#coda morelli

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

" heaven is a place we can't afford ,

life goes on and on and the breeze feels nice . "

—

doodle i made of ghody/koda/ghoda whatever the fuck cuddles because i actually stay putting these bastards through literal hell so they deserve a little bit of peace . kody belongs to @simonrriley and coda is mine OwO . trying so hard to get back into the rhythm of making full art pieces !! agh .

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

tehe rexgraves 5 ever

[OC X CANON APPRECIATION POST! 🩷✨]

REBLOG IF YOU LOVE AND SUPPORT OC X CANON!!

[giancarlonicoli]

26 ott 2020 19:41

LUCHERINISSIMO! ''CLAUDIA CARDINALE UN PO' MALMENATA (SI DICEVA) DA PASQUALE SQUITIERI LA CHIAMAVAMO 'BELLA DI BOTTE'. I DUE DE LAURENTIIS: MOMENTI DI BORIA. GIULIANA DE SIO: LA MELATO IMMAGINARIA. ELEONORA GIORGI: BIONDA FRÉGALO. SERENA GRANDI: SOTTO IL VESTITO GENTE'' - RICORDI E SUCCESSI DEL PRIMO PRESS AGENT ITALIANO: LA PARRUCCA A FUOCO DELLA MILO, LA GUERRITORE CON LA TELECAMERA IN POSTI PROIBITI. E LO SPETTACOLO TEATRALE CHE ORA DOVRÀ RIMANDARE…

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Rodolfo di Giammarco per “la Repubblica - Edizione Roma”

«Tutti i palcoscenici, i set e le opportunità della mia vita hanno a che fare con Roma. Dopo due anni di Medicina all' università per far contento mio padre, a piazzale della Croce Rossa incontro ragazze e ragazzi che m' invogliano a fare un provino all' Accademia Nazionale d' Arte Drammatica, entro, e studio recitazione» ricorda parlando a raffica Enrico Lucherini.

«E quando lì il maestro Orazio Costa mi dice di fare "Edipo Re", e qualcuno commenta 'Ecco Edipo ai Parioli', capisco che sono un cane, me ne vado, ma una collega, Rossella Falk, mi convince a lavorare con la Compagnia dei Giovani insieme a Romolo Valli e Giorgio De Lullo, e giriamo l' Italia, andiamo in tournée in Sud America con sette commedie dove dico solo tre parole, e intanto assisto ai lanci dei nostri spettacoli a Montevideo, Lima, Caracas e Santiago, e quando torniamo in Italia m' invento la professione di press-agent».

Oggi Enrico Lucherini, energico 88enne, ha all' attivo, come testimoniano mostre antologiche e docufilm, la bellezza di 582 eventi da lui curati, valorizzati, resi clamorosi.

I primi spettacoli dal vivo da lei lanciati in che sale della Capitale figuravano in programma?

«Feci un' esperienza non facile all' Eliseo nel 1960 con un allestimento coraggioso di Visconti come "L' Arialda" di Testori che suscitò polemiche, censure e dissensi, con Luchino che rispose al pubblico col gesto dell' ombrello, e con Morelli-Stoppa, e Orsini, che manifestarono per protesta davanti al Quirinale. Poi al Valle nel 1965 mi sono occupato de "Il giardino dei ciliegi" sempre con regia di Visconti, ancora con Morelli-Stoppa, nel cartellone del Teatro Stabile della Città di Roma. Al contrario di allestimenti dolorosi e di routine, era un Cechov tutto fiorito e di color rosa, e ce l' ho nel cuore. Ma ricordo con uguale entusiasmo anche il battage per l'"Adelchi" di Vittorio Gassman nella tenda-circo piazzata nei pressi dell' Hotel Parco dei Principi. Che avventura nuova!».

All' inizio degli anni Sessanta lei è stato parte integrante della comunità notturna di via Veneto...

«Si andava al cinema, c' erano solo due locali importanti allora, e poi senza dircelo ci ritrovavamo tutti lì, in fazioni separate. Da Doney c' era il clan Visconti con Patroni Griffi, La Capria, Rosi. Di fronte, al Cafè de Paris, c' erano Flaiano, Fellini, Gassman e la Ferrero, De Feo, Talarico. Più su da Rosati c' erano i più seri e composti, tipo Antonioni e la Vitti, il regista Franco Indovina con Soraya, magari il Re Faruk con la cantante lirica Irma Capece Minutolo (che ribattezzammo Irma-capace-di-tutto).

Fioccavano i soprannomi.

Claudia Cardinale un po' malmenata (si diceva) da Pasquale Squitieri: Bella di botte. I due De Laurentiis: Momenti di Boria. Giuliana De Sio: la Melato immaginaria. Eleonora Giorgi: Bionda frégalo. Serena Grandi: Sotto il vestito gente. L' agente Carol Levi: L' onore dei prezzi...».

Intanto lei sfornava dovunque promozioni clamorose e s' era alleato con bravi paparazzi...

«Operavo anche in società. Dopo gli incarichi ricevuti per "La notte brava", "La ciociara" e "Il Gattopardo" chiesi aiuto a Matteo Spinola. Ed ebbi una fortuna sfacciata, che un po' m' andavo a cercare. Tra le prime cose che mi aiutarono a far rumore ci fu la richiesta dello sceneggiatore Gualtiero Jacopetti di dargli una mano per promuovere il film " Il mondo di notte" a base di spogliarelli: coinvolsi una regina dello strip- tease, Dodo D' Hambourg, la introdussi nell' inaugurazione di sei vetrine del sarto Emilio Schuberth a via Condotti, le chiesi di mostrarsi completamente nuda buttando via di colpo la pelliccia di zibellino, e ottenni che i fotografi urlassero, e che Schuberth ci cacciò furente dal suo atelier. Ma il giorno dopo eravamo su tutti i giornali».

Lei in quest' ambiente vanitoso, interessato, e pronto a qualsiasi colpo di scena, ha mai avuto amicizie serie, legami umani?

«Ho voluto bene a Luchino Visconti, Peppino Patroni Griffi, Vittorio Gassman e Marcello Mastroianni».

Può confessare una sua gaffe, un suo pauroso incidente professionale?

«Un giorno mi telefona Antonioni, mi prega di andare da lui alla Collina Fleming. Trovo in casa Monica Vitti, piuttosto cambiata da come l' avevo conosciuta in Accademia. Lui ha in mano la sceneggiatura di "Deserto rosso". Lei tocca la coda d' un pianoforte e dice 'Michele, viene, mi parla', a me lì per lì sfugge un 'Che dice?', e tutti e due mi guardano come se avessi rotto la poesia. Penso d' averla fatta grossa, ci salutiamo, vado via, e poi però vengo incaricato del film, e in seguito ho assistito Monica per i suoi film comici».

Tra circostanze a rischio e geniali trovate innocue, quali momenti del suo mestiere l' hanno divertita di più?

«Nella bolgia per la ballerina attrice turca Aiché Nana spogliatasi al Rugantino io c' ero, e il fotoreporter Secchiaroli mise in tasca a me i rullini quando fu perquisito dalla polizia, e l' ultima pagina dell' Espresso uscì inondata da quelle immagini. Con un' ambulanza salvai Agostina Belli che stava morendo in cella in un film agli Studios sulla Tiburtina. Calcolai bene come lanciare Sandra Milo sul set di "Vanina Vanini" facendole andare a fuoco la parrucca che io, Rossellini e Terzieff le strappammo un po' a fatica. In una conferenza organizzai un feroce litigio tra Monica Guerritore e un produttore accusato di aver messo una cinepresa non autorizzata che la riprendeva in certi punti chiave del corpo: un bluff.

Terrorizzai la Cardinale facendole accarezzare un ghepardo per il film "Il Gattopardo". Ma mi vanto d' aver fatto accettare a Sofia Loren la foto-manifesto disperata e violenta per "La ciociara". Mi piacque sorprendere i giornalisti a casa mia facendo loro scoprire dietro una porta Pieraccioni che leggeva un brano de "I laureati", o portare la stampa dietro le quinte del debutto di "D' amore si muore" di Patroni Griffi per svelare che il rumore del mare si doveva al rullio di sfere dentro un tamburo. Adesso a dare il buon esempio ci pensa il mio socio Gianluca Pignatelli».

Quando non deve sostenere un' impresa artistica, che Roma cerca e riconosce sua?

«Mio padre mi cacciò di casa e mi comprò un ufficio ai Parioli, in una traversa di Viale Parioli. Fuori dal lavoro andavo al Bar della Pace, ma ordinariamente vado con giornali e riviste al bar Cigno. Se capita, sono uno spettatore teatrale. Dopo le direttive di ieri, aspetterò che le sale riaprano. Io la stavo per far grossa: il 6 novembre avrei inaugurato, da attore, la stagione dell' Off/Off, con "C' era questo, c' era quello", raccontando memorie di tanto lavoro, accanto a un amico ingegnere, Nunzio Bertolami».

[eddycurrents]

For the week of 14 October 2019

Quick Bits:

Absolute Carnage #4 is pretty damn big as we head towards the conclusion. Donny Cates, Ryan Stegman, JP Mayer, Jay Leisten, Frank Martin, and Clayton Cowles set up near insurmountable odds for Eddie and Spider-Man to face, as Carnage inches closer to victory. It’s very daunting, especially as we potentially see hope fade as other dominoes fall into place. Though a shock revelation might lead to something good for the conclusion. The tension mounting and the continued blend of the rest of the tie-ins to the main story are very entertaining.

| Published by Marvel

Absolute Carnage: Avengers #1 gives us a lead-in to how the previously symbiote-afflicted heroes got to Venom in Absolute Carnage #3 in addition to a bit about beacons in New York and San Francisco calling all symbiotes to feed something. It’s more elaboration on some details between panels for the event, but it’s rather entertaining and covers an element that was otherwise glossed over in the main series. Great art from Alberto Alburquerque, Guiu Vilanova, and Rachelle Rosenberg.

| Published by Marvel

Aquaman #53 reveals more about Thomas Mauer and his history in the founding of Amnesty, complete with some really weird powers regarding manifesting beasties. Then, a reunion of Arthur and Mera is basically aborted as Black Manta attack. Kelly Sue DeConnick, Robson Rocha, Eduardo Pansica, Daniel Henriques, Julio Ferreira, Sunny Gho, and Clayton Cowles continue to deliver one of the best stories from DC.

| Published by DC Comics

Archie #708 sees everything start to come together as all of the disparate story threads begin to converge somehow with Fox Forest. Nick Spencer, Mariko Tamaki, Sandy Jarrell, Matt Herms, and Jack Morelli really build tension here, with a rather spooky feel for what’s going on.

| Published by Archie Comics

Batman #81 continues this next stage of Batman’s assault on the “City of Bane” as all of his “kids” work together to try to take down his father and he attempts to bring the fight to Bane himself. Tom King guides us through a narration essentially putting together some of the missing pieces in Gotham Girl’s story and further protections that he left in the city after Batman’s “breaking”.

| Published by DC Comics

Bettie Page Unbound #5 serves as a coda to the first arc, from David Avallone, Moy R, Ellie Wright, Sheelagh D, and Taylor Esposito. It gives a bit of perspective on Bettie’s trip through alternate realities, while dealing a bit more with the spies who’ve been chasing her.

| Published by Dynamite

The Black Ghost #2 is firing on all cylinders. The story that Alex Segura, Monica Gallagher, George Kambadais, Ellie Wright, and Taylor Esposito are telling here is incredibly compelling, going deep into Lara’s downward spiral following the death of the Black Ghost and all of the mounting problems in her life. There’s a very interesting theme of the intersection of solving a mystery and obsession, complete with the black hole of alcoholism, that just grabs you.

| Published by New Wave Comics

Black Panther and the Agents of Wakanda #2 concludes this opening arc from Jim Zub, Lan Medina, Craig Yeung, Marcio Menyz, and Joe Sabino. We get an interesting mix of Okoye and Janet facing their greatest fears, while elaborating further on the current state of the Sentry. I like this quick, two-part introductory arc structure, further giving this title the feel of a specialized group for certain threats.

