di nuovo, dovrei modificare questa pagina. ma mi lascio sospeso in suspense. se volete saperne di più, per ora, sfogliate a caso. un buon 42%, nel mentre, sta volando via.

svegliato stamane, raggiunto un caffè strisciando, avvertito forte un bisogno di cambiare tutto di nuovo.
titolo in forse, necessito tempo.
quello che segue avvinto da del per pura documentazione.
fate buon viaggio.

Roma, 9 Aprile 2007

for english speaking readers _{scrolla giù per l’italiano}

no more than thirty readers might be feeling confused at this point.

this website used to be called Tsunami Notes, but i have decided to keep changing its name up until something more apt comes through. also feeling no need to stick to any fixed thing at present time.

these pages collect the most of Paolo Ippoliti online texts and interventions, starting from early 2003: thereby, by browsing the archives you could explore contents from these long gone websites:

* Crashing a Block: it used to live on the index of the logoplasm.org website, hand crafted, and it started because of grief, and a desire to interrupt private communication; and in the space of some months it morphed into

* Vacant Mode: which used to run on Blogger software, on the logoplasm.org website too, and was written in english, and it is still browsable at vacantmode.blogspot.com;

* tsunaminotes.splinder.com: written in italian, running on third party customized Drupal, intended as a spin-off for La Casa In Fiamme (which used to be a collective italian weblog which never broke the twenty posts sonic barrier, even with six or so posters involved) and turned into something else completely; later imported into

* Tsunami Notes: which is almost what you are looking at right now, at least until the end of 2006: a duck shed water feast of unnested categories, furtherly hastened by author’s passion for and wild usage of microchunking: chronologically ordered in a way that makes no sense at all; that went nice and smooth up until the author got nauseous with italian weblogging carnival, and exiled himself by publicly abandoning his mother tongue language: more about this in the italian section of this page: which leads us to

* Spill My Flameflung Bright Intoxicated Soul: current incarnation of the place. and here’s the specs:

• Spill My Flameflung Bright Intoxicated Soul is the personal website & weblog of Paolo Ippoliti; the title sentence is a detournment & adaptation of a long forgotten poem by E. E. Cummings, brought again to my attention by a Rose & Olive picture caption; and i like the idea of having such a sentence over the corpus of what i’ll keep writing here; cos it sounds very halcyon days of my youth, coral growths of hardcore punk & anarchy & the microchunking surrealist take;
• do you like sculpting? here is a block of generic preposterous prejudices, carve out of it the things you are not going to find here & visualize the rest. what you will not find on Spill My Flameflung Bright Intoxicated Soul:
  • lit blog posts;
  • drama queen reveries, or
  • anything about sacred takes on Drama, Art, insert your own capitalized something;
  • ring rinses & butt smearings;
  • whine, bloody whine.

  in due time, even the author will disappear completely from these pages, if the partially achieved present invisibility might not be deemed enough;

• except where otherwise noted & publicly pointed & hypertextually linked, all posts featured on Spill My Flameflung Bright Intoxicated Soul have no targets, & refer to nobody existing. paranoid individuals got their warning: stop reading any of this if you can’t go for three lines straight without thinking that it all refers to you. it bloody doesn’t. despite all the flamboyant titles & activity descripting nouns the author gave himself on his biography, he still has to work a lousy job in order to survive; hence, he has completely different things on his mind. no one of those concerning you. the passion for blogosphere riff raff & the likes has left his heart three days after it arrived and that’s 2004 we are talking about here. if anything in here causes you bouts of anxiety, just fucking leave.
• the comment area is disabled by default, except exceptionally, & usually because of the content of the post hosting it. even then, use your real name, and be clear. do not let black magic rockets flying towards you just because you were not bold enough to write an email.
• Spill My Flameflung Bright Intoxicated Soul content might be quoted only if properly linked and referred. this is the internet. if you can’t manage how to properly write the code for linking to a page, honestly, opt out all of it. you are exposing yourself to greatest dangers.
• all content in here is (c) by the author, except where otherwise noted; & just a bunch of noise & infokrill; up until a smarter way to deliver content appears;

that said, i hope you all have a nice time.

per i lettori italiani

probabilmente siete arrivati qui cercando pterodattilo, amigdala, tarsio spettro, impianti alieni tremori, falene namibia o chissà che altro. questo non è il posto che stavate cercando: le informazioni desiderate si trovano altrove.
per tutti gli altri:

• questo posto non si chiama più Tsunami Notes;
• questo posto non ospita più scritti recenti in italiano.

l’autore ha smesso di scrivere pubblicamente in italiano più o meno dall’inizio del 2007, optando per esiliarsi fuori dalla blogosfera & annessa cultura della nazione in oggetto.
per vari motivi. tra i quali:

* la deludente esperienza di Unità di Crisi & annessi (& comportamentalmente spettacolari) corollari;

* le epidemics di figure che depennano dai blogroll, continuano a seguire, ravvedendo ad ogni cazzo di linea un riferimento alla loro persona;

* le epidemics di altre figure, torve e chiuse a feto nella loro psicosi, che non depennano, e pur tuttavia persistono in un double stand di status amicali ed insulti a campo aperto.

l’autore, mind you, purtroppo non ha tempo per questa pletora di minchiate. ha solo una vita, abbastanza indaffarata, e basta quella. ama dunque ancora la sua lingua madre: ma chi la parla, e soprattutto chi la scrive, o pensa di scriverla, gli ha rotto impossibilmente i coglioni.

dunque addio, lingua italiana e soubrettes esistenzialiste.
ci rivediamo in traduzione.

Roma, 15 Marzo, 2007