the man who Talked to himself english adaptation.....................lorenzo fonda copy editing.....................................patricia L. gold ÂŠ2010 luca zamoc all rights reserved
There you go, a blackout. There are some bulldozers here in front of my place that have been doing things with sand during the last few days. I’m not really sure what they’re up to, but I thought that maybe they hit some principal power cable and I immediately feared the worst, which basically means me living without electric power for days, and I already started thinking about all the things I couldn’t have done, where I should have gone to recharge my laptop, whom I should have asked wifi to, whom on the other side of the ocean I couldn’t be in touch with, the books I couldn’t have read, and so on. Then I thought about the fact that a cable that feeds energy to the whole neighborhood was laid under the beach is a little absurd. In fact, a few seconds later, energy came back and the monitor wearily turned on again. And the desktop was monopolized in full screen glory by Zamoc’s crotch. I know very few people for whom drawing is such a second skin, dressed and taken around with so much grace and spontaneity that you can’t help but wonder what would happen if one day they would be deprived of it. How would they react if someone tore that skin away from them without warning, just like energy was taken away from me only minutes ago. Could they still exist in society? Without that second layer would life burn all the nerve endings that were before covered by all that grace and spontaneity? Maybe we could give them a new skin, and probably after a transition period of allergic reactions they could get used to it and most likely start to live with it with the same talent they used to carry the other skin around. But I don’t really see why someone would want to rob someone else of his electric current just for the sake of it. Bear with me, I know these are somehow rhethorical questions and most likely predictable, but we artists have the right to shamelessly be allowed to hide behind the fact that we’re way better at posing questions than giving answers.
And I deem vital that there are people in this world so generous to have the courage to rip their guts out of their own bodies, just for the sake of analyzing themselves, up close and, well, very personal. Ok, I’ll admit, maybe Zamoc might have had some egotistical reason for putting this together, but isn’t it the way artists talk about us, by talking about themselves? About their fears, their discouragements, their demons, but also about what they love and what makes them feel alive? Don’t books, paintings, films perhaps work as mirrors in which we see our little and messy life reflected? Isn’t it perhaps a cathartic process, the one that happens everytime the lights come back again on a theatre and we feel that something inside of us has changed? The feeling I mostly get, when I have the fortune of stumbling upon works like this one, is gratitude. Because, trust me, you need lots, lots, and lots of courage to embark on a project of this kind, that takes so much time out of your life and, most dangerously, tells so much about the person who created it, both to himself in the first place and to us, unsuspecting, but ultimately lucky readers. Psychological surgery, Zamoc called this kind of work. He’s also saying he wants to write a proper manifesto for it. But for now I don’t need more than this. Just a few pages, but in which is enclosed all his passion for life, for women, for self-analysis, for Charles, and, last but not least, for drawing. Because it’s not reccomended to go to the beach without sunscreen to protect your precious skin. Speaking on the beach, let me save this document, before there’s a blackout again and things go awry.
lorenzo fonda venice beach
the spirit desires to remain Within its body, because, Without the organic instruments of that body, it can neither act, nor feel anything. Leonardo Da Vinci
i knew at a very young age that images had a very special power . i realized they were so powerful they could allow me to turn a god into a lizard hanging on a cross .
i hated going to church. the problem Was our priest, father romolo. he hadnâ€™t the slightest regard for time. heâ€™d drone on in that annoying chant Which seems to be a talent exclusively bestowed upon the clergy.
the masses were endless. They were an unbearable struggle for every kid present.
There was a cross, in that church
a huge one
i used to immerse myself immensely in that object, to try escape the mass inexorability.
That crucifix was so real and crude, so terribly painful. i could almost hear it shouting.
carved in wood, lifesized, the monolith took over the dark church with retained elegance. we were all overwhelmed by it.
it wasas if it could have fallen on us at any moment.
i couldn’t help but lose myself in its inexplicable, tortured beauty
That particular day, drunk from that object’s monstrosity, i grabbed a piece of paper and began drawing
for the first time i drew without thinking. i had the strangest sensation that ink and rage were mixing on the pen’s tip, becoming imprisoned in the piece of paper
i remember the look of horror on his face. he told me i couldn’t draw monsters in the house of the lord.
i could perceive his crying face, i felt the urge to escape from it, somehow
my dad saw what i was drawing before i was able to finish it. bewildered, he tore it out from under my hands,
i still remember what he said to me: “what would father romolo say if he saw this?” to me, father romolo was way more than just my super-ego, he embodied my worst fears
my dad crumpled the piece of paper in his large, warm hand. how should i have felt? i felt empty. i thanked god for not letting my dad grasp the true meaning of my drawing.
only very long after that day, did i finally come to understand
That human secretion came to become catharsis
get out get out
stop it get out
get the fuck out!
