Original subtitles

You look...

You look upwards, because you want to exalt yourselves.

You want to exalt yourselves.

I look downwards,

because I am exalted.

Everyone...

Everyone must...

Everyone's law.

Everyone is the...

Everyone is...

Everyone must live according to his own natural law.

Everyone must live

according to his own natural law.

A WING OF THE LOUVRE WAS LEFT ALMOST INTACT

Everyone must live according to his own PERSONAL law.

OI BARBAROI

I WILL LOVE YOU

I, Leonardo da Vinci.

DO you get it?

This is the Mona Lisa, these are the eyes, this is the nose,

these are the lips, these is the jaw,

this is the hair falling onto it, this is the jacket.

Now, apart from this, I made something else.

I made this man. This man you're going to be.

I made the horses, I made the cows,

I made the sheep, I made cock-a-doodle, I made a...

Listen... Do you know Mona Lisa?

Mona Lisa? Isn't it her?

No? Isn't she, the Lisa?

It's a dog.

- This, dog. - Dog?

This one.

And this one, cock-a-doodle.

- Listen, what's your name? - My name? Mouche.

- Mouche! - Mouche.

Mona Lisa disappeared.

A telegram saying:

THIS IS MONA LISA'S PLACE

FINALLY WE'LL SEE THE MONGOLS

CAMPED IN OUR SQUARES

If only I could convert you, if I could communicate with you,

then you'd know!

THE REVOLUTION OF EVERYDAY LIFE

The universe is in my head.

The universe is in my head.

They can't stand the sight of us.

We, the most beautiful beings of creation.

If only I could convert you, if I could communicate with you,

then you'd know!

I feel ashamed before the earth

before the sky

before the sunset

before the dawn

before the blue sky

before the darkness.

I feel ashamed before the sun.

I feel ashamed before something

that is inside me and speaks to me.

Do you understand what I want to tell you?

They've pretended to give them a voice.

In reality,

if there used to be an “espace du silence“,

almost an enclave,

it's even more noticeable now,

more subtle, more diabolic, if you want, more satanic.

Yes, because it's disguised, you see?

Jules seems to be talking, doesn't he?

Through the pages.

Somebody paged him,

populated his silence with voices

and we think they're Jules' voices.

But they're not Jules' voices,

because Jules,

we'll never know what he wanted to say.

Because he's one of those who for a moment, you see,

totally upset the order of the world.

In a simple way,

like a child.

And we have to find titles, labels,

we can'! understand. Also because we don't want to.

We can't understand because

if things aren't repeated

and made almost familiar,

like the voices we've lent to Jules,

the pages we've given to him,

we'll never understand.

There's that moment in...

that...

I believe that all rebels have felt it, in some way.

It's like a panic, a dread,

that overwhelms you when

you know that in some way

the order of the world will be upset.

Something will be...

will be forgotten.

Maybe something will be born.

So, at such moments you know that...

most of all, you know you are very scared.

If you're honest, you are very scared.

It...

Walser seems to have been smarter.

Walser is from Basel, like Jules.

He didn't talk in the lunatic asylum, he didn't write, didn't say a word.

20 years of silence.

But Walser had spoken before.

So Walser too, in the end, screwed himself.

Because Walser`s silence means something to us,

he went mute and we call it "silence".

He had spoken before, he'd passed on his voice,

he'd left something.

Then silence. And we understand that this silence is "silence".

He didn't say anything.

But Walser might have had a head start on Jules.

After all, of all the silence

we can only see...

I mean we can label it, that's all. I mean disguise it, also.

While Jules is so...

The language he speaks is now common, void of mysteries,

void of anguish, void of fear.

Something like that.

This is the fear of... of living in the present,

the fear of an action,

the fear of carrying out this action.

They'll forgive you anything,

but never for upsetting the order of the world, it's obvious.

Even if only for a second.

It can't be allowed, nobody can afford it.

Why risk one's whole life for that second, you see?

It's not possible.

It may be a sort of conviction,

but the more it's a conviction the more it's fascinating.

I think we have to try.

We have to make it, you see?

Just for a second, so,

you'll face a...

You know what you'll face, we all know what we'll face.

We know what the dangers are.

We fear winning more than losing, that's true.

You have to want to win, once.

You have to upset the world to win,

not upset the world to lose. You see?

Upset the world as powerful beings, from powerful positions.

And leave it upset.

For ever or for a second, but leave it upset.

Without anyone being able to say it's been upset.

It's the only way to seize the present.

I remember Drobny describing a challenging match.

