Fashion does it Better

Babies like salad and they never turn back, unlike this guy we'll foil, we'll check his back door and, then, turn our heads, looking at another grey sea, looking at another bright moon fucking the sun, hard, yelling the yellow one is just another fool looking for cheap sensations. We do not care, we do not swear, we are free souls lost in a desert ocean. Fulfil it, pour water on our dirty dreams, leak, drip, slow storms that make no noise around are among the favorites of ours, do, then. Pour. Don't you see the open hands, lurking... [Lire la suite]

  Years are like drops, some acid ones, some bitter ones, some sweeter little ones, but all of them, they make your hair curlier than the minute before. They are water, they are illusions made liquid, they are jelly, they are love turned down. Rain is impossible, clouds are illusive foams having fun above while we take a waltz for a granted trip. We fly, we flow, we die in a row, we keep on, we land and consider mud just as another joke, and we go again, we run too fast and far from the initial pun. There is, there was, past... [Lire la suite]

The grass looked greener on the other side, the twin river. Another island we're afraid of, another name we can't whisper, another couple letters we're not able to stutter. And we'll keep on babbling, and we'll keep on swinging, singing the songs that cross our minds, our roasted brains keep on liking what they bring to us, daily, endlessly. The wheel may turn, we may be out of tune, out of path, out of project. Who, who's the only who that gets all the love and gifts for himself, or herself, or itself, to indulge with, to... [Lire la suite]

What makes a tortured brain walk in the morning rain, and when the buses come, roar and roam, we'd rather sat here and stay home alone. Tatoo frenzy gotta attract the eye of the gonzo paparazzo, starting on level zero and looking for the clouds above ready to whine again. People in line, waiting for a slice of pigeon pie, mourning their long gone dreams while bicycles cry on their way to work. Poems, everybody! And caviar on the ground, wings on bricks and red frog skulls. Slang on the sly, slovenliness, delightful pains as... [Lire la suite]

Moving in circles or twists, you'd rather groom your gloom and forget about french fries and driving licenses. Plenty of girls, looking for fun at bargain price, running towards wooden walls and falling like spoiled lemons off their tree. One against storms and bolts shaking a reality that gets more and more bizarre at every step made away from the main road. Another walking her sadness on the grassy hills that never recovered from urban scars. And Valerija Kelava (here photographed by Benjamin Lennox for L'Express Styles),... [Lire la suite]

It's the first time, ever, we put some male model taste on this page and, hopelessly, the last. We've been begging for some changes at Vogue Italia, but real ones, revolutions, not click and turn, the page(s). And here we go, on another kind of world, another plunder of what fashion photography used to be, one day above another. Steven, forgive us, that's no time to cut our throats and let blood make rivers out of fleshy veins. How can our eyes survive such a visual robbery, where has innovation gone to, give us the destination, it... [Lire la suite]

I'd nibble at you every day, I'd nibble at you every night, I'd send my jaw to another hell. I wanna chew you, feel your tenderness till you get dry and hard, and out of tooth. For now, we lack teeth more than you, more than your smile, bloody spectacular half-smile. You're the loveliest onomatopea and we are your faithful ears. You mend scars and you put a veil on the money we don't have, and never will. We ate lion meat and are still as hungry as the river next door. We couldn't trace back the magazine it was taken from, and,... [Lire la suite]

A crop of sweets fallen from a plastic tree, a bunch of eyes tuned for the best and worst, a world that melts waiting for the night to go by. Years leak and years drop, idiots drool and lights fly by like dirty eagles between the clouds. Where does the sky lives? Where do angels land? If anyone knows the exact address, we'll order a taxi with tomato sauce and garlic powder, we'll drive straight. Isis, name of a goddess (Bataglia for the curious crowd), forgotten fixture of another empire, and back again with the features you can... [Lire la suite]

We should be catchers in a rye, should be a lot more things, should embody a tad more characters, we shall live and float like grilled penguins on hot water, roar like mischievous tigers when another voice yells louder than ours. But we're quiet as nuns under the sunshower, stuck between red bricks and flawless freedom, enjoying the last kisses of a dying summer stuttering its last words in a light blue whisper. The wind is friendly, the leaves are happy and our silly planet keeps its pace to make us dumber than yesterday. Imaan... [Lire la suite]

Jump and bump and geese gotta run, if the ocean grows higher we all gonna sink, yeah. For the moment, let us keep our Stan Smith on the solid ground and listen to the music that tunes our eyes. Fashion flows on big rivers, too big for what they shiver, for. Let the song get strong, before it all gets wrong. Season, seasoning, reasons are duty-free, get your gift, get your poison, get it all before everything disappears away. Damaris Goddrie, a cat on the rooftop, swinging between the chimneys, swirling, whirling, waving a flag... [Lire la suite]