This is me. iâ€™m thinking terrible things about my neo-ex-girlfriend. i just had one of those poisonous dreams that are able to shatter entire days. Too much in that dream was overwhelming... its images have been tearing apart my brain for hours
i feel so awful that i canâ€™t draw anymore. i was feeling so good yesterday. There are other women. you have other women. stop it.
last time i felt like this i drew until five in the morning, a frog shaped character called â€œvertoâ€?. it makes no sense. i was feeling good yesterday. it just takes the wrong dream, and i lose everything. my beliefs, my friends, my home, it all crumbles the moment you enter my life again.
what do i want?
do i want you back or not?
torn apart by my own absurd questions, i finally realized :
it was time to Talk to myself
fished out like a tuna!
now that we are all here letâ€™ s have a chat!
the man who Talked to himself
what the hell is going on!
stick us back in now! higly unpleasant
it’s warm and dry in here!
NO matter how much i try it’s all in vain
shut the fuck up! all of you! i can’t take you guys anymore
i can’t understand what i want
each and everyone of you
it’s all your fault now we’re all going to stay here and we’re going to talk about it
you all tell me something different
god luca, did you really need to go this far?
zamoc you’re awesome!
yes, i needed it. i can’t go on like this anymore. please, cooperate
i imagine she’s the problem, right?
oh soo smart
Did someone’ say pussy?!
oh god, no
he was the only one missing...
etically, we shouldn’t exclude him..
he’s going to ruin the magic
what should i do? shall i take him out?
ok no my friend, not this time
up to you i say yes poor guy it’s fair
what’s goin on?!
this really freaks me out
luca has gone off the deep end
I want to have a chat with you guys
explain it to him
every time something happens, even the smallest thing, it’s a source of infinite contradictions
I need to understand a few things
each one of you
things, have go to change
heart rules everything and everyone
the brain tries to be rational, but.....
of course i do!
he’s the rotten one
life is shit, and then you die!
and you, stomach! goddamm pants shitter..
HE’S the pants shitter! technically he’s right
well, you know what I mean. each one of you guys has his own way of perceiving the world, and that’s fine with me.. but, this is too much! I can’t make up my mind about anything anymore!
z the Evil let’s hold a summit
this is fascism!
we just do what we’re supposed to do!
shut up! now!
I’m not asking you.. I would never do this to you
fuck I’m sorry.. it’s just that..
now we talk
to me the world has always been either black or white.. darkness and light.. I have never considered half measures
But now i m discovering so many different shades that I can’t even recognize what they are
shit we used to get along much better once
true.. we used to get along much better
we still love them!
just like we like nuns!
we used to like the villains
light & color
no, seriously.. we always leaned toward dividing everything into two categories
we lost the light!
let’s talk about color
we always resisted using it
do you remember that Christmas, can’t recall the year, I was waiting for the presents like it was the only thing that meant something in this world
I couldn’t even hang my coat to the hanger
will you help me, dad?