| Published by Marvel

Captain Marvel #11 concludes the “Falling Star” arc, revealing more fallout from the first arc and the sheer damage that it’s done to Ripley after she fell into the Nuclear Man’s reality. Kelly Thompson, Carmen Carnero, Tamra Bonvillain, and Clayton Cowles develop a rather demented look on “heroism” here that is quite disturbing.

| Published by Marvel

Chastity #2 unveils more of the human trafficking operation that Chastity has found herself in. It’s not very pretty, but there are some nice funny moments to break up the dark subject matter. Leah Williams, David Maine, Bryan Valenza, and Carlos M. Mangual are telling an interesting story here.

| Published by Dynamite

Contagion #3 continues to escalate the terror of the fungus plaguing New York, and now possibly beyond. There are appearances here of some very interesting near forgotten characters that are nice to see. Great art from Mack Chater, Stephen Segovia, Veronica Gandini, and Andrew Crossley.

| Published by Marvel

Cult Classic: Creature Feature #1 is an interesting start to this second series. You don’t need to have read Return to Whisper before this, but I still highly recommend that series. Here Eliot Rahal, John Bivens, Jerrie, Monahan, and Taylor Esposito kick off a rather hectic beginning with alien creatures. The art from Bivens, Jerrie, and Monahan is wonderful.

| Published by Vault

Dark Red #7 continues to develop the current state of the vampires after taking out the Nazis who were trying to take over, while Chip works to get the little were back to her werepeople. Definitely an interesting society that Tim Seeley, Corin Howell, Mark Englert, and Carlos M. Mangual are creating here.

| Published by AfterShock

Excellence #6 concludes the first arc in rather spectacular fashion. Brandon Thomas, Khary Randolph, Emilio Lopez, and Deron Bennett have been doing some excellent character and world-building in this story and it really pays off here as we get a confrontation between Spencer and his dad, followed by one hell of a revelation that practically changes everything. Great stuff here.

| Published by Image / Skybound

Gideon Falls #17 begins “The Pentoculus” as things start to coalesce again into a sort of “normalcy” in both of our “main” Gideon Falls realities, even as something horrible takes hold of Sheriff Miller’s father. Jeff Lemire, Andrea Sorrentino, Dave Stewart, and Steve Wands establish even more horror here and the feeling that something more is very, very wrong.

| Published by Image

Guardians of the Galaxy #10 catches up with the new baby Magus as we find out that the new incarnation might be as dangerous and deadly as the earlier ones. Also, what Donny Cates is doing with Rocket just cuts to the core.

| Published by Marvel

Hit Girl: Season 2 #9 is the first part of “India” from Peter Milligan, Alison Sampson, Tríona Farrell, and Clem Robins. It sends Mindy off to the street of Mumbai where she’s trying to deal with a bizarre child trafficking/labour ring, and finding out that her actions may have caused more complications than good. There’s a very different feel to this new arc so far.

| Published by Image

Inferior 5 #2 sure is...something. I’m still not entirely sure of the experiments or the characters or the setting, but Jeff Lemire, Keith Giffen, Michelle Delecki, Hi-Fi, and Rob Leigh are doing something that might be interesting here when we see a broader picture. It’s very “huh?” issue to issue so far. The back-up featuring Peacemaker, though, continues to be very compelling. Especially as it reveals that he may well be completely insane.

| Published by DC Comics

The Island of Doctor Moreau #2 concludes this adaptation of the HG Wells story from Ted Adams, Gabriel Rodríguez, Nelson Dániel, and Robbie Robbins. Other than a few minor changes, it’s fairly faithful to the original. The story here is mostly told in double page spreads from Rodríguez and Dániel and they’re absolutely beautiful.

| Published by IDW

Justice League #34 reminds us that revenge isn’t necessarily the correct path to take all the time, or possibly any time, as the endgame plays out across the different timelines and the combined forces gather for one final push against Perpetua. Scott Snyder, James Tynion IV, Bruno Redondo, Howard Porter, Hi-Fi, and Tom Napolitano lay out a wonderful tale of the final battle and a stupid, selfish act that has possibly doomed everything.

| Published by DC Comics

Killer Groove #5 concludes what has been an excellent crime tale from Ollie Masters, Eoin Marron, Jordie Bellaire, and Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou. There’s an incredible nihilism here that feeds into a very fitting end.

| Published by AfterShock

KI-6: Killers #4 gains a bit of a title change with the “KI-6″ bit in this penultimate issue of the series. Not really sure why, but it doesn’t ultimately make a difference for the story being told by B. Clay Moore, Fernando Dagnino, José Villarrubia, and Jeff Powell. We get a nice bit of the Jonin’s history before the two rival groups of former Ninjas show up.

| Published by Valiant

The Marked #1 begins a new series from the Sonata team of David Hine, Brian Haberlin, Geirrod Van Dyke, and Francis Takenaga. It blends magic and tattoos as we learn of the history of a group of magicians who have defended the world from evil through the eyes of their newest recruit Saskia. Beautiful art as usual from the Haberlin/Van Dyke team.

| Published by Image / Shadowline

The Mask: I Pledge Allegiance to the Mask #1 is kind of a strange return for the property, in a story from Christopher Cantwell, Patric Reynolds, Lee Loughridge, and Nate Piekos. It’s dark and deranged, which fits very well overall. While it does follow on from the previous stories, all that you really need to know to enjoy this story itself is revealed here. The political element adds an even greater feeling of being put off-balance.

| Published by Dark Horse

Midnight Vista #2 very nicely develops what Oliver remembers of his abduction and the fallout that has been happening in the ensuing years since he’s been missing. Eliot Rahal, Clara Meath, Mark Englert, and Taylor Esposito are doing some interesting things here, especially as other forces are trying to guide Oliver’s story.

| Published by AfterShock

Psi-Lords #5 elaborates a bit further on the societal structure of the Gyre and the various gangs on it, while we see one of the Starwatchers try to turn Steve. It’s interesting as we get a little bit that gives us more of an insight into the ties to the broader Valiant Universe here and some very nice character building. Renato Guedes art remains phenomenal.

| Published by Valiant

Rick and Morty vs. Dungeons & Dragons - Chapter II: Painscape #2 guides us through some of Rick’s history with D&D, creating some horrible characters that anyone who’s played the game will be familiar with, and an entertaining dungeon crawl. I’m still loving how perfectly Jim Zub, Troy Little, Leonardo Ito, and Crank! are integrating D&D into Rick and Morty.

| Published by Oni Press & IDW

Rumble #17 follows a similar format as last issue’s selection of three stories, only this time there are only two stories, with one split between two different creators. That two-part story is a wonderful crossover between Rumble and Head Lopper, with Andrew MacLean and James Harren handling the line art. It’s pretty great overall, with a natural melding of the two properties, and very nice to see Harren’s return. 

| Published by Image

Savage Sword of Conan #10 begins a new arc from Roy Thomas, Alan Davis, Cam Smith, Chris Sotomayor, and Travis Lanham. It’s wonderful to see a new Roy Thomas story and the art from Davis, Smith, and Sotomayor is great. The story itself is interesting, drawing from some traditional Conan elements of a tavern fight and being hired as a bodyguard.

| Published by Marvel

Savage Tales: Red Sonja Halloween Special is essential if you’re reading the ongoing Red Sonja series. It works well on its own as well, but for readers of the series it builds on Sonja’s trip to the tower of sorcerers in her youth and gives some great insight into her past. Wonderful work here overall from Mark Russell, Jacob Edgar, Dearbhla Kelly, and Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou.

| Published by Dynamite

Something is Killing the Children #2 is even better than the first issue, fleshing out our monster hunter a bit and causing all sorts of complications for her. There are some great characterizations here, nicely capturing some of the reactions from people experiencing the tragedy of a lost or murdered family member. James Tynion IV, Werther Dell’Edera, Miquel Muerto, and AndWorld Design are doing something great here.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Star Wars Adventures: Return to Vader’s Castle #3 gives us a central story of Ventress hunting a quarry, illustrated by Nick Brokenshire. I’m still very much enjoying how Cavan Scott is using the central tale and its context to elaborate on what he, Francesco Francavilla, and AndWorld Design are doing with the framing story.

| Published IDW

Steeple #2 features all of the charm and humour of Giant Days, but then adds some rather over-the-top supernatural elements that just manages to elevate that charm and humour further. John Allison, Sarah Stern, and Jim Campbell are delivering a rather wholesome look at monster hunting and finding common ground with your local hooligans and Satanists.

| Published by Dark Horse

Strayed #3 advances towards oblivion, as Lou finds the flower-maker and the Premier enacts another piece of his plan for total control. Carlos Giffoni, Juan Doe, and Matt Krotzer continue to tell the heartbreaking tale of this brave little kitty being used and abused by his humans. It’s really sad as to how monstrous humanity is.

| Published by Dark Horse

Superman Smashes the Klan #1 is really damn good. Inspired by the radio serial of the same name, Gene Luen Yang, Gurihiru, and Janice Chiang present a wonderfully nuanced tale of the struggle that a young Chinese family have moving to Metropolis and the overt and casual racism that greets them. The characterizations of the family are impeccable, giving us what feels like very real people, and it makes the story even more heartbreaking when you see what’s happening to them. Especially through the gorgeous art from the Gurihiru pair.

| Published by DC Comics

Tales from the Dark Multiverse - Batman: Knightfall #1 is the first of these one-shots examining some of the most popular events of the DC Universe as they played out in dark reflection. Your enjoyment of this will definitely be predicated on how much you enjoy the grim and gritty Batmen who went wrong during Metal. As a story, though, Scott Snyder, Kyle Higgins, Javier Fernandez, Alex Guimarães, and Clayton Cowles give us an interesting one, with some nice twists, and a suitably bleak Gotham. The art from Fernandez and Guimarães is really good.

| Published by DC Comics

Teen Titans #35 gives us new perspective on the traitor to the team, with Adam Glass, Bernard Chang, Marcelo Maiolo, and Rob Leigh building up sympathy for their decisions, even if they are somewhat demented. It also continues to point that what Damian has been doing is rather villainous. The shades of grey are fairly interesting.

| Published by DC Comics

Trees: Three Fates #2 delves a bit more into the mystery of the dead man and also a great depiction in the past of the romance blossoming between Klara and Sasha. Warren Ellis, Jason Howard, Dee Cunniffe, and Fonografiks are building a very compelling story here, complete with some interesting big ideas to make you wonder about Sasha.

| Published by Image

Vampirella #4 is still rather odd, told in a rather disjointed way that’s pretty much Priest’s style to its natural extreme. Weird stuff with the nuns and all sorts of temptation. The art from Ergün Gündüz remains a huge draw for this story.

| Published by Dynamite

X-Men #1 begins the first wave of the “Dawn of X” titles in this next stage of the brave new world the X-Men have found themselves in, from Jonathan Hickman, Leinil Francis Yu, Garry Alanguilan, Sunny Gho, and Clayton Cowles. It’s much more “normal” compared to the HOXPOX event, operating more standard hero/villain conflict and setting up the continued threat of Orchis, but there are still moments to bask in the new with Magneto and the potentially unsettling as we see Corsair react to all of his family together and the strangeness of Krakoa. This feels like a way to make more traditional X-elements work within this new framework, giving us a great start.

| Published by Marvel

Other Highlights: Absolute Carnage: Scream #3, Absolute Carnage vs. Deadpool #3, Aero #4, Analog #9, Ask for Mercy - Season 2 #3, Captain America #15, Crazy #1, The Crow/Hack/Slash #4, Dead Beats, Death-Defying Devil #3, Firefly #10, History of the Marvel Universe #4, Journey to Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker - Alliance #2, Lucifer #13, Marvel Action: Black Panther #4, Once & Future #3, The Realm #15, Sparrows Roar, Superman’s Pal Jimmy Olsen #4, Titans: Burning Rage #3, Wonder Woman: Come Back to Me #4

Recommended Collections: Bad Luck Chuck - Volume 1, Black Hammer: Streets of Spiral, Calamity Kate - Volume 1, Coda - Volume 3, Critical Role: Vox Machina - Origins - Volume 1, Gideon Falls - Volume 3: Stations of the Cross, Goddess Mode, Gogor, Justice League Dark - Volume 2: Lords of Order, The Life & Death of Toyo Harada, Ms. Marvel - Volume 1, Planet of the Nerds - Volume 1, Robots & Princesses - Volume 1, Runaways - Volume 4: But You Can’t Hide, Spider-Man: City at War, Star Wars: Tie Fighter

d. emerson eddy still thinks that Pumpkin Spice was the most underutilized of the Spice Girls.

