The story ends, the event continues. After a chase lasting 10 years, the world breathes a sigh of relief: Bin Laden is dead. Justice is done. "Fuck you" - said Monty, a NYC drug dealer in the Spike Lee's movie The 25th Hour, the day after his entrance into prison - he said: "For me Bin Laden could come here and do it again if he has the courage. Fuck Bin Laden". Fuck him and all those like him who threaten our freedom: foreigners, immigrants, gangsters, priests, politicians, and even fuck Jesus Christ: on the cross one day, a weekend in hell, and then hallelujah angels up eternity". Yes: eternity.
Yes, because the difference between history and event seems to be just that: the story has a beginning and an end, but the event (the one with the "E" capitalized) continues, beyond his cause. September 11 - would say the sage - "no longer exists, but insists, into the reality of things." Complaining, send fuck everything and everyone has a way to esprire his resentment, to deny the fact, to focus its rejection into something concrete. But the event is incorporeal. The sage says: "It 's like a vapor on the prairie". You can send fuck the story, things, people, but you can not self-fuck from the Event, from the wound that has opened in our reality and will continue to insist, even when his execuutioner is dead.
What is our event? What else but "the birth of Hip Hop". The encounter with Hip Hop coincides with what we are, we think, we thought, and what'll do, we will, we will choose. We remember that more or less blurry - I was fourteen down to the gallery of the street - and yet the image of that meeting continues to exist, persist in us as a liquid photosensitive member on which impress the frames of our lives. An event that has made us "sensitive" to a certain lifestyle.
Then our mental configurations change, we grow and troubles evolve. But we are still wet with the "photosensitivity." So why do we de-sensitize? Why prefer to complain and send to fuck the others? Instead saying "I express", I should say "I imprint". I imprint on photosensitive paper of my being Hip Hop, everything that comes from from the world and doing so I transfigure it, filtering in an "alternative" picture of reality. Here is the key, here is what makes us bboy and not merely "opinion of breakdancing" (and life).
We have a deep and fresh background at the same time, made by pioneers that did not exceed 50 years old and disciplines in continue photo-evolution. Let's use it. Let's inform about who we are, let's compare the skills, offer new tastes and above all: look for sources. In medieval symbolism, the image of a peacock that drink from the source meant immortality. So, let's drink from this source, and after that, let's point the way for others to do likewise. The rest is opinion, onanism, oxidation of thought.
What are their instruments? Just do a little zap: "I think", "Italy is a disgusting," "Only in Italy happens ...", "I do it for myself." On the internet many bboys use the same phrases : "I think the Hip Hop...", "The scene sucks!", "Only in Italy juries...", "There are no more jam!", "I dance for myself. " From TV to the internet, it has become "dead metaphors". It's like saying: "the table legs". None now refers to the comparison between the tapered shape of the human leg and that of the piece of wood which serves to hold the table. We take the "table legs" as a name in itself, because the metaphor is now "dead" as a figure of speech, its poetic-weight is equal to zero. Why? Because we standardized the use of all the term and the same goes with the complaints of web and TV. It's time to turn the page.
Perhaps it would be interesting to learn to say: "He said" more than "in my opinion." Learn to listen. Learning to specify up to the last detail. It 's time - but it always has been - to separate and analyze, classify the world with the tools that "Hip Hop Event" has given us. In one word: "respect each other", a verb that Latin etymology (RE-spicere) literally means "looking again, looking back". Returning to our symbol of the peacock drinking at some point, many churches built after the year 1000 AD, began to show off a whole series of glyphs, effigies depicting allegories and stems belonging to figurative styles of hundreds of years before (among them, the peacock). It was a real work of "copy & paste" from the ancient ruins of a church decayed and new architectures that needed a "History". You can see an example in front of the basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere in Rome, where dozens of effigies appear applied on the wall as a kind of chaotic puzzle. We avoid this error today. "Looking back" does not mean taking from the past, but to understand the past and update it to solve a problem. Not just "stick it" to the side (or use a common term for "the wall") of our present to facilitate our discussions.
And last but not least, let's realize that we are inside the problem, we are the problem. Let us "Problematicizised". The psychoanalyst is called "the subject supposed to know", because in the point of view of the patient, the psychoanalyst is the truth (no one goes into analysis spontaneously thinking that the psychoanalyst is a fake!). Instead, the analyst must not be thought to fall into the error of a bearer of truth for real, and although out of sight of his patient (the classic image of the patient on the couch, while Freud smoking a pipe in an armchair), includes clearly that his client's problems are and can become even his one, that his role of "subject supposed to know" is the illusion that the patient needed to produce truth, believing that it is instead given by the words of the psychoanalyst (in jargon: transference). The event insists on us, and even if we move away from its physical effects (for example: changing country), the mere fact that we continue to talk about it ("Italy is a shit, Italy sucks etc.") is clear evidence that its effect still works on us, so we are still involved. Worse, we are like the bug that keeps banging on the window because it does not perceive the transparency of the surface that hinders him. He thinks he's gone out the window and instead is still inside the room. Believing to be "out of the game," we fancy ourselves to have a look at "objective" reality and on the other hand - bam! - In front of us an invisible wall prevents us to touch things with hands, to make contact, to continue to get an idea. The wise man says: "is just walking in a park that you can get an idea of it." The rest are photographs, drawings and stories.
So the truth is only for those who are over the glass? Not a chance. Whoever remains in the game, lives in a matrix and starts to chase myths (false "subject supposed to know"), inevitably falling into the spider's web (literally in the "web"). From here start our typically local "esterofilia" (mithyzation of foreign), the worship of the other-good-foreign and other fucker-bad-Italian. Where is the truth? There isn't on who is "out" (insect banging on the glass) because now unable to understand the "inside"; neither is on who is "inside" (the insect in a spider's web), captured from the web world and unable to go "out". The insect-solution is perhaps the praying mantis: lethal insect that draws its strength from camouflage, not directly from aggression. Camouflaging, it become "Other" for a moment, deceiving the other's gaze, merging with the landscape "outside". We must have this chameleon-attitude to look from the outside, remaining humbly conscious of being always on the inside. Take the point of view of the landscape blending with it and then come back to reality and "hurt" in the sense of change effectively, consistently.
Once, italian old school Dj Skizo told me that "respect those who did not just before you, but better than you." The story ends, the event continues.
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