H.C.E

H.C.E. is a state, a state of mind. it is. and it will forever be.
H.C.E. is a story about me waiting for a train. and this is a thing that maybe only two grown up dudes can understand. because at that time, they were in that place.
H.C.E. isn't fab, neither fabrizio, or fishbone
H.C.E. is none of them, but even a little bit of each of them, like... sometimes Fab will popup, with a capital f and you know how I hate capital letters.
H.C.E. as a state of mind was born too long time ago and the circumstaces tickle my brain a little bit, but they suddenly flow away, because i just don't want to remember my teenage riot, my very first time with j. joyce.
H.C.E. saw everything. deaths and paranoia and sweat and fear and anger.
H.C.E. is the memory of changes: understand what to do, where to go. and doing it. for real.
H.C.E. is "to appear" and "to disappear"
H.C.E. is my sick brain, in the bullshit i wrote abroad: the ones which make people laugh and the ones which make people cry.
H.C.E. is me, gaping in front of Tori Amos
H.C.E. is a dullboy's rhetoric. a dullboy who doesn't have anything to say and too often hides behind someone else's words.
H.C.E. are the nights spent playing darts in panni's pub.
H.C.E. are the stupid voices up in my head.
H.C.E. es solo niebla, joder.
H.C.E. is who i wish to be, without accounting for anything, or better; it is who i already am, without compromises
H.C.E. is a rag bear. that is my hobbyhorse.
H.C.E. is the music that i have in my ears allday long. the music which hides the stupid voices and, more often, represents their soundtrack.
H.C.E. is a Kandinskij's improvisation. Let's say the #5.
H.C.E. is the right place at the wrong time. or the wrong place at the right time.
H.C.E. is irritatingly DADA
H.C.E. appears and disappears, cuts and pastes.
H.C.E. are fortytwo flips of a coin and fortytwo times head.
H.C.E. is childish and disappointing.
H.C.E. is a perspective escher's nightmare.
H.C.E. est pour moi celui qui le duc d'auge est pour cidrolin, et toutefois
H.C.E. est pour moi celui qui cidrolin est pour le duc d'auge.
H.C.E. is the fragile selfesteem of jack.
H.C.E. doesn't exist.
H.C.E. is bosch's the garden of delights.
H.C.E. is a storm, outside, and a cool night without the slutty moon.
H.C.E. is a fantomas' track, let's say 4-11-2005.
H.C.E. is the hate for olives, fat children and dirty dogs.
H.C.E. is waiting room by fugazi, kissability by sonic youth, bela lugosi is dead by bauhaus, prayers for rain by cure, hamburgher train by primus, sabotage by beastie boys, man eater by nic endo, go on beef by feadz, key is a fact that a cat brings by melt banana, closer by nine inch nails, you can't go home again by dj shadow, alec eiffel by pixies and all those stuff i use to listen to.
H.C.E. sono le muse inquietanti di de chirico.
H.C.E. are the billions of gigs i saw, breathless.
H.C.E. is "to disappear" and "to appear" because we're all invisible, shadows jokes lies hot feelings inside cold shivers.
H.C.E. is what is resting, i.e. memory of a twisted past or post-it in the present and maybe a magnetic board for the future.
H.C.E. is my blind spot, with its words and fantasy and sincerity and magic.
H.C.E. è il miracolo di quando il mondo si trasforma da scaladigrigio a technicolor senza passare dal via sottoforma di un funghetto di monopoli a largo augusto.
H.C.E. is a deep black bass, that finally starts uttering pleasant and sincere sounds.
H.C.E. are husker du in the brain, my bass over the shoulder and the sweater's hood which hides my eyes: darkness and an empty street.
H.C.E. è la tavola periodica degli elementi. soprattutto all'incirca il molibdeno.
H.C.E. is i'm sick of the old things so i dig a hole to bury... pain
H.C.E. sont clairements les fleurs bleu.



as Man Ray...

unconcerned but not indifferent


...Haveth Childers Everywhere.