[dilebe06]

Statua di Artemide

Copia moderna in marmo bianco da originale greco degli inizi del IV secolo a.C. Raffigura la dea nella sua accezione di cacciatrice in corsa e vestita con un chitone corto, accompagnata da una cerva, animale frequentemente attribuito nell’antichità alla dea

Statua di Pomona

Pomona (la dea dei frutti) è opera di Jean-Baptiste Boudard risalente al 1757 in marmo bianco di Carrara posizionata davanti al Palazzo Ducale fa parte di un gruppo scultoreo con Pale, Tritolemo (personaggio della mitologia greca) e Vertumno (divinità romana di origine etrusca)

Statua della Madonna del Coazzone

Figura femminile orante, detta “Madonna del coazzone”, dal termine dialettale che indica la lunga treccia che le scende sul dorso, un’acconciatura spesso impreziosita con nastri e gemme e molto in voga tra le dame milanesi nel tardo Quattrocento

Statua della Venere di Milo

Copia in gesso della Venere di Milo del Canova realizzata nell‘800 da un artista ignoto

Fontana del Delfino

La fontana, di ottima fattura, è di autore ignoto e la sua costruzione risale al 1526 su probabile commissione di una famiglia del luogo. E’ realizzata in marmo bianco di Zandobbio. E’ composta da una vasca ovale; ai lati vi sono due mascheroni raffiguranti divinità marine. Il gruppo scultoreo presente sulla stele, rappresenta un tritone a due code di pesce, che cavalca un delfino dalla lunga coda.

Statua di Madonna con Bambino

Statua processionale del XX secolo in gesso modellato, dipinto e cartapesta gessata dipinta. Autore ignoto di bottega dell’Italia centrale.

Statua di giovane donna

Statua settecentesca di autore anonimo realizzata in arenaria, materiale tenero ed usurabile. Il prof. Augusto Merati si accordò con il Comune di Monza per posizionarla sotto l’Arengario quando il caseggiato ed il giardino che l’ospitavano vennero distrutti

Statua di Santa Teresa

La statua settecentesca in travertino, che fa parte di un più ampio gruppo scultoreo, è opera di diversi artisti che hanno lavorato nella Chiesa degli Artisti come Morelli, Rondone, Silano, Antonio Fontana.

VOTA L’OPERA SU Sanex 

dal 9 settembre al 9 ottobre grazie a te la vincitrice sarà restaurata entro gennaio 2020.

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

coda rex morelli is legally named something else that even THEY don't know because legally? coda is dead and has been dead for years, so that placeholder name in their files is like tammy lynn graves or sumn cause that cocky bastard would definitely give them his last name

Which oc changed their name?

[giallofever2]

Un Grande Capolavoro firmato da Mauro Bolognini con un Grande Cast ....

Fatti di gente perbene / Il Delitto Murri

Data di uscita: 28 settembre 1974 (Italia)

Regista: Mauro Bolognini

Musiche Maestro Ennio Morricone

Paese di produzione: 🇮🇹 , 🇫🇷

Scritto da: Sergio Bazzini

Sceneggiatura: Mauro Bolognini, Sergio Bazzini

Costumi Gabriella Pescucci

Interpreti e personaggi

Giancarlo Giannini: Tullio Murri

Catherine Deneuve: Linda Murri

Fernando Rey : Prof. Augusto Murri

Tina Aumont: Rosa Bonetti

Rina Morelli: Giannina Murri

Ettore Manni: Dott. Carlo Secchi

Paolo Bonacelli: Francesco Bonmartini

Giacomo Rossi Stuart: Riccardo Murri

Lino Troisi

Laura Betti: Tisa Borghi

Corrado Pani: Pio Naldi

Marcel Bozzuffi: Giudice Stanzani

I bambini figli di Linda Murri sono stati impersonati da Kim Rossi Stuart e dalla sorella Loretta Rossi Stuart accreditati nei titoli di coda.

CURIOSITÀ

Una delle fonti utilizzate per la ricostruzione dei fatti è stata il libro Il delitto Murri di Enzo Rossi Roiss

Riconoscimenti

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1975 - David di Donatello per il miglior film a Mauro Bolognini, Luigi Scattini e Mario Ferrari

1975 - Nastro d'argento ai migliori costumi a Gabriella Pescucci

[jacopocioni]

Ruggiti a Firenze

Provate a fare un giro per Firenze. Guardatevi attorno, con l’aria stupita e curiosa del turista, e vi accorgerete di mille particolari prima mai osservati. Ad esempio, vi siete mai chiesti quanti leoni ci sono a Firenze? I leoni sono i custodi di Firenze, sono rappresentati in ogni angolo della città.

La leggenda vuole che la Repubblica fiorentina abbia scelto il simbolo del Leone perché questo animale era capace di fare a pezzi l’Aquila, simbolo della rivale Pisa. Il più famoso tra tutti è senz’altro il Marzocco di Donatello, che con la sua aria fiera ed imponente protegge il giglio, stemma della città. Sull’arengario di Palazzo Vecchio fa bella mostra di sé la copia, mentre l’originale è conservato al Bargello. A proposito di pisani, una beffa, un tantino umiliante, che riservavano i fiorentini ai pisani sconfitti era quella di passare, in fila, dietro alla statua del Marzocco e, in atto di totale sottomissione, gli dovevano baciare le nobili terga proprio sotto la coda. Nel 1364 dopo una vittoria fiorentina, questo simpatico rito fu imposto ad innumerevoli prigionieri ma sul sederino di un leoncino vivo. In uno scritto di Giovanni di Pagolo Morelli si può leggere: “Alla porta a San Frediano, per la quale entrò il vittorioso capitano, istette un lioncino vivo, ma di poco tempo, al quale tutti i Pisani baciarono il culo”. Il nome Marzocco, sembra derivi dal latino “martocus”, ovvero piccolo Marte. Prima che Firenze si convertisse al cristianesimo, la città era devota al dio Marte; con l’avvento dei cristiani, e quando San Giovanni divenne patrono di Firenze, la statua di Marte venne spostata dal popolo ai piedi di Ponte Vecchio. Con un po’ di superstizione, i fiorentini decisero che non era il caso di eliminarla del tutto, e la soluzione di spostarla vicino al fiume sembrò la migliore. Accadde però che l’Arno, in una delle sue piene, quella devastante del 1333, portò via con sé la statua, e col tempo questo simbolo venne sostituito dal leone. Anche Dante ne fa menzione nella Divina Commedia. Ma in Piazza della Signoria altri leoni si mostrano al nostro sguardo.

Alzando gli occhi sulla Torre di Arnolfo, vediamo troneggiare un leone che tiene tra le zampe l’asta con il giglio di Firenze, e serve ad indicare la direzione del vento. Ogni fiorentino sa che… “Quando il leone piscia in Arno, o piove o fa danno”, che sta a significare che quando il leone guarda verso l’Arno è in arrivo la pioggia. Spostando lo sguardo sulla facciata di Palazzo Vecchio, sopra l’ingresso del palazzo, due leoni dorati ne sorvegliano l’entrata. Entrando nel cortile della Dogana, ben due fontane rappresentano leoni.

E tornando in Piazza, voltandosi a guardare la Loggia dell’Orcagna, due possenti leoni fiancheggiano le scale della Loggia dalla fine del Settecento. Si tratta dei leoni medicei, provenienti da Villa Medici a Roma. Il leone posto a destra è un originale antico, mentre quello a sinistra è una copia fatta nel Seicento. Anche le colonne della Loggia accolgono tante piccole teste di leone.

Il leone fu adottato dalla famiglia Medici, come simbolo di potenza; lo troviamo infatti rappresentato anche nella facciata di Palazzo Pitti, sotto le finestre inginocchiate del piano terreno; queste teste leonine vennero realizzate durante i lavori di ampliamento del palazzo voluti da Cosimo I. Anche nel giardino di Boboli il leone è rappresentato da una bellissima statua.

E se guardiamo in giro, vediamo che le basi dei lampioni uscite dalle fonderie del Pignone nell’Ottocento hanno zampe leonine, e quanto sono belle! I lungarni e molte piazze ne sono disseminati. Vogliamo fare un salto in Piazza del Duomo?

Se osserviamo la porta dei Cornacchini ha un leone ed una leonessa che sorreggono le colonne ai lati della porta. Famosa è la storia di Anselmo, un uomo che nel Quattrocento viveva in Via del Cocomero ed aveva un incubo ricorrente. Nell’incubo succedeva che Anselmo venisse sbranato da un leone. Era diventato un vero assillo, e la gente di Via del Cocomero era tutta a conoscenza di questa fobia di Anselmo. Qualcuno gli suggerì che, per esorcizzare questa paura, l’unico modo sarebbe stato quello di mettersi a confronto con un leone. Un giorno, passando davanti alla porta, Anselmo vide che durante dei lavori era rimasta un’asse di legno che rendeva agile avvicinarsi alla statua del leone, che con la sua bocca spalancata lo intimoriva tanto. Affrontando le sue paure, decise di salire sull’asse di legno ed arrivare talmente vicino al leone da riuscire ad infilargli una mano nella bocca: se avesse fatto questo, era sicuro che avrebbe sconfitto la sua psicosi e cancellato per sempre quegli orrendi incubi. E così, in un gesto di fierezza, infilò la mano nelle fauci spalancate del leone: quel che non sapeva il povero Anselmo, era che uno scorpione aveva deciso di accasarsi nella bocca del leone, e punse il pover’uomo che, o per lo spavento, o per il veleno dello scorpione, morì, dando veridicità al suo incubo. Povero Anselmo… ma forse questa è solo una leggenda; i fatti che seguono invece sono reali.

Vicino alla torre del Guardamorto (dove adesso si trova la Loggia del Bigallo), in Piazza San Giovanni, nel duecento la Signoria mise una gabbia di legno, detta “la stia”, dove era stato rinchiuso un leone. Come già detto sopra, il leone ha sempre avuto un rapporto simbiotico con la città di Firenze, ed anche questa storia lo dimostra. Il leone chiuso nella gabbia in Piazza San Giovanni era magnifico, un esemplare bellissimo e molta gente si soffermava ad ammirarlo. Un giorno accadde che il guardiano chiuse male la serratura della gabbia ed il leone ne uscì, cominciando a scorrazzare incuriosito per la città, spaventando i cittadini che se lo trovavano di fronte. Giunto vicino a San Michele in Orto, il leone vide un bambino piccolo, per strada, che incurante di quanto accadeva stava giocando tranquillamente e che non mostrava alcun timore nel vederlo. Il leone si avvicinò al bambino, aprì le fauci e con una delicatezza insperata sollevò il bimbo e se lo portava a spasso; la mamma, che aveva assistito alla scena con terrore, cominciò ad urlare disperatamente e, piangendo, senza neanche capire cosa stesse facendo, si avventò contro il leone e gli strappò il bambino dalle fauci. Il leone, senza battere ciglio, si ritrasse guardando la donna che stringeva al seno il suo bambino e docilmente rimase lì fermo, quasi avesse compreso la disperazione della madre. Che il leone fosse particolarmente mansueto, o che il bambino fosse esageratamente fortunato, la storia si risolse nel migliore dei modi. Il leone, visto il suo comportamento esemplare, ebbe salva la vita e tornò nella sua gabbia. Il bambino, di nome Orlando, fu da quel giorno conosciuto come “Orlanduccio del leone”. Orlanduccio venne “adottato” dalla Signoria, che provvide a corrispondergli un vitalizio, di modo che, in pratica, la sua fortuna continuò a vita, non avendo mai avuto bisogno di lavorare per campare. Inoltre il bambino, il cui padre era stato assassinato, sarebbe stato destinato a vendicare l’onore del padre, uccidendo il suo assassino e con questa nuova vita tale onere gli sarebbe stato risparmiato. Anche se, sembra, alla fine Orlanduccio portò a compimento il suo destino. Dice che sia stato il capostipite della famiglia Leoni. Dopo la vicenda di Orlanduccio, la stia di Piazza San Giovanni venne trasferita nei pressi di San Pier Scheraggio. Anche qui avvenne un episodio particolare, pur se meno eclatante. Un cancello di legno della “chiusa del leone”, inutilizzato, era stato abbandonato in un angolo e versava in condizioni di pessima conservazione. Un Anziano, vedendolo lì inutilizzato, mandò dei suoi servitori a raccoglierlo e lo fece portare in una sua villa; il fatto destò scandalo ed i rettori della città condannarono il loro collega per appropriazione indebita e gli comminarono una multa molto salata. Se potessero vedere cosa avviene ai giorni nostri…!!