An unstoppable ball passed over the net.

On other occasions he wouldn't even have chased it.

FRANKENSTEIIN`S HEART

But at a certain point the ball seemed to move in slow motion.

He had all the time to study its mechanism

and landed one of those strikes...

He won the match.

It sounds like a simple anecdote, but if you think about it,

creativity expands time,

only banality contracts it.

And finally it slips away completely.

Living the poetry of the present,

you can even understand about that little Chinese boy

who'd fallen in love with the Queen of the Abyss.

He went down to the depths of the oceans

and, when he came back, he met a very aged man,

who was pruning a rose garden.

The man looked at him and said: “Boy,"

"my grandfather told me about a child who went down into the abyss,“

"for he'd fallen in love with the queen“.

"He had the same name as you.“

The natural man

in terms of visual consciousness

is a seed

gifted with imagination.

Like the seed

he's a package

of solid matter,

the human spirit

is a closed shell

the shape of a skull

and of abstract ideas.

In nature

all seeds

die as seeds.

In human life

all natural men,

bad men,

all the wicked,

all the stupid,

all the shy,

remain

in the cave of the spirit

fallen...

into hibernation,

in the hibernated night

of time.

They're only embryos,

sterile seeds,

and they die

in the world of seeds.

Within them

the only chance of life

remains in the embryonic form

of abstract ideas,

shadows and dreams.

Some dreams are

dark visions

of the real world

of the awaken awareness.

Other dreams

are horror nightmares,

that take the spirits

numbed by passiveness.

Sometimes a seed

tries to sprout

into the real world

and so gets away

from the sepulchral darkness

into the light of immortality.

We are not born yet.

We're only asleep.

We're made out

of the same matter

as our dreams.

Freedom

is the fire,

the chaos,

the everlasting ground

of creation.

The mother has turned off the light,

then opens wide her mouth, or her vagina.

It looks like the threshold.

Then she orders her daughter to come in and look for the “kaya“,

the mysterious light of witchcraft.

The daughter is convinced it's only a threshold,

so she goes in.

But it's her mother's vagina, or her grandmother's.

So she gets swallowed and is reborn a second time,

after having learnt all the charms and all the spells of the magic.

"Kaya“ is a rope-shaped fire

and it constantly gushes out of the witch's vagina.

Riding this glowing rope the witch can fly across the sky

and you can see her at night, in the form of a shooting star.

A dark mountain rises in the East

on its top, lightning entwines.

The medicine of He who kills Monsters has got into your mouth.

A blue mountain rises in the West

on its top, a gleam is diffused.

The medicine has got into your mouth.

It's an occult matter he is eating,

the one that the son of the Lady of Metamorphosis eats.

It's a basket of turquoises with intertwined edges

spread with white pearls.

It's the bud of white corn.

It's the dew from the stormy cloud.

The son of the man...

The son of the Lady of Metamorphosis

eats a basket of turquoises and white pearls.

He eats a basket of stones with abalone-stranded rims.

He eats the moon's pollen.

Oh double-rainbow with two ears!

I'm a young man

and the girls are all down there, scared,

they won'! look up.

My loincloth shines, my hair shines.

My sex has started to speak!

Erect penis, hit them! Tear them!

Beat the ground with the feathers on your tip.

The movement of the erect penis is called WORD.

All together, the girls have spread their legs.

It rises, it grows!

It rises from the earth, descends from the sky.

The girls arrive from everywhere.

The ghost of the Moon-Man pursues them.

They run happily.

Their menstrual blood flows down their legs.

Father Lézard has laid down,

he's resting on a hill of shiny sand.

Hip flesh.

Man-shaped Boomerang!

What about the devil?

Anger, Kenneth Anger.

The devil...

Mike Jagger.

Mike Jagger.

And Sharon Tate!

This cigarette is awful since I'm pregnant.

I'm pregnant and can'! smoke.

Tradition... Tradition...

There's no more tradition. There's only pollution.

Pollution by cars. Smoke is terrible if you're pregnant.

The atmospheric pollution is deadly,

a deformed baby could be born.

The true Devil is to be found in the presidents of Nations.

In the war, that's where the Devil is!

The rest is only a petty-bourgeois reduction of the real devil.

Moralist! Come!

People talk about LSD mutations,

but this is nothing compared to the mutations of the atmosphere,

the mutations of rivers, streams, that are poisoned,

that can make children...

It's really selfish to want a child nowadays

because in 10 years time all will be finished,

there'll be no fish,

there'll be no birds.

