Notes by my Lungs

(In case of doubt: the "friends" are right the boots. In case of doubt: I'm Aladdin sane.)

My new dutch  carnet is finishing again. That means: good health, folks!

If you want to sing out, sing out! /// This a tribute to my friend Sonique

If you're noticing the return of the penbrush and if you know something about the recent comic books... yes, I've read Habibi.

But my next purpose is improve a kind of illustrations without the lines. It isn't something rare, of course, but for me it's a Revolution.

Our skin is a filter, but not a border.

You're a door, not a wall.

And my loved brushstroke around everything... doesn't exist.

Errolan is preparing for fight

Errolan (Roel Kemp and Felipe Iturrieta)

I consider myself lucky to be able to steal a portrait of Errolan before it fights, during the rehearsals. I love seeing the birth of a project.

 If you're alive around the end of this year, I guess that you can hear (and see?) what Errolan is creating: that kind of sound so fuckin' satisfying that obligates you to move and to close your eyes and see the strange story of Errolan...

Moreover, if you're a singer and if you can come easily to Utrecht, you've to know that Errolan may be looking for you...

 errolanband@gmail.com

Out of being, inside the Being /// new rock poster

So cool when the inspiration comes inside after too many questions and then makes sense in your fingers. So cool when it happens just for something that I have to do and I wanna do, as the new poster for my dear band Sydrojé, that Sunday will play in Cremona, with the band Hey Dogen!.

The concerts are part of the provincial festival of SEL Cremona.

Moustache Prawn, the cooks of the Biscuits

These three guys are Giancarlo Latartara, Leo Ostuni and Ronny Gigante, by my hand.

They are a drummer, a lead singer and guitarist and a bass player.

The weird band in which they play is called Moustache Prawn (yes, in the site you can recognize my bungler hand again).

This post is my last bite (here and here the others) before the publication of Biscuits, their first album in which you can see these portrait just in the middle, together with all the rest of my artwork.

Hey, now we're very closed to the date: 25th june!

In the while, you can taste something really special: the promo video Pullover, created by Gianvito Cofano and Alberto Mocellin (two men that you've to follow, I can't stop to repeat it 'cause they're two damned indefatigable talents). There're also some funny and nice photos from the backstage, by Annalaura Tamburrini.

I'm really gonna believing in these project, so, c'mon everybody, take a look to the stuff of this band and, above all, help us with a special dream: a stage in Sziget 2012! Vote is fuckin' easy, you've just to research their name. ;)

I would also point out a pair of very good new reviews, on MUSICLETTER.it and on Rockerilla:

Enjoy our abzurd pastry, folks!

"April Sky"

Ciao mondo, ti avevo scritto molte parole raccontanti qualche settimana fa, ma poi venne il sonno e poi ho dovuto fare tante tante tante cose e finisce che ripenso a quelle parole alle 03:17 di notte, sempre troppo tardi per ricominciare riprendere risistemare.

Quindi per ora appiccico alcuni degli schizzi scivolati dalle unghie durante il mio aprile.

Ma tra un po' dovrei tornare più frequente: ho di nuovo un fedele scanner vicino a me!

Bijster

Felipe

Danijel

Felipe

Jarno

Felipe

(No, non sono una dog sitter, era una prova di vola - sì, è fuori fuoco, sì, non solo questa, sì, sto diventando cieca, cioè no volevo dire no, non lo so cosa cazzo mi prende!)

Uno spicchio di luna nell'occhio

Rik and Sief live at Flying Carpet

Abel and Sief live at Flying Carpet

Abel

Ousmane

Roel live at Flying Carpet

Roel

Jessie (or almost...)

Jessie, again

Loez

The Drummer

Ora sfumo sotto le coperte e affondo nel materasso.

Buonanotte mondo.
Sei così bello...
Un altro giorno ti racconto.
Con calma.
Tanto vivrò più di cent'anni anche io.
Non morirò più affogando col caffè (ormai ci so fare).
Sarò vecchia in una stanza tutta bianca, tutta colorata, i miei capelli arriveranno fino in fondo al corridoio.
Morirò per un bacio sulle punte dei capelli in fondo al corridoio.
Le punte dei capelli si intimidiranno e faranno marcia indietro fino alla cute lungo tutto il corridoio la stanza il mio letto, tornerò feto e morirò all'indietro, diventando un ricordo.
Ma non c'è alcuna fretta.
Non c'è più fretta.
Anche il sole, qui, non ha fretta.