I had already begun drawing, a lot. I could draw evil eyes, nike swoosh shaped mouths, and I would create scary monsters
to draw these dreadful creatures was the only way I was able to not be overwhelmed by them
I would only draw. I wouldn’t color, I hated coloring, it disturbed me. I hated brushes, gouaches, watercolors, I hated them all. I used to steal black pens from my classmates, my book bag looked like it belonged to a serial killer
I adored dry tips, dark tones, well-defined shapes. I was a pleasant-looking little fat kid when I was drawing. I couldn’t wait to open my presents that Christmas
My dad arrived dressed as Santa. I recognized him immediately, of course. He put me on his lap. I remember the way he smelled, his scent intermingled with that of the synthetic beard. I can still recall it to this day
He gave me my present. The box was over-sized and heavy. I couldn’t wait to get my laser gun. That’s what I wanted
It was physically painful to realize that what was inside the box was actually a brushes and gouaches painting kit, aptly named
I can still remember the design on the package: on the front was this creepylooking fag in a yellow shirt, wearing a paint-smudged beret and holding a painter’s palette with gouaches splashed all over it
he was smiling, the faggot I was crushed.. I felt humiliated. It was my mom, I knew this had to be her doing, with her passion for color! She wanted an artist, she wanted a fag for a son
I RAN INTO MY GRANDMA’S ROOM AND SANK MY RAGE INTO a PILLOW
totally we were crying christ
oh yeah i remember that well
slightly melodramatic, don’t you think?
he was right!
my god do you remember San Ambrogio’s drawing?
possibly the worst drawing of your life, zamoc
think that was the end of the story? remember pizano? the art teacher who used to eat kids? i remember it well, it was dreadful
colors were all fucked up way too dark
I hid it under Prampo’s drawing so that the teacher wouldn’t see it
what you doing luca ??
he caught me...
we always considered black to be the only color
black is never enough
according to me
it’s all a matter of balance
not enough black chicks either
...i don’t think we still know how to use black
liver is right
we like it too much we lose control over it
one line is never enough well, I like it that way
I know, but it’s not just up to you
we fill everything right away
why do we paint walls if that doesn’t get us any pussy?
jesus charles we were being serious
don’t you think it’s time to evolve?
i’m talking about color
i don’t buy it
that would be an interesting challenge
maybe I’ll finally get some action..
of course we have to try! otherwise we will always stay at the same level
do you remember when I said..
tablet carved with Zamoc’s 1st commandment
T mistakes are fixed with black
I am contemplating eradicating that commandament
so, less black and more color?
I’m good with that
twins? you’ll be the ones working the hardest
what do you think?
I’ve always suggested that, but you just listen to the little Prince
that it’s about time
little Prince? we’re down
you’re the only one left
what if i m colorblind??
don’t call me that!
I don’t want to. I don’t what’s the use anyway?
it’s a conspiracy! ok, Fine, let’s do it. but if we fail, just you wait and see the massive fit i’m going to throw
it will help us grow
you can’t just learn the things you like “the heart’s blackmailing us!!”
luca zamoc’s Latest flick
and so, let there be
I feel stupid sweeeeet
I look like a chewed-up wad of gum
well that wouldâ€™n t be so difficult
you guys look great
I feel good!
this reminds me... remember who used colors really well?
seems like a good start
what?! what did I say?!?
are you ok?
why the long face?
what face? Iâ€™m fine
well, to be honestwhit you, that’s the real reason i summoned
we can’t even mention linda or you instanty fall into that mood
that face but I’m not sure I feel like talking about it anymore
feel like talking about it?
we’re here, you might as well take advantage of us
I really want to go back inside though
ok, fine. But I need you to understand that the situations with L was just the tip of the iceberg. there’s something sick about my relationship with women
what’s wrong with it? you should see your face right now
I can’t control my feelings I either run away from love or I let it kill me
it’s her fault
you don’t make compromises
damn, you’re right
either I love without a real reason, giving up all my creativity, or I create and live to the fullest and keep on loving the idea of a woman, letting the fact that i can’t have her anymore destroy me.. with ‘L’, it was like that.. I loved her completely, allowing myself to become lost in her
my hand disappeared
so long, my friend
it was all about the curlies q s
hello hand, I think you’re super attractive but I also think there’s not enough room for the both of us
don’t get me wrong, I love you, the problem here is your boss
that’s exactly the point, he can’t handle muses
that’s true. I have anti-muses. I only draw FOR REAL when I’m hurt
but I want to keep drawing!
I know.. if he was a normal person, the woman he loves would be an inspiration to him
he has antimuses
I can only tryly express my concern for death
and this is right or wrong?