- Kenneth Anger. - Kenneth Anger.

It's not in films you find magic, it's in life.

It's not in Kenneth Anger's films. It's in real life.

Everyone talks about magic,

about the devil, about God, about the revolution.

They're hypocrites.

They're hypocrites! Rebels...

True rebels fight with weapons, they act.

They act as the devil's friends,

but at least they act. They don't only talk.

When you get to discover the truth it is dangerous,

for there are many people who want to kill

those who discovers their secrets.

No, the... the... the... the!

Beware, beware. You might die in a few years.

- Beware. - But...

The soul...

Very few know anything about the soul.

And what do you know about the soul? Hadn't you totally lost yours?

Tell me.

Roads, temples, palaces, lanes, porches,

make this city a model of urbanism

equal to its beauty and to its power.

At the simple idea of someone conquering it

it dissolves as in a mirage.

Although the city is totally dedicated to poetry and to the spirit,

each morning, in the Campo dei Fiori Square,

50,000 souls meet

to trade anything the world produces.

From the personal services of barbers, bricklayers, porters, painters, tilers,

to fruit, vegetables, poultry,

hollow and solid bricks, oat and corn breads,

rabbits,

feathered and singing birds,

iron and glazed pipes,

clay braziers for sacrifices.

The streets around the square

are named after the crafts that are practiced there.

You have Sediari street, Cappellari street,

Baullari street,

Chiavari street,

hotels dedicated to the Luna, to the Lunetta,

the Sun, the Provinces of Rome.

Temples and palaces

surround the square,

but one rises above them all for its beauty and majesty.

It's enclosed in 7 domes

and defended by 400 towers.

It has two entrances, one facing the sea

and one facing the city centre.

The entrance on the city centre is completely frescoed

and has special recesses with 800 white marble sculptures.

The second facade, the one overlooking the sea,

is in stone and earth, polished by the wind.

To access the temple rooms

you go up a staircase

of 9 flights of 9 steps each, in red marble.

Once in the main corridor,

on the right, there's a room dedicated to the 12 idols,

where each day hundreds of devotees go in admiration.

On the left, a room flooded with light,

in its centre a brazier for sacrifices,

where monks contact the gods.

Four windows

connect the monks with the four elements.

The first overlooks the sky,

the second reflects the fire of the brazier,

the third overlooks the sea,

the fourth connects the sky to the earth with an iron bar.

There are 3 chapels.

One is strictly forbidden to devotees

and contains the sacred vestments for the sacrifices.

And it's from this room that you access the terrace

overlooking the temple gardens.

An infinity of species

of trees and flowers.

Two pools, one of salt water and one of fresh water.

The salt water one is for sea birds.

The fresh water one is for river birds.

And this is where I, Montezuma,

go to enjoy the flight of the birds.

Nothing is unintelligible.

Prayer is a false act.

The principle of cults is pride.

There are not two types of poetry, there's only one.

Venture to exist.

Flood and fire loom over us.

The terrible has already happened.

The vision is ended, I'm about to dream again.

Attila is the son of Muzduc, son of Tundra,

son of Scemen, son of Etéh,

son of Opoh, son of Kadis,

son of Berent, son of Suetan,

son of Bulchu, son of Bholu,

son of Zambur, son of Zamur,

son of Rehel, son of Levente,

son of Kulke, son of Ompu,

son of Miscke, son of Miche,

son oi Betze, son oi Rudy,

son of Kana, son of Bucken,

son of Darkans, son of Otman,

son of Rudar, son of Belen,

son of Kear, son of Kevé,

son of Kela, son of Damar,

son of Bohr, son of Nembor,

son of Kus, son of Cam.

And Cam descends from Astur, who some call Shongar,

created king of the Flying Beings and bearing a crown on his head.

Horse, may you take me to the underground cities.

Horse! May you take me to the underground cities

to embrace my brothers

and so answer the greeting

of the Invisible encumbering my head

and free the people from their infamy!

Horse, may you take me to the underground cities

to embrace my brothers

and so answer the greeting of the Invisible encumbering my head

and free the people from their infamy!

Horse! May you take me to the Garden of Eden.

Horse, may you take me

to the underground cities

to embrace my brothers

and so answer the greeting

of the Invisible encumbering our heads.

Horse, may you take me to the underground cities

to embrace my brothers.

To the underground cities to embrace my brothers.

Horse, may you

take me to the underground cities

to embrace my brothers

and so answer the greeting

of the Invisible encumbering our heads

and free the people from their infamy.

