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- Rapinatrice in trasferta a Torino arrestata dalla polizia, è la figlia di un boss della camorra
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Country of murderers and thieves, Bloodsuckers of the Third World, Devils with smiling faces— My curse on you for ever! May your land be reduced to a wild Desolation, may all that lives In your tainted spaces Never know peace—or joy— ever! Where your people once lived Secure in the illusion Of their superior virtue, There the bison will roam Again, the frog spread confusion Over the marshes, the vulture thrive.
Another people will possess your land Taking your place, a race From beyond the sea, superior In virtue: one that practises What you only preach, showing a face Of kindness and compassion and Care for mankind: a race far dearer To God, and less prone to vices. You brew trouble, you foment wars So you can peddle your arms. Pain screams From the mouths of children so That your hatchers of harm Can trinket their whores And live the American dream.
That way lies hell, and there you go! You defile all the regions you rule, You scatter your bases and rob The lands you begrime and bescum! Who helps to kill children for kicks In Palestine? May Abu Ghraib Gnaw away at your inmost soul Like a maggot! The time will come When your backs will be beaten by sticks!
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A country not owned, but rented. From the Arabs temporarily, by force —Where the rent is always in arrears. America, the day will come When the rent will have to be paid With compound interest. At the end of this course, You will pick up the tab and become Chief debtor for the monster you made! See, the betrayer of the Jews— The Jews themselves! Or rather Those who call themselves Jews, the pseudo Ashkenazi Jews with their blue eyes And blonde hair! Could any race be further From the true Semitic Jews whose Blended blood has been poured into Other bloods under alien skies? These are the ones, the hocus-pocus Imposter Jews, who now blow the trumpet For Zion, stigmatizing Their critics, and heaping abuse On those who object to the rank armpit Of Israel!
September 11? That was just The beginning! Prepare for more Of the same! How can you win? You are universally despised!
Congratulations, America! You win First prize for shooting fish in a barrel! Hear now my message: Depart From our lands: you have your own. It lies under Our sands, and there it shall stay! Get out of our sight! Leave us alone! I wonder What Christ would think of Camp X-ray? Nation of impudent parasites! Hear now my curse: May all your bones Be broken, your ashes all whirled To the wind!
This is the website of Lasha Darkmoon, an anglo-American academic with higher degrees in Classics who lives and works in England. You can read more about Darkmoon here. Guarda il mondo dorato alle prime luci Soli e lune del tempo che fu! Ahi, Ahi! Non posso darti altro che altra dipendenza. Se prendi me prendi anche la dannazione.
You say my heart is tainted, And what you say is true. My heart, it fed a serpent— The serpent, it was you. Sad and alone I lay sick with a dumb despair and then you passed my way and suddenly the air was full of angels singing hosannas loud and clear and silver bells were ringing their music in my ear and all at once, aghast, I knew how it would be— and you went sweeping past without a glance at me.
Honeybread and wisdom give and let this craven heart forgive sins for which it loved to live. Stella Maris rinse you clean, bright and shining and pristine, like the child you might have been.
Rapinatrice in trasferta a Torino arrestata dalla polizia, è la figlia di un boss della camorra
Tears of sorrow now be shed. On my shoulder lay your head. Devilseed, be comforted. Show me the way. You must not look at me any more. Karlin wrote to me about a year and a half ago in response to one of my online essays on art.
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We struck up an almost instantaneous friendship and have been corresponding ever since. From the study of these great artists Karlin obviously derived great benefit, but in no sense can her work be described as derivative. It has a unique freshness of its own. Perhaps the quality that distinguishes her work above all is its chaste and childlike simplicity—its rare innocency of eye.
In a few delicate brushstrokes, Karlin has managed to capture all the airy charms and romance of Italy. The charming nude reclining in the bathtub, incidentally, is the artist herself — the purple-haired princess of the Forest Primeval. The watershed event that separates these two periods is the climactic meeting with the most important person in her life, the man she was to marry: the architectural genius Lee Porter Butler, founder of Ekotecture.
It is in the earlier period that Karlin was particularly prolific, turning out a vast body of work and enjoying exhibitions all over the world, while she lived a peripatetic life of Bohemian adventure in Paris, London and Rome—doubtless with the occasional jaunt to sunny Florence where the great Renaissance masters accomplished their finest creations. See here , here and here. At this time, she was teaching art at an exclusive prep school, a post she retained for several years before setting off for a stint of art study in Rome.
Here she was to learn traditional techniques under teachers imbued with an innate admiration for the Renaissance masters. It was during this period that Karlin began experimentations with egg tempera and completed a series of large oil paintings called The Peaceable Kingdom. This was painted in a similar style and delved into the same set of preoccupations: the interface of the real world with the world of dreams and reverie. In , she was to receive a grant as Artist in residence at Villa Montalvo. This process brought her into contact with a vanishing America.
It was heartrendingly sad. She was to paint the last patches of precious green earth. The peach and cherry orchards that John Steinbeck wrote about so movingly, the verdant vistas that were rapidly being swallowed up by the voracious new monster of technology: she was to paint all this evanescent world from early morning to late at night—sometimes working feverishly by moonlight, with nothing to sustain her but her will and the desire to capture on canvas the fleeting moment. Sadly, none of these otherworldly paintings, painted in a Van Gogh state of heightened sensitivity, have survived.
This was to happen just a few months after her well-received exhibition at Villa Montalvo.