Ma tornando ai nostri amici leoni, era opinione diffusa che i leoni in cattività non riuscissero a riprodursi. Quando un giorno, dal leone e dalla leonessa del Comune, nacquero due stupendi leoncini, a Firenze la meraviglia si poteva toccare con mano. Questo venne ritenuto come un presagio di buona sorte e di prosperità per il Comune di Firenze. I leoncini crebbero sani, forti e maestosi. Dietro il Palazzo dei Priori, in quella che è Via dei Leoni, venne costruito un serraglio in muratura, grande, spazioso, adatto ad ospitare molti leoni: infatti nel frattempo, in barba alle credenze diffuse, i leoni si erano moltiplicati, dimostrando grande prolificità. Goro Dati scrisse: “Detro al Palazzo della Signoria è una gran casa con gran cortile, dove stanno assai leoni, che figliano quasi ogni anno e ora quando mi partii via ne lasciai ventiquattro, tra maschi e femmine”. Una tal quantità di animali esigeva particolari cure ed attenzioni; a questo scopo venne nominato un Custode; questo custode doveva essere di famiglia nobile, pagare da trent’anni le “gravezze”, ovvero essere un contribuente esemplare, che ha sempre pagato le tasse e, per finire, doveva essere un uomo irreprensibile, “specchiato”. Ed inoltre doveva tassativamente portare la barba, che era segno di serietà ed autorità. Il temine “specchiato” derivava dal sorteggio che si faceva tra i cittadini iscritti nello specchio di persone oneste ed onorate. Se da una parte la nascita di un leone era ritenuta un segno di prosperità, viceversa la morte di un leone era considerata foriera di disgrazie. Qualche esempio? Nella notte in cui Lorenzo il Magnifico moriva, due leoni si sbranarono tra di loro. Un asino carico di legna si avvicinò al serraglio dei leoni e, chissà come, assalì il leone con ferocia, uccidendolo a furia di calci. Nello stesso momento era in visita a Firenze papa Bonifacio VIII, che di lì a poco passò a miglior vita. Anche Leonardo da Vinci nel Codice Atlantico ricorda la “Stanza dei leoni di Firenze”; sempre Leonardo, in un foglio conservato nella Biblioteca Reale di Windsor, tracciò questa curiosa osservazione: “E io vidi già leccare un agniello a lione nella nostra città di Firenze… El qual lione in poche lechate portò via quanto di pelo vestiva esso agniello e chosì denudato se lo mangiò…”.

Il grande genio vinciano disegnò un leone in un rebus: si vedono un leone, un fuoco e dei deschi. La soluzione? Semplice… Lionardeschi! La comunità fiorentina di Lione commissionò a Leonardo la realizzazione di un leone meccanico, per festeggiare l’ingresso solenne di Francesco I in città. Il leone meccanico era capace di muoversi e sedersi e, mosso da un complesso movimento di molle ed ingranaggi, chiudeva l’esibizione facendo uscire dal petto un mazzo di gigli, simbolo della città di Firenze. Quando nel Cinquecento Cosimo I lasciò Palazzo Medici in Via Larga per trasferirsi nel Palazzo della Signoria, ordinando a Vasari di ampliare il palazzo nella parte posteriore, le mura del serraglio vennero incorporate nella parte nuova del palazzo, ed i leoni furono trasferiti nell’area tra la basilica della SS. Annunziata e la sede dell’Università in Piazza San Marco. Fino a quel momento, nella via dei Leoni, oltre al serraglio c’erano le case del Capitano di Giustizia e del Vessillifero. La zona era piena di “balconi, terrazzi, orticini e altre simili cose”, scomparse tutte con l’ampliamento del Vasari. I leoni, in San Marco, rimasero fino al 1777, quando il Granduca Leopoldo II dismise il serraglio.

Un’ultima citazione merita il Canto ai Quattro Leoni. Si tratta di una lapide posta sull’edificio in angolo tra Via Toscanella e Via dei Velluti; la grande lapide in pietra serena rappresenta un leone, purtroppo molto rovinato. Sembra che su tutti e quattro gli angoli tra queste due vie esistessero uguali lapidi rappresentanti leoni, da qui il nome. Ho fatto riferimento a molti leoni che si aggirano per la nostra città, ma non sono che una minima parte di tutti quelli che è possibile trovare: alcuni con una bella storia alle spalle che merita di essere raccontata, altri semplicemente decorativi ma senza un passato illustre. Ma Firenze ruggisce!

Gabriella Bazzani Read the full article

[davidemorelli]

La prima raccolta di poesie di Davide Morelli

IMPERCEZIONI(versi giovanili-1994/1997)

1 ** Dietro i giri delle lancette, dietro il quadrante dell'orologio c'è l'ultimo battito ed il primo gemito. Questo tic-tac, così forte, nel mio ultimo secondo diverrà sempre più debole, rapido, veloce, lontano. Tic-tac, tic-tac….rumore di lancette leggere dall'immane peso. 2 ** Guardo di sbieco il muro. Appare la coda bifida di una lucertola, compare il dorso, rivestito di squame e….negli interstizi della siepe già non la vedo….come se con un guizzo fulmineo, un lesto strascicare di zampe si fosse divincolata in un cunicolo; come se il crocicchio dei colori lividi del tramonto, il riverbero di un fievole sfarfallio di raggi l'avesse resa invisibile. Forse è sgusciata in una fessura, in un anello d'ombra, in una zona morta dei miei occhi, forse in una crepa nascosta, dove cade l'intonaco e affiora la calce, sfuggendo alla mia vista, ormai inafferrabile. 3 ** Raggio di luna, filo argenteo, trapassi e non frangi geometrie di ragnatele per posarti rilucente su steli d'erba. Impalpabile, quasi impercettibile. Ti nascondi sempre nel chiaro di luna, nella moltitudine. Hai traversato il siderale vuoto interstellare per consegnarci il tuo mistero. 4 ** Per un attimo ti sembra di raggiungere il nervo delle cose. Ma un battito di ciglia non è un colpo d'ali che ti solleva ed è vana ricerca aspirare al sillogismo dell'esistenza. Così ritorni nell'orbita della vita come una favilla, ormai incasellata in una goccia, come in un'impronta di luce un tremito d'ombra. 5 ** Corsi in una processione di luci, che volgevano altrove. Sfiorai rami d'oro e ulivi color argento. Poi passò il fischio di un treno e ritornai nello spazio di vuoto tra le cose e mi chiamò una voce. 6 ** Ormai filo sfrangiato, un fiato fioco di luce, disseminato il tepore sull'orlo d'oro, muore su una spiga di grano. 7 ** Trasparenze ed evanescenze. Ondulazioni e vibrazioni. Trascolorare della natura al tramonto. Sorpresi da passaggi di nuvole, da catene d'ombre. Scie traslucide di lumache. Fruscio di fili d'erba. Mormorio delle cose. Conosciamo la sorgente. Ma verso quale foce ? 8 ** Là dove finisce l'arcobaleno. Là dove fioriscono nidi di rondini. Là ad annusare l'aria della Primavera, tra colori di festa nelle vie del mondo. 9 ** La natura, le sue trame, i suoi canti e la vita come un'immagine, che si può mettere a fuoco solo quando si è distanti. 10** Vicini ad aiuole innamorati cercano di tramutare palpiti e batticuori in timide parole. E gli innamorati vorrebbero una morte sola. 11** Almeno un tempo ci si poteva bagnare almeno una volta nello stesso fiume. Adesso quel che resta è una sponda brulla, una moria di pesci e le acque torbide, colorate di fanghiglia. 12** La natura immersa nella Primavera. L'aria tersa e serena. La notte ritornano le lucciole a colorare spighe e roveti. Le stelle dipingono angoli di campi, margini di strade. E le trascorse stagioni ritornano come le parole dei morti nella memoria dei vivi distrattamente sul far della sera. 13** L'oscurità invoca con le sue ombre la voce di stagioni, che videro i morti padri. E figli i nostri padri. Ma ogni anno cambiano le scritte sui muri, ogni generazione crede ciecamente nei suoi miti ed idoli. E le piazze di quei cortili, i lidi di quegli arenili sono intrisi di altri amori. Le vie hanno perduto quegli odori. 14** Ghirlande di bacche, sapore di pomi buoni, boccioli di rose, schiusi dalle note della Primavera. Inno funebre il ronzio di mosche sugli avelli di larve decrepite e candido volo di farfalla su un palmo di lillà. 15** Un rantolo, un balzo, un brusio, o solo l'eco di un passo, lo sgocciolio della pioggia, il vento che sibila tra i canneti e i loro fusti cavi, lo stridere di una fiamma, un fruscio d'ali. E' sufficiente per rompere il silenzio. Silenzio, coro degli angeli, grido senza voce dei condannati, gemito dei non nati. Canto di parole mai ascoltate dagli uomini. 16** Essere e divenire. Identità e mutamento. Stasi e movimento. Unico e molteplice. Particolare ed universale. Desiderare ed avere. Attrito ed inerzia. Perdita e possesso. No. Non pensarci. Per non deprimersi a volte basta non pretendere niente dalle cose e dagli altri, da questa luna tra i rami. 17** Ascolto senza capire. Sorrido senza ridere. Intristisco senza piangere. Parlo senza dire. Guardo senza vedere. Ma a volte guardandomi allo specchio mi sembra perfino di scorgere un essere umano. 18** Gocce di rugiada discendono sullo sfrigolio dei rami, sul sagrato dei prati. Caduta di sereno, che sommerge lo stridere invisibile dei fili d'erba che crescono. 19** Nella punta di una scintilla ? Nello sputo di uno spillo ? Nel pallore di un brivido ? Nel palpito di un petalo ? Nel fregio di un segno ? Nell'osso scarnificato ? Nella polpa disossata ? 20** Il crampo di un lampo. Il fulcro di un fuoco, stigmate conficcata nel cielo roco e fioco. Poi il tonfo di un tuono. L'eclissi del frastuono. 21** E' già sera. Le sfumature livide del tramonto. Oltre il fiume, sui colli, punteggiati da borghi e paesi un brulichio di luci. 22** Pellicola sdrucita, sequenza fulminea di istantanee, epifanie sminuzzate, flusso di pensieri, che si ribellano alla grammatica. 23** Il fiume scorre lentamente. Il vento smuove le vetrate. Il fiume scorre lentamente. Trascina con sé foglie morte, storie passate, cose andate. Il fiume scorre lentamente. Gli occhi dei bambini salutano la corrente.

24** Il rintocco delle campane. I trilli degli usignoli. Stuoie stese alle finestre. Si rivede il colore della terra. Ombre smorte danzano. Colori accesi suggestionano. Colline e sentieri inondati d'alba. La luce rinasce.