I should asked that question.. it’s not a question of right or wrong, it’s just how I react to the world
fabbri* used to say that artists are filters: you take the shit the world produces and you transform it into art
you’re always talking about demons... but, really, what do you mean by that?
it always hid itself, deep in the recesses of our synapses * Fabrizio Loschi: painter and sculptor from Modena, Italy
and what would we be without evil?
remember they wanted to bring us to the shrink? we never let them, because we were scared of learning how to cope with our evil side
what do I mean? I mean evil. the thing I’ve always felt inside me
it constantly moves inside the guts, twisting and suffocating them
at times, it even took over charles, revealing that even he can have fangs.. but it always had a nest, a home to thrive in... and we all know where that place is...
let it come out
I want to see it
are you nuts?!
itâ€™s not allowed!!
should I remind you of a couple unpleasant episodes?
this time I disagree with you, dude
dr. jeckill and mr. hyde, Faust, The Fly....
what’s up with all of you?!? it’s me! it’s my right!!!
that’s where you’ are wrong
you’re right, it came from outside
it’s not in you...
I want to see it.
it’s outside of you..
you’ve already seen it
I liked that that time, it was you coming to see us
that’s true.. how can I forget it
the ray of light peeked through the window and turned light into silver, just like a lazy Mida*
sprawled across the couch, I shut my eyes, exhaling.. the more air I let out of me, the more I sank into my self ..and then, it got
that joint was my
then I saw the larynx-shaped, dark and damp. without fear, i began descending the stairs..
It didnâ€™t take me long to get to the heartâ€™s entrance. I knew something unbearable was waiting for me there, but I felt safe, I knew I was inside myself...
I opened the door..
dark then, something massive moved in front of me, very close, I could almost touch it..
I realized it was turning, as I felt the air swirling around me *King Midas is popularly remembered in Greek mythology for his ability to turn everything he touched into gold.
and there, out of darkness, it appeared.
oh, look look
look (he kept whispering)
came to see us...
I was terrified, but I didnâ€™t run away...
when I tried talking to him I came back, but still thriving on his unexpected epiphany, he reappeared on the glass table in front of my couch... he walked towards me, swinging his head
and just like it came, it went away. under that silver ray I fell asleep, feeling safe..
more than a mosquito, it seemed to be moving like a cat
he’s been sleeping for a while now
I want to talk to him, it might help
I don’t think it’s a wise idea
what are the stories you love most? there are limits, zamoc
those where the thirst for knowledge leads to death.. that was your high school’ thesis...
the mask of deaTh
now, take that sick face off.. he won’t come out anyway
I still remember the exam
this is not the right time to meet
one day, though. promise?
you’re not ready
thanks for understanding
well, actually itâ€™s not so bad out here after all
what now? I assume you feel like going back inside
you know what I feel like doing?
I feel like drawing hehe
yes yes right on
there is peace here
every fleshy cavity
we are organic architecture
perfect mosaic of blood
what is the human being
the human being is a beautiful drawing
we donâ€™t really know anything about the future
if thereâ€™s one thing we ve always agreed on, it s this
will eisner died while drawing
the only thing we know is that we will draw until the day we die
I always imagined him sitting at his desk, hunchbacked like a question mark
wearing An old, wrinkled flannel shirt
his biography written on his fingers
t w o i n cr e d i b l e hands
a glimpse in his eyes, thick black glasses covering his face.. two ancient eyes, huge and lively maybe, captivated in the act of drawing, he would be acting the same expression he was drawing angry gnashing his teeth
death can be so poetic, at times...
we’re going to die too, one day.. maybe it’ll be my fault
or maybe ours
or maybe mine
mine.. maybe even mine...
it feels weird hearing you guys say that..
I know it might sound rhetorical, but..
let’s try to always stay together, just like we did today..
let’s try to do it, OK?
oh come on I’ll cover you with blood
be good huh?
you won’t be offended if i don’t kiss you right? not at all
thanks dude for coping with all this for so long
and eat less junk food
shall I close up?
haha yeah, I will.. go on, seal it up
dvlcis in fvndo..
you still love her, donâ€™t you?
I can’t forget her.... I i’m aways bragging, but the truth is I always think about her..
you know that when you fall in love with them as well, charles, it takes me longer to forget them, right?
that’s ok.. i don’t blame you. we’ll wait.
I’m sorry! I can’t help it!
that’s ok, charles. i love you. see you soon I would have liked you bigger, but it’s ok
but I last long!
First Experiment Of Psychological Surgery