to us to be made of stone, vegetation, and blood is not a thing at all but is simply a story» (1). Next to the carapace that holds elusive splendors, the vestiges of modernity emerge: in the center, an insubstantial temple of steel.
2. Jacopo Incani, together with two officiants, ascends the steps leading to the presbytery. The three stand before metallic benches: without warning, a mystic sound begins to rage against the dying of the light (2):
«Nous all el same mon name
Nous all le same mes ashes
One bouche por all these faces
Nous all el same mon name» (3).
Grasshoppers everywhere, plague of Egypt.
«Ayna? Ayna?» (4).
3. The oscillations strike at the onset of darkness; and then, the voice that emerges, beyond the apparent possibilities of reality, from the sonic demiurge.
Ashes, Foule, Soldiers, Hajar; Carne, Tanca..
No interaction with the mass trembling at the foot of the presbytery.
Time passes.
Illuministically intangible harmonies.
The oscillations overcome the resistance of reason, the walls that encircle the multitude of one's own selves crumble, «the world is the force of imagination, imagination-force» (5): migrating, voicing, shouting, crying, surviving, wanting, clinging, clinging, clinging.
4. In the electronic apocalypse, a disgustingly white and naked man gropes in the dark. Who am I?
«If an ambitious person thought of abruptly overturning the entire world of human thought, human opinion, and human sentiment, they have the opportunity. The path leading to immortal fame opens straight and obstacle-free before them. It would suffice merely to write and publish a very small book. The title would be simple – a few clear words – "Il mio cuore messo a nudo" [My Heart Laid Bare]. But this small book would have to keep the promises of its title [...] writing it, therein lies the difficulty. No man 'could' write it, even if he dared to attempt it. The paper would curl and be consumed at the mere touch of his fiery pen» (6).
5. Jacopo Incani, along with the two officiants, leaves the temple. The machines continue to produce hallucinatory oscillations. Then, silence, darkness. It's all over.
The vehicle moves through hills awaiting the change of a scorching summer. Inside, young men are discussing: in search of some place in the complexity of the cosmos, absolution, and condemnation.
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