25** Vieni alba a salutare anime e cose. di questo pulviscolo di mondo. Vieni alba. Come se fossi la prima alba del mondo. L'ultima di ogni uomo. 26** Padri e figli. Fratelli e sorelle. Vederli ogni giorno. Vederli crescere ed invecchiare senza accorgersene. E non trovare mai le parole. Come attorno al pianeta gravita il satellite, come attorno al nucleo gravita l'elettrone, noi giriamo attorno alle verità del cuore. 27** Voglia di cacciare un urlo. Voglia di ascoltare un sussurro. Voglia di lacerare il drappo della sera con le unghie. Impossibile capire il mistero di portoni socchiusi, l'assurdo e la malinconia di ogni sguardo. La luce che ognuno ha negli occhi dove finirà ? La vita !!! La vita ?!!? Semi. Battiti. Ossari. La vita ? A tratti sembra un gioco d'azzardo, un tiro di dadi. A tratti una partita di scacchi. E dove cerchi l'ordine trovi il disordine e viceversa. E sei quasi nulla ed aspiri all'infinito !!! Il nulla moltiplicato per infinito in matematica dà un numero qualsiasi. L'uomo è quel numero qualsiasi.

28** Ho sognato città invisibili, dove risiedevano solo artisti. C'erano saltimbanchi, poeti, attori, pittori, acrobati, contorsionisti, trampolieri, mimi, ormai prossimi a firmare l'armistizio con la realtà. E quando la loro penna stava scrivendo ho sentito i singhiozzi del cielo. Ho visto stelle cadere. Fermarsi comete. Le maree ribellarsi alla luna. Le strade senza nome battezzarsi l'un l'altra. Ma avevano avuto fortuna. L'inchiostro era simpatico. Si rinfrancarono gli artisti. Si rinfrancò la luna. 29** Inaccessibile. Inafferrabile. Ineffabile. Che fai ? Che pensi ? Hai lo sguardo assente. Che devo fare ? Che mi consigli ? Vorresti dissolverti in un momento ? O riversarti come un soffio di vento sull'intero universo ? E quel profumo d'erba falciata che ti ha cresciuto ? Qual è ora il senso che dai alle strade del tuo paese ? Se fossi nata in un'altra epoca, in un altro luogo….ed invece…. nervi e mani tese…….. Che fai ? che pensi ? Hai lo sguardo assente.

30** Il riflesso della luna è smosso dal flusso del fiume, scalfito da acini di pioggia. Pioggia, che scende sulle case, incanalata in grondaie ossidate. Vapore e nebbia. Qua e là indistintamente calano grumi di lumi sul corpo della linfa, sulle dita adunche dei rami. E' l'ora in cui gli insetti intravedono in un'angusta fessura e gli uomini in una scia d'aereo la fuga. E' l'ora in cui cresce la ferita di una ruga, immaginando cento mondi di idee, mille amori finiti nel dimenticatoio o sbiaditi in un logoro matrimonio, a onde di generazioni susseguitesi tra loro. 31** E' sfuggito irreprensibile in un angolo morto del ricordo il rossore del suo volto, il timbro della sua voce, il calore delle sue mani. Ora la cerco inutilmente nelle stanze della mia memoria. Un tempo si sfiorarono i nostri respiri. Si congiunsero le nostre ombre. Adesso non so se i suoi anni piangono per amori mai nati, se in lei vincono rimorsi o rimpianti. Adesso non so quali tremiti astrali, quali fremiti nei prati le sue parole chiamano quasi amore. 32** Coppie furtive, appartate, distese su nuvoli di foglie secche, sulle sponde assopite celebrano con giochi d'erba i saturnali dell'eros. Oppure in abitacoli oscuri appannano i vetri le loro labbra tremule. I polpastrelli delle dita ora si cercano, carezzano il palmo altrui, ricercando in un contatto una nuova creazione d'Adamo. E l'ultimo respiro di Adone ineffabile, ormai spettro del non detto, si aggira attorno ai loro corpi madidi, causa un brivido di smarrimento, sfiorandoli ignari. Poi riprendono le loro effusioni, cullati dai loro sospiri giovanili.

33** Vibrio di fronde malate. Gioco di ombre dentellate. Frantumi smerigliati. Rosario di stelle siderali. Ma nessuno può pensarsi inutile. Nessuno sa per quale logica, disegno, volere i ragni crociati emettano seta dal loro filiere. 34** Nelle pupille luci lontane di caseggiati. Il latrato dei cani. Solo l'eco dei nostri passi. Che cosa credevi ? La memoria è una rete sottile. E' selettiva. Ed è anche infedele. Il colore enfatico del ricordo migliora spesso il passato, rendendolo un'età dell'oro. 35** Non sospirare mai sullo sguardo di una passante, sul gioco di sponda di sguardi incrociati dal finestrino con la ragazza seduta sul treno del binario parallelo. Non sospirare, soffermandosi ad ogni bivio del passato, pensando a ciò che poteva essere e non è stato. Non chiedersi mai quale sarebbe stata la trama del nostro destino in un luogo appena accennato, dove il treno non ha sostato, o nelle città dai bei gerani, che mai ci hanno visto, che mai ci vedranno. Non chiedersi mai se lasceremo una traccia alla nostra partenza. Non chiedersi mai quale mano d'angelo, quale frammento del nostro sogno scacci l'ombra della morte dal nostro sonno. 36** Traversai l'oscurità di una cannula, il fragore mattutino di una pagliuzza. Annodai ciglia, trapunsi con le mie dita ali di farfalla. Mi specchiai in raggi di luna. Venni rifranto dal cristallo. Fui vivisezionato da un prisma. Fui equilibrista su un filo interdentale. Adesso posso, esangue, disfarmi in un minuscolo punto di inchiostro, su una finitura di un foglio; questo mondo sempre in eterno mutamento, in continua metamorfosi, non mi avrà mai. Onda o corpuscolo ? 37** Nel silenzio di una città straniera. Nel cuore di una notte quieta. Noi, gravidi di gelo. I vestiti modellate dal vento. E fu il tepore di una luce trasversale, il nitido chiarore emanato da lampare. Celammo ognuno nel proprio animo le parole amare ed avvelenate. Sostammo appoggiati al parapetto del lungomare senza parlare. I nostri occhi, senza rotta né stella polare, erravano nel colore del mare. Poi dicesti: " Ho letto i poeti per cercare un verso che potesse racchiudere la mia vita e tutte le vite. Ma ho solo trovato conforto dalle loro voci." Dopo in silenzio di nuovo a ricercare in uno sfolgorio di luce, in un tono vivo, uno slancio, che si accordasse col chiaroscuro del nostro profondo. 38** Cambiamo noi, cambia lo scenario, cambiano le corrispondenze, ecco perché ogni città è mille città diverse. 39** Le rondini saettano, poi sostano accovacciate sui fili della luce. Capolini di girasoli si volgono verso Ovest. Si chiude la margherita. Si apre il geranio, che effonde nell'aria il suo profumo. Api sfiorano rami ed infiorescenze, petali e sepali, si impossessano del nettare, poi depongono il polline sui pistilli con un battito di ali. Ginocchi tinti d'erba corrono tra le balze, dita fanciulle piluccano acini di ridenti filari. 40** Rimarrà un'orma dei tuoi passi ? Rimarrà qualcosa nell'aria ? Forse un'essenza dei tuoi baci infuocati sotto la pergola ? Chissà dove si sono involate le tue risa e le tue parole ? Ragazzi che passi, ragazza che vai. 41** I portuali, avvolti in un sudario di nebbia strascicano passi stanchi. Guardano luci soffuse di lampare ed insegne di locali. Cadetti dell'accademia navale nelle vie storiche del centro approcciano bellezze locali, che cercano di non pronunciare espressioni veraci per timore di apparire scurrili, provinciali. Il corso di Livorno è da sempre un pantagruelico trespolo, su cui si accovacciano ingenue civette per far da specchio alle allodole dei cadetti. Sciami iridescenti di navi, allineate all'orizzonte, si susseguono negli occhi dei passanti. L'impeto maestoso del maroso modula sfrigolii, schiocchi di rami nelle fronde mediterranee del lungomare, lambisce ogive di volti trasognanti, appoggiati ai parapetti gelidi della passeggiata, oppure riparati sotto le pensiline dei bar. E' già calato il sipario del giorno. Oltre l'orizzonte si sono già involati quei toni di luce, quelle tinte uniche di colori, che nella memoria sono pagine di stagioni. 42** Luna, unica luce vera, che tocca terra nella notte. Luna, solo tu rassicuri i bambini e scacci la paura del buio. Luna, unica luce vera, verità rivelata. Luna, con le tue falci, la tua faccia nascosta, i tuoi quarti, illudi gli amanti e gli fai credere che gli amori più grandi sono quelli non ricambiati. Luna, da millenni i sospiri degli amanti muoiono su di te. Luna, verità rivelata, bugia smascherata. Luna, luce che non dà calore al cuore. 43** Oltre il mio orizzonte le risposte che non ho. Oltre il mio orizzonte milioni di vite e di sguardi, di nascite e di morti che non so. <="" oltre="" il="" mio="" orizzonte=""> tutto ciò che mai sono stato, che mai sarò. 44** Stormi traversano l'azzurro. Filari di cipressi fiancheggiano sentieri sterrati. Sul dorso dei colli casolari ristrutturati. E poi all'improvviso una lepre ci taglia la strada infilza un nuvolo di ciuffi, un groviglio di cespugli e continua la sua corsa chissà dove. 45** Da un comignolo si leva il fumo. I termometri segnano lo zero. Un vecchio sfoglia il calendario dal barbiere. Una vedova ferma sugli zigomi le lacrime. Una ragazza al bar beve il caffè e fissa la testa di un cinghiale imbalsamato. Da un appartamento si diffonde musica classica. Poi la puntina si ferma, il disco si incanta. 46** Un ago smagnetizzato, un pettine sdentato, un giocattolo rotto, uno schioppo, un botto, un infuso insipido, la caduta di un nido, il coccio di un guscio rotto di lumaca, una radice aggrovigliata, rinnovano il mistero del mondo.

[efe-es1405-yahoopartner-blog]

El festival de Busan arranca con 300 filmes y Oliver Stone a la cabeza

Seúl, 12 oct (EFE).- La 22 edición del Festival Internacional de la ciudad surcoreana de Busan arranca hoy con 300 películas de 75 países en cartel y con el afamado director estadounidense Oliver Stone como presidente del jurado. La cita se prolonga hasta el 21 de octubre y proyecta más de una decena de películas de habla hispana, como "El último traje", cinta del argentino Pablo Solarz, o "El autor", película del español Manuel Martín Cuenca basada en una novela corta de Javier Cercas que ganó el premio de la crítica en el reciente festival de Toronto. El filme está incluido en la sección "Cine del mundo", donde también hay trabajos como "Sergio & Sergei", del cubano Ernesto Daranas, la chilena "Una mujer fantástica", de Sebastián Lelio, la mexicana "Las hijas de Abril", de Michel Franco, o "Zama", de la reputada realizadora argentina Lucrecia Martel. La sección "Flash forward", dedicada a talentos emergentes, contará con la aplaudida "Estiu 1993"("Verano 1993"), de Carla Simón, seleccionada para representar a España en los Oscar. También, "Mi Mundial", ópera prima del uruguayo Carlos Morelli, "Restos de viento" de la mexicana Jimena Montemayor o "Violeta al fin", de la costarricence Hilda Hidalgo. Otros apartados incluyen también filmes como "Mother", dirigido por Darren Aronofsky y protagonizado por Jennifer Lawrence y Javier Bardem o la última película del director hongkonés John Woo, "Manhunt". También estarán presentes los nipones Hirokazu Kore-Eda ("The third murder"), Kiyoshi Kurosawa ("Before we vanish"), Takeshi Kitano ("Outrage Coda") o Takashi Miike, que presenta su adaptación del manga de Hiroaki Samura "La espada del inmortal". La sección a concurso, "Nuevas corrientes", que busca premiar a nuevos directores asiáticos, consta de 10 filmes de jóvenes realizadores procedentes de Corea del Sur, India, China o Irán y cuenta con Oliver Stone como presidente del jurado. La decisión de designar a Stone persigue devolver al certamen su condición de mayor festival de Asia, un estatus que se ha resentido por las persistentes disputas entre el Ayuntamiento de Busan, copromotor de la cita, y el comité organizador. Este desencuentro, motivado por el intento del consistorio de prohibir la proyección de un documental crítico con el anterior Gobierno conservador surcoreano, ha provocado el boicot de centenares de personalidades del cine surcoreano e hizo caer la asistencia un 30 % interanual en 2016. EFE

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

ship ask game!!!! 🥰♠️ rexgraves is always fun to draw for this is so innocent and cute huh??? the words from this post are from a post by @//AlexanderPearce that i found through a web weaving post many moons ago now but it always screamed rexgraves so i had to actually finish it! thanks to @simonrriley and @whitewolfmystery for motivating me with the praise lol i love you guys ❤️

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

codaghost posting because i love them more than i love life actually ☝🏻😔

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

// hey emo boy! //

simon riley and his dogs . kody belongs to @simonrriley , ghost is...himself and coda is mine ʕ⁠´⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠`⁠ʔ enjoyyyyy

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

they say “all dogs go to heaven”

well what about a bitch?

what about an evil boy

left lying in a ditch?

tell the three people who ask

that i am in a better place

with lots of

trees and

lots of

grass and

lots of

lots of

chocolate cake

dog years - halsey

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

Cyberpunk!Shadow Company AU by @r0ttenb0gb0dy

featuring my shadow company ocs in all their glory as well as graves!

