"In the circle of life" - Renzo Novatone

(In memory of Bruno Filippi)

"The people who desire to be themselves never know where they are going."

"The final outcome of knowledge consists in recognizing that the soul of man is unknowable."

"Thus us Life! Sorrow is our creative abyss, Joy and Happiness our mighty dream!
Even if sorrow does not make us better, "I think" says Nietzsche - "that it makes us deeper." And in the mysterious depths of our being the unknowable enigma toils and hides itself. Hour by hour, moment by moment, it transmutes itself from unknown emotion to known thought, luminous and briliant, that flashes its darting rays on virgin, purple peaks of revelatory knowledge."

"...so the happines created by and for ourselves is reflected, smiling, in the sea of our sorrow; of this our sorrow that gave us Life!"

"Life for us is to change all that we are and all that touches us into light and flame, because we cannot do otherwise. This is the circle - perhapes much too limited - of Life where we are perpetually knocked down without being able to escape except through the silent paths of Death! But Death does not frighten or terrorize us. On the countrary! We who proceed out of the Unknoun of eternity and go toward the eternity of Unknown have learned to look upon Death like any moment of our Life. And this is our most beautiful, our most sublime mystery!
This is the final word of knowledge. The unknowable!

And it is from this our unknowable singularity that the powerful and diabolical voice of our desires rises. Desires of youthful flesh eager of pleasure, the cry of the spirit panting for unlimited freedom, mad flights of the mind through the distant, unexplored unknown; howls and ferocious blasphemies of our galloping and vagabond thought colliding with the much too mysterious walls of eternity, triumphant and dionysian songs of Life seen dimly through the delirium of a dream, a dream composed of a Whole lost and wandering in a Void. And in the Void Death waits for us. This Death that is ours as Life is ours.

But one should not be lowered into the grave with a heart swollen with sadness and weeping. It is necessary first to have lived in intensity as Artists, as Rebels, as Heroes, without ever having bathed in the bitter waters of repentance that flow in christian rivers. The true original sinner should not die drowning in the slimy whirlpools of a slimier remorse, but rather enveloped in the rosy blaze of the greatest sin. Before dying, we must be consumed to the last quivering spark of our luxuriant thought, having made a feast of the world and an infinite pleasure of action, Before dying, it is necessary - as Emerson said - to feel everything become familiar to us, every event useful, every day holy, every person divine. Then? "Then comes the nausea, the repugnance, the loathing" says Bruno Filippi, and then one "dares" and daring one goes with a calm and bright spirit toward the silent realm of Death where the mind disperses in the vast stillness of the Void and matter descomposes in order to live another type of unknown life in the atoms."

"But while I admire this vigorous creature who blossomed luxuriously through the pegan mystery of the homerically tragic art that, as a symbol of sublime heroic beauty, exalts itselfs above the sky of Shadow and of Night as the fatal announcement of a brilliant dawn of blood, fire and light, I see "the anarchic individual" standing out from the grey twilight of reality, "he who obeyes only his own law in order to open the passage with bomb explosions" and live life crying like the god of the rynerian parable: "I love you and freely desire you, oh my Necessity!"

"Spirit has made itself Thought, Thought has made itself Flesh in order to reapear as symbol."

"Like all of the few frantic lovers of Life, he was a heroic poet of the deed who in the destruction of himself and of his Misfortunes created a tragic song to the "triumph of the imperishable will", to the cult of eternal Joy and Beauty. He offered all the corroding and luminous flames of his ardent, sorrowful and tortured mind. In the delirious impulse of his annihilation, wanted to make the most intimate and sublime Sin acknowleged Life. Then he dissolved in the Void, a luminous and wandering voice that remains for us, incessantly whispering: "Dare, dare!"

"He was broken while breaking the chains that you, United in a cowardly and hateful way in your manifold quality as dangerous lunatics, riveted logically and morally, to his twenty year old rebel wrists in order to crush his Uniqueness, his mystery, because he was incomprehensible to you, precisely as the comlicated mind of one who feels complete in himself must be. Bruno Filippi hated. But the forces of Hatred did not crush the powers of Love within Him. He immolated himself in a fruitful embrace with death because he madly loved Life. We have the need and the entitlement to say of him that which was said of D'Annunzian hero: "That the slaves of the marketplace turn around and remember!"