Horse...

Go!

UNIVERSE

Beautiful lady. Beautiful.

Really beautiful.

Really beautiful.

Marvellous. As always, marvellous.

Poet.

Where do you put charity, Roberta?

This pure essence of the atheist doctrine.

Other things, other words, please.

Enough!

OTTAVIO These false tortures? Meaning? Are they tortures or not?

Then turning her for a second towards Antonio,

so that he could admire the buttocks, thighs, knee socket,

and the long legs dressed in black of the young aunt,

Victor plants her on the sed-contra, holding her by her wrists from behind,

while she, straight on the tips of her shoes,

receives the highest probation.

In the meanwhile Antonio, too upset to stand such vision,

has hidden behind a curtain.

But a hoarse cry startles him,

obliging him to look again.

Roberta, with her skirt still up,

seems to straighten her corset, her stocking,

while with the other hand she gives Victor a pair of keys,

hanging from her fingertips.

Victor touches them, but doesn't take them.

They both look frozen, suspended in their own poses.

I WOULD LIKE TO HURT

Sooner or later they'll go to hell.

One of these days I'll kill them.

TO THOSE I ILLUMINATE

Is this situation real or theatrical?

ROBERTA Suppressing temptation.

OTTAVIO Meaning freedom, meaning turning off the light of the spirit...

TO THE ETERNAL MEMORY

OF ALESSANDRO VI BORGIA

PAGAN POPE

The Pope is dead.

He's devoured by worms.

He's gone down to hell.

Rest in peace.

His body has started to rot;

his mouth is foaming

like a pan of boiling water.

Revolution ends

the moment you have to sacrifice yourself for it.

All of this lasted until the moment of the burial.

Refusing sacrifice is refusing compensation.

His body swelled in such a monstrous way

that it lost all human likeness.

I know you don'! love me

for you love no one but yourself.

I'm like you...

...so love me!

We must put an end to Christian love.

We must put an end to Christian love,

the love of sacrifice, militant love.

- How are you, madam? - Well.

We'll have to speak again, until facts allow us to cease.

I have the grace to live.

The moon placates and reduces sensitivity,

throwing a veil upon the horror of what happens.

Then the iron goes out in the light of Mars,

in the blood of the mole, in the juice of the woman.

In Bicse, they were tenured in a cellar.

In Sérvér in a room of the castle where nobody ever went.

In Csejthe in the basements.

In Keresztur in a cubicle of the washroom.

In the carriage, when Erzsébet was travelling,

the girls were jabbed with needles and pricked,

but when Darvulia arrived

the tortures became crueler.

The women tied hands and arms very tightly

with Vienna rope,

and they beat them to death,

until their whole bodies were as black as coal

and the skin came off.

Their fingers were torn one by one, with pliers,

and then their veins pierced with scissors.

Dorko stung,

Jo llona brought the fire, heated the poker,

applied it to the face, the nose,

or else opened their mouth and put it inside.

In Keresztur 37 were killed.

At times the girls were left

without food and water for a week

and everybody was forbidden to assist them.

Erzsébet tore off their skin with pliers

and cut off the membrane from their fingers.

The old women hid and buried the corpses.

Here's Snow White's heart!

This is the hour of evil dreams.

Mercury takes over the sky

and makes it ominous for those whose spirit he has poisoned.

You can count the wrinkles on my skin.

You can see them. What can be done? Nothing.

We have to find a different philosophy from the one of Beauty.

Superficial.

We have to find... We have to find... We have to find paradise.

We have to find... We have to... We have...

to know how to find paradise

not to get old.

In paradise maybe old age doesn't exist anymore.

What would you say, if one day or one night,

a demon slipped into your most hidden solitude

and said to you:

"This life, such as you're living it, and such as you've lived it,“

“you'll have to live it again countless times."

"And there'll be nothing new, if not that each pain, each pleasure,“

“each groan and each thought"

“and all the smallest and greatest things in it,"

"will have to repeat themselves for you,"

“and all of it in the same order and in the same sequence.“

"The eternal hourglass of existence turns endlessly“

“and you with it, grain of sand of the sand.“

Wouldn't you throw yourself to the ground gnashing your teeth,

cursing the demon who says that to you?

Or would you think you've lived an extraordinary moment,

in which you could have answered:

“You are a god, never before had I heard such divine things!"

FINALLY I HAVE MORE THAN ONE FACE

AND DON'T KNOW WHICH ONE MOCKS THE OTHER

THAT SAID, I GO ON LIVING