TW FOR TYPICAL CANON VIOLENCE, MINOR GORE, ADULT LANGUAGE, MANIPULATIVE DYNAMIC DOWN THE LINE BETWEEN REX AND GRAVES. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! :)

Night City has never been forgiving.

Coda knew that for many years prior to the exact instance that's reminding him of that fact, but the pack of Tyger Claw thugs chasing him through Kabuki is an excellent refresher. He doesn't have nearly enough chrome to compete with these guys, some two-bit fucking optics and a grip for his pistol, but he dropped the pistol about six blocks ago and he can't exactly stop to pick it up. It's at the point now with Wakako that he knows he owes her eds, she knows he owes her eds, and so does every nearly-psycho Tyger Claw that sees him on the street.

Evenings often end like this. Sprinting down the block, praying he finds somewhere safe to run into before they beat the credits out of him and he’s left battered and without cab fare to make it home.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Coda glances back over his shoulder to see they’ve gained a bit of distance, one of them has to be running a Kerenzikov or something, he's making Coda’s full tilt sprint look like a cakewalk. He makes the call last second to try and hop the fence into the back alley behind a bar, vaulting over it without a hitch, but he can't quite stick the landing. The dumpster breaks his fall, but he knows he isn't lucky enough to evade capture.

He should be a fortune teller, he thinks, as the Claw wrestles him out of the dumpster and up against the brick wall, a snarl of a laugh escaping as he knees Coda directly in the stomach. If he had eaten dinner, it would've been on the concrete. He writhes against the hold of several men and women, far larger than him thanks to their chrome, with little more fight to give than the spit in his mouth.

Bad idea.

“1万5千ドルだ、モレリ、それがお前の勘定に残っている金額だ!”

Coda doesn't speak Japanese.

He winces in preparation for being hit again, but to his surprise he hears gunshots, and they're close enough to have blown his head off. When he opens his eyes he sees the Claw holding him with a bright red hole where the side of his head should be, optics visibly shutting down as he crumpled and lets go of Coda. Scrambling away, towards the gunfire, he watches the other Claws drop dead before looking to his savior.

“Told them no good bastards to stay out of my fucking property.” A dark haired man mumbles, checking over a pistol in his hands. He’s pretty chromed out, a half mask covering the lower part of his face and presumably some killer implants. “You alright, kid?”

“Got a nasty fucking headache, but…yeah.” Coda says with a sigh from where he’s still sat on the ground, arms behind him for support, looking at the bloodied corpses of his attackers. “You didn't have to do that. I could've handled it.”

“That bitch had a monowire that would've cut your head off.” The brunette replies, extending a hand to Coda. He’s got smart-grips, and what looks to be mantis claws hiding beneath his sleeves. Coda can just barely make out the edge of the sharp metal implants, a subtle red glow under a suit jacket.

“Maybe I would’ve deserved it — y’don't know me, choom.” Coda isn't even close to face-to-face with the man, a height disadvantage making him feel remarkably dysphoric in his bones. He steps back and lets go of the man’s hand, looking past him to the bustling activity inside the dimly lit bar.

“Nobody deserves a fate like that — ‘sides, you look pretty harmless. Thirsty?” He doesn't miss a beat asking if Coda wants to come inside, which is a welcome gesture. These types of bars, usually you need to know someone or pay some ridiculous cover charge, so Coda considers this a stroke of luck and nods.

“Incredibly. They chased me here from Jig-Jig Street.”

“Shit, maybe I should've let them have their prey if you made ‘em run that far. Must’ve really pissed Wakako off, huh?” He holds the door for Coda to walk in and the air shifts ever so slightly, smelling of bergamot and vanilla, icy and cold.

“I owe her a few eddies.”

“15 grand isn't a few.”

“How do—”

“Real time translation implants — oughta get you a set if you're gonna keep trying to fuck over Miss Okada.” The brunette states in a matter of fact manner as they walk deeper into the bar, a neon sign behind the counter marking the place as ‘Shadows.’ It’s white neon on a black background, an ace of spades playing card smack behind the word Shadows. Something tells Coda that he shouldn't be here, but he can't quite place a finger on it, especially not when he takes a seat at the bar alongside the brunette that saved his life. He’s awkward and small in comparison to the hulking mass of a man, who speaks first to the bartender. “Two Blue Grass, double shots, on the rocks.”

“You got it, Wasp — who’s your friend?” The bartender asks the newly named fellow, Wasp, with a raised brow as he pours the drinks.

“Well, kleptoid?” Wasp asks, taking his glass and pulling his mask down. No heavy duty chrome, just a whole lot of scarring.

“Coda Morelli.”

“Spitfire. This one’s on the house, keep them sticky fingers off of anything it looks like you can't afford, yeah?” Spitfire says as he nudges Coda’s glass across the counter, a lopsided smile on the blonde’s face out of kindness. He seems much warmer in demeanor than Wasp does, but that just might be surface level customer service.

“I’m not a thief, you know — I just got wrapped up in some bad biz is all.” Coda murmurs as he sips the whiskey, wincing slightly at the burn it leaves in his throat.

“You mean to tell me you racked up fifteen big ones in debt? Not stolen eds?” Wasp almost laughs. “Shit, choom, I should've let them eat you alive.”

“Yeah, it's…it's debt.” Coda sighs and slams the rest of the drink before resting his forehead against the cool surface of the bar counter, eyes shut. “But, hey, I’ll figure it out. Always do.”

“D’you think Ace has anything—” Spitfire starts, but Wasp cuts him off quickly.

“Kid isn't a merc, look at him. A gentle breeze would knock his ass out.” Coda can hear the smirk on Wasp’s face without having to see it there.

“He’s not wrong.” Coda sits up straight again, propping his head up on a closed fist. “I’m not a merc.”

“You need the scratch, don't you?” Spitfire raises a brow, idly pouring Coda a second drink without asking.

“Yeah, but—”

“If you get zeroed trying to make the scratch, it doesn't matter. You’ll die if you don't pay her back.” Spitfire says in a way that is somehow both incredibly serious and dangerously playful at the same time, like he’s daring Coda to take the bait and ask. He does.

“So…who's Ace?” Coda asks, taking a sip from the second double shot of Blue Grass. It tastes better the second time.

“Probably the only fixer that can actually get you out of this mess.” Wasp replies as he replaces his mask, standing up from the bar. He tosses a cred chip at Spitfire, who catches it, stashing it at the terminal for payment. “Come on. Let's see if he'll even entertain letting a prole take a contract.”

Coda can't help but follow.

Shadows is a cozy, dark bar, with a lively nightlife. There’s mercs drinking and dancing, brain potatoes in the corner somewhere getting their rocks off on XBD’s, and a distinct lack of gambling. It's interesting. Most places at least have some sort of slot machines or a zombie running five finger fillet with a rusty knife, but anything of the sort is absent here. Coda keeps his eyes low as Wasp leads him through the bar, through what is very clearly a joytoy hall, and then to a top floor where the owner presumably resides. There’s a door with a spade on it, just like the symbol behind the bar, but with an A in the centre of it. Wasp knocks with two knuckles, firm.

“Commander, got some fresh meat out here that wants work.” Wasp barks, and there's a subtle clatter inside the room.

“One second.” A voice calls back, and a few moments later the door opens. Who Rex can only assume to be a joytoy, dark hair and soft blue eyes, stumbles out with a huff as he adjusts the collar of his shirt. His gaze then shifts to the man behind the desk, who has a real-time face distortion field. It’s not like old world television static, more like a censor bar or black ice on the net. When his face shifts, so does it. “Evening, meat.”

“Coda Morelli.” Coda corrects, stepping into the room.

“You say your name like it should ring a bell.” The man chuckles.

“It shouldn't, but I’m not just meat. I deserve a name. Yours is..?” Coda cuts back as Wasp shuts the door, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared to save Coda in the alleyway. The air feels stuffy, especially as the owner lights a cigarette, though he does crack a window immediately afterwards.

“Ace.” The owner says back, extending a hand for a shake. He’s barren of visible implants. Coda isn't sure he even sees a jack-port on him, let alone anything on his hands or neck. “You don't look like a mercenary, Coda.”

“I’m not. I need work, though, I need the eds to pay back a debt that I owe — twice over, now, I guess because your tall, dark and angry lackey back there saved my life from the Claws hunting me down.” Coda murmurs the last part with a bit of embarrassment, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. He feels awkward and sort of like a loser, begging for work after such a close call with his own demise, but if this man can help him then it's worth it. If he can squash his debt with Wakako, then maybe he can start to find a way out of the pit he’s dug himself into.

“Sounds like him — what do you have experience with? Driving, net running?” Ace asks, taking a drag of his cigarette mid sentence, blowing the smoke out the window respectfully. He hasn't told Coda to get the fuck out yet, which is a good sign.

“I can drive, yeah.” Coda nods. “I have a Mizutani Shion MZ1, 2065. Used to run races with it.”

“You win?”

“Always, every time, sir.” Coda isn't sure where the formality came from, but it feels right on his lips. Afterall, this man could help him out, a little ass kissing won't hurt.

“Then I have a task for you. Transporting some goods from a contact out in the Badlands to here — if you get it back here safely, then I’ll pay out a nice little piece of the earnings to you. How much do you owe?”

“15 thousand.” Coda is embarrassed, it's clear in the way he shifts his gaze away.

“Done. You’ll get twenty.” Ace nods.

“What is it I’m transporting that’s worth so much?” Coda raises a brow.

“Find out when you get it here, won'tcha sugar?” Ace has a low, husky rumble to his voice that makes Coda’s hair stand on end, his eyes focusing on where Ace’s eyes should be in an instant. The empty blackness that stares back tells Coda he ought to behave on this once in a lifetime chance at saving his hide. “I’ll flick the cords over and call my contact, let him know to look for a…what, a black Mizutani?”

“How’d you guess?” Coda flashes a smile.

“I drive the same one.” Ace is smug about admitting this, but his soft expression reflects a certain kindness as well. Coda is about to make a comment when he gets the notification of the coordinates, pinging so incredibly far out in the desert that he wonders if he’ll have enough gas to get there and back. He wants to ask for a meeting time, but Ace has other plans. “Better get going, kid. It's getting dark out.”

