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Gingola the du uei

Deeply hate Christmas and everything that precedes it and follows it immediately.
I hate it because I loved it when my grandparents were all fully booked around the table and without them no longer makes sense.
I hate cards, gifts forced, fake smiles and wiles, the traffic even in the most unexpected places and times, those jingle shoot at any kind of community place, cold, colds and sore throats that accompany me regularly in all religious holidays. Whether it's Christmas, Labor Day or August.
But despite all this preamble, I decided to write to Santa Claus, too. ever listen to me once in a while ....

Babbino Caro Christmas
This year I should not complain or ask for gifts they did not know which saint I've made so much trouble to help me, because in September I finally found a job worthy of being called such and half boyfriend ... mmm but I do not know 'whether it is still worthy of being called such (poor baby), in short, given the recent months, I considered to be relatively satisfied, but since I was a child, have always been accustomed to the words "You can do more" and then turn around the same obsession in mind: Babbino Christmas you can do more . For example ...

1. 2-3 donassi I wish you tons of patience to be used in the saints feast days hurrying to arrive.
2. I wish you did not leave the country by registered mail and the return of my ex despite numerous threats that he had the courage to do the Christmas gift. Ps: If you want you can deliver it to my house and we think my hands to start the holy Miss (large feet support) for remote areas and far.
3. I wish my family was happy and carefree. I would like to see us happy for more than 10 minutes, only this.
4. I wish I could lose weight by eating, but only for the holidays, of course. Then I will work again with my super-duper-hated-loved restrictive diet.
5. I wish for a day, Burberry is open only for me and that all costs up to 10 €. There would still leave all my bank account but at least I could enjoy only a paltry trunk. Cabbage.
6. I wish one of my "friend" found a boyfriend who can endure beyond exercise alone under the sheets and I do not break my balls more so assiduously as he does at this time.
7. I would open a large kennel and have as much money as possible for them to live peaceful and happy even if they had the good fortune to be adopted.
8. I would love a wonderful perfect boyfriend to my best friend and my sister, and my next witness at the wedding and godmother to my alleged son. The husband of Melinda in Ghost Whisperer would be the best, you can move on that line please?
9. I would like a permanent contract. But maybe I should talk about the new year right?!? Perhaps it is your responsibility ... but if you can put the meantime, a good word ...
10. I this wonderful Desigual coat that I can not afford not going to do if a, very noble work, night.
11. I will continue to see my cousin smile.
12. everything I wish I could show my affection towards my wonderful friends. The joy that I give when I return home. Type last night, a night but any that I would not ever end. I wish you freeze those feelings and that you promise me that for the rest of his life, the 5 of us (hoping to add a sixth, or the perfect man of my best friend) remain always the case. I am in love with our friendship.
13. And last but not least, I love me and learn to appreciate a bit 'more.

Just this.
Merry Christmas Christmas Babbino Caro.

Your affectionate, even if not diligent , Cristina

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Just to wish goodnight

Goodnight. Anyone will be able to see the magic of the moon tonight. A white ball that stands him in a sky opposite. Illuminate a pale comforting the surface of very dark blue around them. It 's great and seems closer than usual. But maybe it's just me. We see so little these days that it seems to me to write a good night. Goodbye to those already under a colorful quilt that weighs on the body warm, and he is just thinking about the long day spent in a sort of unconscious slumber. Good night to those who are enjoying this incredible moon with his best friend, after a few bottles of wine flow without a reason, maybe just to share it with those who really can tolerate indefinitely. Goodbye also to drivers on a stretch of highway in the province, a sort of no man's land that is no more than a stage of a destination apparently, but on which, in reality, we leave tracks or entire pieces of emotions to try to leave them homeless, when they would not dwell in us and best place to be. Good night to those who have the courage to swallow gallons of coffee to get a satisfactory result for an exam, those who still have the enviable ability to believe in the future when maybe hallucinating take turns throughout the day to pay his studies, and good night to those who are working. Good night to those who are waiting for a plane or to the most fortunate that we have already risen in the ocean or on a desert, in front of the biggest events that are granted to us the infinite simple humans. Good night to those who are already asleep and goodnight especially to those who stood up from where he sat down and lit a cigarette is going to take a piece of the moon itself is here. At least for five minutes. Good night.

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la pluie en été


La pluie en été
Ensemble Ne pas toucher le sol
laver les Pas Comme trottoirs
air et eau, melees

Mon esprit n'est pas morose ,
aujourd'hui, sous cette pluie
Here we Baigne
Mais rien d'exterieur sur les Âmes s'écrase .




best remembered these days as the rain ... as I wrote it this summer ...
... sur les Âmes s'écrase .

