2 jul 2017

Nathalie in the Hells of Europa



It happened all of an un-sudden: somebody took away the only thing she had.

Thee same happened to-me: do I care? How much?

A bit? 
Nothing.


This is why Nathalie lives in the Hells of Europa forever at night, in the Roman celluloid of a Fellini and a Nino Rota and there-is no way to get out not-even in one million years


descended on the stair-cases of a Tinto Brass

in Cinecittà 
or Montecarlo 
this is why

this is why, this is why, THIS IS WHY.



This is why -and ever since- she despairs-on stairs and sees the potatoes grow-low in the wet-France/Benelux, blessed with piss by the European Union above



because nothing is long ago
because everything is today, now, at the same time





























like a dark and sinister memory from thee past that reminisces and reminisces









de façon exécrable.












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