“Right.” Coda nods and backs away, out the door and into the hallway before he can even register what he’s gotten himself into. He feels his pockets, checking for his keys. It's not often that he actually calls his Mizu out or uses the auto-driving features, because truthfully the fee is outrageous, but this sort of mission beckons the frivolous eddie spending. If he succeeds, then he can afford a permanent subscription to the auto-arrival feature. All that exists in his mind as he steps back outside and onto the sidewalk in front of Shadows, pressing the auto-arrival button on his keys, is the notion that there’s a way out of this hole.

It only takes a few minutes for the car — affectionately named “Betty” to pull up — and for Coda to get behind the wheel. It's already warmed up, the engine, so he floors it in the direction of the Badlands coordinates. His main hand taps anxiously at the steering wheel as the other holds the shift stick with intention, expertly moving between gears to make the engine roar out as he weaves in and out of inner city traffic.

Eventually, the traffic breaks, and he can see the stars. Night City’s light pollution is a distant memory in the desert, out in the wild, breathing in slightly cleaner air. Coda reaches over and pops his glove compartment, grabbing his backup pistol from where it's stashed, checking that it's loaded as he pulls up to the middle of nowhere. It's a landfill, essentially, a junkpit. Full of Night City’s discard, probably a few dead bodies and a booster or two.

He leaves his engine idling as he gets out of the car, stuffing his pistol in the back of his jeans with an anxious huff as he waits. No headlights in sight. Regretting that he didn't ask Ace for any sort of contact information regarding the person he was to be meeting, he pulls his phone out and thumbs over it. The screen glows quietly, showing a lack of text messages and the music that's playing in Betty, some melodic metalcore that quickly fades whenever he sees headlights approaching.

Quickly.

The car, some nomad modified special, drifts across the sand and skids to a stop mere inches from Coda’s front bumper. He scrambled back to avoid the impact, pulling his heat the instant he saw the gonk that was driving it fall out. It's a nomad, sure as hell, of the Bakker variety. He’s got a hole in his chest, bleeding profusely, and a look in his eyes that screams terror.

“Hey — fuck — you’re Ace’s merc, right?” The Bakker gonk asks, hand pressed to the gaping wound as he stumbles to his knees, then to his feet.

What the fuck did Coda get himself into here?

“Uh — sure.” Coda nods slowly. “You alright, choom?”

“I’ll be fine, listen — the package is in the back, don't — don’t fuckin let them catch up. Maelstrom gonks.” The Bakker nomad huffs as he stumbles to the trunk of the car, Coda following with an anxious twitch to his aiming hand.

He doesn't feel safe, something's fucking wrong, it's like he can feel the danger without seeing it.

Maelstrom is bad news, this he knows, but something about having a half dead nomad talk him through the process whilst actively bleeding out from these guys…it makes it feel all the much more terrifyingly lethal. The trunk opens and he swears he can hear cars in the distance, growing closer, engines screaming louder. His gaze shifts to a large metal container, several massive locks in place on it, with a big, fat MaxTac logo smacked on the front of it.

“Get going, kid, I’ll hold ‘em off you as long as I can.”

“Wait, wait, MaxTac?” Coda stutters. “The fuck is this thing?”

“Are you the only fuckin’ prole in the city that doesn't know to delta the fuck out when they hear about Maelstrom coming or what?” The nomad barks, hand still pressed to the gaping wound on his chest. Coda doesn't answer, just picks up the case and jogs to the back of Betty, popping her trunk and gently placing it inside. When he looks back up, he can see the nomad wrenching an oversized rifle out of the back of his ride. He’s propping it up on the trunk, bracing it against the shoulder that isn't wounded, not even glancing back to see if Coda is running.

He is.

It doesn't cross his mind that he should protect the Bakker clan member, not whenever Maelstrom is clearly interested in whatever Ace has him transporting. Betty is hurtling across the desert before he can even begin to question his choices, he’s shifting and steering with the same hand whilst the other is fucking with his phone, trying to find contact information for Ace. Afterall, he flicked the cords over, he should be somewhere in there…

“You've reached the voicemail box at the office of The Shadows, leave a message after the—” Coda practically throws his phone into the backseat and glances back in the rear view mirror to see several sets of headlights tailing him.

“Motherfucker.” Coda mutters under his breath as he shifts once again, car rapidly making way towards the bridge entering back into Watson, which he knows he can get into Kabuki from. If he just takes a deep breath and navigates the streets, he can fucking do this. He just has to lose the Maelstrom rats along the way, right?

Gunfire. It's getting closer. They really want this package, don't they?

Coda keeps looking back as he drives, eventually deciding that he can't risk returning fire. He needs to lose them the old fashioned way, with good and hard driving, as fast as he possibly can in crowded streets. Night City is a bustling hub around every corner, with sharp turns and complicated traffic laws. Good thing he intended on ignoring street lights and crosswalk signals. There was no way he could be a lawful citizen right now, not if he wanted to take this package back to Ace and get his miracle paycheck.

He just prayed that the badges weren't going to be in his way, and floored it. Coda turned the radio up so loud that he couldn't hear the gunfire or the thumping of his heart in his head, eyes affixed on the road ahead and the peripheral traffic interference.

The bullets are penetrating the car. He can hear it, the thwip of full metal jackets slicing through the metal exterior.

Hard turns. Bearing into the curves. Coda can't breathe. He’s watching with nothing short of terror as two large, kitted out Maelstrom cars pull up alongside him and attempt to push him back and forth. Cars are swerving out of the way frantically, he's certain that he can hear police sirens in the distance, eyes locking briefly with a bunch of beady, red optical implants on the gonk driving the car on his right. They make eye contact and then he can see the barrel of a gun, flinching on instinct and taking the gunshot directly to the upper arm.

Everything is a burning, searing pain, but he doesn't stop driving.

He doesn't even slow down.

Coda decides to take an alternate route back to Shadows, whipping Betty around a post with expert skill, losing two of the Maelstrom chasers in the process.

“Fuckin’ hell…” Coda lets a shaky breath out as he starts navigating the streets to the best of his ability, scanning the signs to see where he needed to go. His hands aren't shaking anymore. There’s confidence in the way he swerves in between other cars, despite the gaping bullet wound in his arm that’s screaming in pain.

A few more blocks.

He watches in complete fear as a couple of badge cars round the corner and cut Maelstrom off, leaving him a few precious seconds to speed up and evade them, which he does. With Betty whipped into a parking spot outside Shadows, he sits there with the bass blasting for just a minute more, white-knuckle grip on the wheel as tight as ever. Well, with one hand. The other isn't able to grip as tightly as he would appreciate, not with the — oh, that's worse than he thought it was.

When he looks down at the bullet wound he's sure they must've been hollow points or explosive rounds, because it's not just a gaping maw of flesh — he isn't sure there's much at all aside from bone holding his arm on, and even then it’s been shattered by the bullets. Adrenaline is one hell of a drug.

At least it wasn't his head.

He’s still sitting there, shaking ever so slightly, when someone thumps on the window to the driver's side door, which swings open a second later. Wasp. Coda wasn't sure that he could ever assume that big, angry looking fucker to be a sight for sore eyes, but here he was.

“You’re alive.” Wasp scoffs. “Bones, gimme a hand, would you?”

“Bones?” Coda murmurs.

“Oh, pequeño, está bien. Bones está aquí, estás en buenas manos.” A dark haired woman is in his line of sight in an instant, thick red chunks of dyed hair sticking out in the midst of the natural hue. She’s a ripperdoc, she has to be, she’s got all sorts of BioMon implants and a stethoscope around her neck. Her sclera are white, but her actual pupils appear to be red crosses. “Coda, right?”

“Yeah — right, no— where’s Ace?” Coda argues as Bones helps him out of his car, watching as Wasp pops his trunk open to retrieve the MaxTac case. The Merc whistles as he picks it up, seemingly in awe that he actually has his hands on the contents. It has to be something priceless, something worth murdering for. In Night City, that bar is low, but with MaxTac grade gear…it has to be something good.

“Can you relax, kid? You survived, Bones’ll take care of you — Ace doesn't forget an act of bravery like this one.” Wasp isn't very convincing, but the needle that Bones is injecting him with is. It's some sort of sedative, because when Coda wakes up his vision is blurry and he’s lying uncomfortably on what he can only assume to be Bones’ table.

He doesn't know it, but he's been there for a few days. Drifting in and out of consciousness thanks to any number of painkillers to keep him satiated through the initial brunt of his injuries. Hopped up on regulation hormones to ensure he doesn’t panic upon waking up, but there's little stopping him from doing so anyways.

It's cold and hard, the table. Not cushiony by any means but she’s a ripper after all — they're life savers, not comfort bringers. He can only guess how high the fucking bill will be for this one, because he’s sure that Shadows won't comp an entire medical bill on top of the fee Ace agreed to pay him for this mess. Coda sighs and shuts his eyes again, rubbing at the bridge of his nose as the sedative wears off completely and things start to come into focus. The world is less blurry this time, sounds less sharp, lights less bright.

“Keep still.” Bones’ voice is distinct, rigid as she demands that Coda doesn't move. He obliges her without question, glancing at the curtain that's currently obstructing his view of his arm, the one with the bullet wound.

It's a blessing that he can't feel the pain anymore.

“What's the damage, doc?” Coda murmurs, holding as still as he can for fear that she’ll chastise him.

“You were due for some chrome, barely had any running.” Her only reply doesn't ease his mind in the slightest, because it makes him wonder just what she had to do. Is there a metal plate in his arm? A titanium joint replacement? It could be any number of things and he won't know until she moves the damn curtain. “You scared of going psycho or something?”

“Isn't everyone?” Coda asks, wincing slightly as Bones tweaks something behind the curtain, the pain shooting up his entire arm. He can feel it twitch independently, and he begins to fear the worst. “Is it gone?”

“Is what gone, pequeño?”

“Very funny — my arm?”

“It's…better. Consider this your scratch for the job well done, hm?”

“What about the eddies?” Coda protests, but Bones is moving the curtain before she can answer, letting him see his arm. What remains, at least. It's a full prosthetic, entirely made of high carbon steel, thin lines of neon glowing somewhere within its confines. The place where it conjoins with Coda’s shoulder is still red and angry, bandaged up, but the rest of it looks silver and pristine. He can see a sharp edge along the back of his wrist, probably a blade of some kind, as well as a brand new jackport. It doesn't hurt, but it feels strange — heavier than the old arm, like it has more heft behind it than a fist of flesh and blood ever could. “O-Oh…”

“MaxTac custom, made specially by Militech for the NCPD’s newest addition. Delivered here by you, so…I figured you’d accept it as your reward.” Bones says as she watches Coda lift his arm up and turn it over, flexing his fingers and wiggling them to ensure they all function. It's uncomfortable to say the least. He wants his arm back, without a doubt. “What? You don't like it?”

“...I agreed to be paid in scratch, doc, not…not this.” Coda says, still in shock, reaching over with his left hand to touch the cold metal surface of his right.

“I’m sure you can work out the details with Ace, guapo.” Bones replies, nonchalant as she slides away on her rolling stool, humming to herself as she slots in at her desk. The screen is showing that Coda's brand new chrome should be functioning at max capacity, so she unplugs it from the diagnostic scanner and stands. Her hands are extended to his, a gentle offering of peace to help him stand. “Come on, sleeping beauty.”

“No, I don't — I don't want this thing. I want my arm.” Coda protests firmly, his hands refusing to find Bones’.

“It's in a dumpster outside, though there's a chunk from your elbow to your shoulder that’s the closest thing to ground beef it can get without being the real thing.” Bones gestures over her shoulder towards the door, and Coda begins to wonder if it's the same dumpster he fell into when he was running from the Claws earlier that day — was it yesterday now? The timepiece integrated into the wrist of his new arm told him it was in fact three later.

He fucking hated it.

Coda takes Bones' hands within his own after he contemplated ripping the implant off, standing up on shaky legs that quickly regain their stability. She smiles at him in a way that makes him feel at ease despite the foreign body attached to him, the icy static where flesh meets metal still tingling.

