“And your dress is white” is an attempt to combine movement in space with my feeling about this world that transforms everything. I pass from a warm and ironic harmonic dance, that is played perhaps under the Shahrazàd tent in the middle of the desert, at spring sunset, in front of fresh and open faces of enchanted maidens, that fascinate me in the land of fantasy to the smile between the slightly perverse and the amused’ in the chaos of the apparent order of this world made of silicone egoisms with faces of cathode ray tubes’ that are indifferent to the daily massacres and attentive to the appearance of looking happy and nauseated.
The Dance ends in self-destruction, happy to shoot and shoot themselves and cut their own asses off, gutting themselves in a kitsch ritual of great happiness, that comes to us from the U.S.A. and throws away.

And your dress is white (1920-1929)

You bent your head and you stare at me,
and your dress is white,
and a breast appears from the lace
undone on your left shoulder

The light passed me; trembles
And touches your bare arms.

I see you again. You had
closed and fast words,
that put heart
in the weight of a life
which tasted of circus.

Deep is the road
On which the wind descended
Some nights of march,
and woke us up unknown
as the first time.
Salvatore Quasimodo