“You’ll need some anti-rejection chems for a little while, but…you took to it well. Chrome suits you, Coda.” Bones looks him up and down like a hungry animal searching it's prey, and he sort of scoffs while looking away. “What? You really that disappointed about it? That thing cost a lot more than Ace was paying you.”

“I needed the money, doc.” Coda insists, sighing as he scratches the back of his head with the new hand. Metal fingertips lack nails, so it doesn't do the job quite right.

“Hm.” Bones crosses her arms. “Ace said he’d be around to check on you once you were vertical, guapo, you’ll have to ask him. Lift back up to Shadows is down the hall.”

Coda nods and thanks Bones with a cred chip carrying just a little extra scratch, a tip for a job well done even if it was work he didn't really want. She installed the chrome beautifully, and it was slowly starting to feel less foreign the more he walked around using it.

Then again, that was the point, wasn't it?

Chrome is supposed to feel like an extension of the self, especially for whoever it's custom made for. Of course this unit wasn't made for Coda, some roided out gonk on MaxTac is likely missing an arm because of this, but it sure feels like it was made for him now. He sits at the bar, flexing his fingers repeatedly from a fist to an open palm, occasionally sipping on a seltzer. Spitfire watches him, leaning on the glass bar surface as Coda plays with the new limb.

“You know, whenever I first got my leg I hated it, too. Felt strange.” Spitfire hums as he watches Coda drop his drink, still getting the hang of the whole neuro-sensitive response thing. He gave him a plastic cup for a reason, and this was why. It would've been rude to give him a glass and expect him not to drop it at least twice before really getting the hang of it.

“Was your chrome on purpose?”

“No. Lost it back when I worked with NCPD.”

“You? A corpse?” Coda laughs, picking up the dropped cup and snatching a rag from behind the counter to wipe up the spillage. “I can't imagine it.”

“Mmmhmmm…I used to love myself in a three-piece suit until one day, they had me attempting to arrest some gonk that went psycho, wanted me to zero the girl — I can't support that shit. There’s a person in there that's probably terrified.” Spitfire sighs, pouring Coda a new drink without missing a beat. Liquid comfort seems to be going a long way towards his coping with the limb-loss, that's for damn sure. “Oh — heads up, klep.”

Coda can't lie, he damn near breaks his neck to turn and see who he’s been warned about. Ace still has the live facial distortion field on, but Coda can get a view of the back of his head whenever he takes a seat beside him at the bar counter. His right ear is clipped, looks like a bullet cut through it and took a chunk, but that's as close to the face as Coda can see before it's all hazy from the black ice censor. Ace appears to be blonde, with warm tanned flesh, but again — it's difficult to discern anything more.

“What can I get you, boss?” Spitfire asks, a smile crossing his expression briefly.

“Silverhand?” Ace raises a brow.

“I don't think I remember the recipe perfectly but I can give it a shot.” The blonde bartender replies as he disappears to find the ingredients for a ‘Silverhand’, a drink that Coda hadn't heard of, but the irony isn't lost on him. He looks down at his chrome plated palm and then to Ace, who he knows is smirking despite the distortion filter.

“Well, I know you have questions, sugar. Shoot.” Ace leans forward slightly, though he’s very clearly still looking at Coda. It's awkward to make eye contact without actually making eye contact, but Coda wants some answers more than he wants humanity.

“I can't take this implant. I needed that scratch, Ace, I…I appreciate the reward, and the replacement of a busted limb, but…” Coda shakes his head and averts his gaze. “I’ll give it back if you just give me the eddies.”

“Slow down. I already talked to Miss Okada.” Ace replies as he takes the drink from Spitfire, swirling it around in the glass before taking a sip from it. He seems satisfied, because the bartender slips away without comment, leaving them to their conversation. “Your debt is paid, sug, you don't owe her a cred.”

“Huh?” Coda is baffled. Beyond baffled, fuck, he’s floored. He shakes his head once to clear his mind before turning entirely in his seat to look at Ace, or at least where his features should be under the distortion. “You paid it off?”

“Sure did — Bones said you needed the chrome, I knew you needed the eds, but therein lies a problem. That arm was gonna sell for…hell, twenty, thirty times what you owed Wakako.” Ace states as he polishes off his drink, turning to face Coda all the same. He can see the dark haired man just fine through the distortion field, watch his green eyes dart back and forth anxiously as he waits for the devastating news. Ace would deliver it with a smile, if Coda could see it. “So now you owe me — let's call it a hundred grand.”

“I’m gonna be sick.” Coda mutters, his face buried in the palms of his hands, a cold sweat running down his back. What the fuck had he done? Not only had he gone and gotten his body mangled past the point he ever saw it going, but he’d gone and dug himself into an even worse debt in the process. This time to a man he barely knows, doesn't even recognize the face of. Ace could shoot him on the street tomorrow and he’d never know it was him.

Hundreds of possibilities whir around in Coda’s mind as the reality sets in that he’s got one hell of a target on his head, but Ace’s hand on his back levels him out. It’s heavy, his touch, grounding his wandering thoughts back to earth. Ace rubs large, bounding circles with his palm, covering the entire expanse of Coda’s small back.

“With chrome like that, Coda, you’ll be an effective merc. It's got smart-weapon integration, aim assist, a built-in mantis claw — I’m sure the smart-grip’ll help with your driving, too, which I heard was impeccable.” Ace continues to idly rub Coda’s back as he praises him for the job well done, giving him a rundown of what the prosthetic can do. It almost comforts him into forgetting that Ace just smacked a several year merc contract onto Coda’s very existence.

He was property of Shadows now, at least for a while. It was better than being dead, better than being hunted by Tyger Claws until he was a shell of himself. Ace was at least trying to improve his little existence, and he wasn't kidding — this caliber of cyberware was incredibly powerful. This motherfucker could do some damage, permanent damage, to anything in Coda’s path. He sits up slowly but Ace’s hand never moves, if ever so slightly down to the small of his back. It's intimate. Uncomfortably so. He instinctively twitches to shrug Ace’s touch away but he holds firm.

“You have a place to stay in, or do you need one?” Ace asks after a long silence.

“I have an apartment in the megabuilding.”

“I’ll take over the rent payment.”

“I’m capable of paying my own rent.”

“You’re not gonna spend a cred without me knowing, sugar. I had my netrunner get access to your assets — our assets. Just to make sure that you don't delta before your debt is repaid to Shadows, of course, I won't touch any of your personal scratch.”

For some reason, Coda doesn't believe him.

“Anything else I need to know about?” Coda asks, turning to look into the black void that stares back at him. Its abyssal emptiness is a stark contrast to the warmth of Ace’s hand, snaking beneath his jacket to touch at the bare skin between his cropped shirt and the waist of his jeans.

“You’ll need a uniform. Other fixers’ll leave you alone if they know who owns you.”

He isn't sure how he feels, but fucked doesn't begin to cover it.

—

SOOOOO HOW DO WE FEEEEEEEL ABOUT IT ?!? graves fixer name is ace cause playing card get it...im so clever. mwah. i love u if u read this far.

tags //

@simonrriley @whitewolfmystery

[r0ttenb0gb0dy]

9/10 Coda "Rex" Morelli

Coda sat once again across from Graves at his desk, two files sitting in front of them. One had their headshot from basic training paper clipped to it. The other file was an empty, basic manila folder with no picture on it, a blank slate.

It’d been a few months since they asked Graves to kill Coda, and it would seem he had succeeded.

“It’s done?” They asked softly, picking up the file with their picture on it, a bright eyed version of themself staring back at them. There was hope in those eyes, and they missed that boy dearly.

“All done.”

“How’d you do it?”

“You don’t wanna know, darlin’.” He seemed genuine, so they didn’t press further. If it was bad enough that he didn’t tell them right off the bat, it was probably something horrific that would haunt their nightmares. “All that’s left is figurin’ out who you are.”

“Is it bad that I don’t care what name’s on the file?” Coda chuckled softly, picking up the file of the dead boy, flipping it open to view the information it contained. Nothing on the death, which they were okay with.

“No, not bad at all…I just need to know what you want to be in there. How much of a ghost do you want to be?” Graves was oddly humane about this. He was sympathetic to their situation, to the difficulty of a decision like this. It had to be weighing on Coda knowing that they were legally nonexistent now, and he couldn’t begin to understand, but he could sit here and listen if they needed. He would deny it to anyone that asked, including them, but he cared.

Just a little.

“Completely. I-I don’t want my picture in there, I don’t want anything you don’t need.”

“Full Casper.”

“You’re not funny.” They retorted, setting the original file back on his desk.

“I think I’m adorable.” Graves replied with a slight smile, looking them over as they sat before him, their body language telling him everything he needed to know. They looked confident, more than they had in the past, eyes bright with the promise of a fresh start. “I’ll put the bare minimum. Name, blood type, age…”

“It’s that easy to make someone up, huh?”

“I’ll have to fake your documents, too, but I’ve got a government official or two that’d be happy to help.”

“Is there anyone you aren’t blackmailing?” Coda raised a brow, earning a laugh out of Graves.

“Sweetheart, it’s not blackmail. Blackmail is a threat, I guarantee I’ll spill their secrets one day. They just do what they can to push that day off.”

“God, you’re insufferable.”

“I never claimed I wasn’t.” Normally he would reply with something annoying about talking to their superior that way, but it would seem that today he was letting up. A grace period while they adjusted to rheir new reality. “So, what should I call you now? Don’t think Coda would be a great idea.”

“The Shadows already call me that, though.”

“They’re not stupid, if I tell ‘em that name stays in the company, it stays in the company. You need a callsign so we have somethin’ t’call you over the radio.”

“Can I sleep on it?”

“You can have a day, angel.” Graves hummed as he picked up his old file and stuffed it away in a cabinet, the new one still sitting open on his desk, ready to be filled with the new information.

“I’m not an angel.” Coda mumbled, leaning back in the seat as they watched him. He scribbled some generic name on the folder’s label, nothing that mattered much to them at all right now, his handwriting was practically illegible even if they wanted to read it.

(It most certainly did not say some off-brand first name with Graves tacked onto the end, no, he would never stoop to that level.)

“What are you then?”

“Well, I mean — what am I allowed to be in your little empire here?”

“Sure as shit ain't Caesar.”

“Then I’m Brutus.”

“Keep dreamin’.”

“What, like…like you’re the almighty Julius Caesar?” They laughed, earning a glare from the Commander.

“Not really, because I don’t die in this story.” Graves replied, leaning forward slightly on his desk. “I’m the ruler who doesn’t call himself king because all kings in Rome die, and I don’t die.”

“So I can be Brutus, then?”

“You’re gonna murder me? You?” He cocked a brow up, that ever-smug expression somewhat charming to Coda by this point.

“Brutus wanted to kill Caesar and become king, so…”

“If your plan is to murder me and usurp the Company, I have news for you — it’s not happenin’.”

“How about Rex?” Coda asked after a moment in deep thought, their eyes meeting his. He let out a low, gravelly chuckle, lacing his fingers together on the desk in front of him. They seemed serious, which was adorable.

“What makes you think that callin’ yourself that will get you what you want?”

“Well, that’s my answer. Call me Rex.”

“Fine.” Graves replied with a laugh, just the thought of this small, fiery man proclaiming himself a king enough to brighten any day. He wasn't very convincing about it, more so than his eyes were too pretty say no to.

“Fine, who?” They said teasingly, half expecting to be reprimanded for mocking him.

“Fine, Rex.” He was entirely too smug about it, but they still got their way. “Now, get outta my office.”

“I love the name of honor more than I fear death.” Rex replied as they stood up, ripping the sergeant badge off their uniform and tossing it on his desk expectantly. He only watched as they left the room, a well-earned confidence in the way they carried themselves.

Only Coda could quote a Shakespearien tragedy whilst demanding a promotion and leave him considering it. He had Graves around his little finger just as much as Graves had him on a tight, tight leash.

—

taggies !!!! @simonrriley