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Small Paturnie grow.

are days that go 'a bit like that. " And 'that, probably, when I realize that I have started to have problems in my head (damn ! ) will emerge again and again.
I can never feel fully satisfied and quiet than I do. And I hate, hate me, hate me.
And every time I try to force me and say "but look at the positive things ! " I can not do that here, that the negative I always seem insurmountable and impossible to solve.
I have the stomach for three days, and, in each case, I can associate a good reason in my head and a sense of guilt just as powerful.
Maybe I should, again, seriously, start a psychological therapy. And this time not for the food (oh my God give me time to write that Prince my problem is not food ) . This time it's all around me which scares me and I still always feel inadequate in any situation.
I lost my job two years ago, and put black and white that were two years is nothing short of horrible. And even though, rationally, I know of that have been retired pieces of shit, I can not help blaming myself. Too much availability, trying to meet the needs of everyone except my own, having permission to take advantage ... of all things routine for myself. But then I start to tell me that perhaps I was not good enough, that perhaps took me no soul, that perhaps not conclude anything in my life.
And now, after two years to cry, to feel despair and to throw away, check here for a job. And I'm back in office for nearly two months, once again ready to throw myself headlong into a new world. But now back to reset of feel to throw away, perhaps expect too much from myself efficiency know and understand people very quickly, and so here I seem to do enough to make mistakes and spend hours and hours with the worry of mind. And the fear that starts in January threw me out from here, I know that not even this time, let me assert that the contract for an indefinite period will not come and I really want to cry.
Probably the other work I have zero self-esteem, and now I happen to think about things hallucinating, hallucinating so much that when I come back to reality, I wonder if I'm going crazy seriously.
And then guilt towards my parents for all the times that continue to pay my expenses that I, unfortunately, I can not pay me. And do not talk about that dress or that necklace, I speak of car payments, stamp, of tuition fees. All compulsory and that I weigh so much.
And last night, my friend tells me "Come on, now that that work can spend a bit 'of money." No. I can not spend them because I will no longer weigh on my own, because I have to put money aside and, if the sky m'assiste, leave home next year.
And also the problem is not just a house. Expenses, mortgage payments added to the machine which add up to university and bills. But I'll manage. I owe it to myself, my parents and my brother. They can not subirsi my screams, my tears and my fears, not when you have 28 years, which are almost 30.
And then the university. Next year I finish it, including the dissertation. And I'm afraid of not succeeding in the times that I have given. I'm afraid of not being able to do three exams in January. I'm afraid that is not accepted my thesis project. I'm afraid of everything. And never fear equals Paturnie, stomach pain, immobility.
So whenever something happens to me vaguely of the good connection to all these Paturnie and here that ... poof ... it vaguely beautiful disappears topped by paranoia that even Freud would envy.
Et voila.

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Everything you own is more than just another thing that one day you will lose.

There is no way that I can live peacefully and safely for more than 24 hours. There is no way
I can enclose Paturnie in a drawer and throw away the key. Especially if you then become reality.
I became obsessed with his ex. There is no way to change the tables, the more I think no more obligation to someone else that makes you only leave space to my insecurity and low strength of my relationship with Him
And the more I try to put everything aside, the more I discover that he has never been fully honest with me. The more I try themselves that are just my paranoia, more join the pieces and find that, instead, is the truth. How do you regain confidence in a person who loves it when you find that it is not the same person who believed us? How do you believe in a relationship that I'm dragging unnecessarily?
And my tears in front of him, instead of reassuring me and hold me, tells me that I probably should finish it here, if I do not trust that it is useless to stay together, we might as well leave now rather than in a year. Probably, for him, the easiest thing to do. For me the hardest.
Again we have an opposite point of view.
And I'm still at a point without knowing which side is really Christina, nor which way is better go.
Which is the lesser evil? What is the right thing to do?
Being able to separate head and heart would be wonderful. I wonder if I would ever be able, alas.

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Absent Absent XIX XX

And as I walk, I see the looming long road ahead of me. Needless to say, do not even seem to have an end. If anyone should ever dare to write a definition of the horizon, I think I should keep in mind what I have right before my eyes now. But perhaps not enough. We must have trod a thousand times more, on all occasions. With the sudden snow in March. The heat stifling even at six in the evening. The rain with the sun in all seasons. The dust of April and the smell of flowering shrubs. As I did, every day of my life. I mention how much I love this place, and will continue to repeat it. Winter is coming. E 'already autumn. As the pungent air of eight in the evening, when it is already dark, as an axiom. As the cold returns under the skin, he returns into me by osmosis. Perhaps there has always been, because mine is a safe haven, however, in the end. But I can not help but think about it. Of forgetting. In every smile, every motor, every song and every cigarette. It happens to me for some winter and now, after all, is a feeling that I like it. In the dim light of lanterns high above me, but too small to get to that blue hole, not even black, which seems to be the sky. In my sandwich for dinner in a street not far from home with the car headlights that sweep into my picture. Shop signs in daylight, perhaps for a customer wandering. On my return in the evening on a bike that creaking with every inch that I leave behind. He is everywhere in winter, but at the same time, only to myself. Maybe you do not have yet spoken. You, who in reality, it's like you were here with me. Right here by my side. From the part where I have a cigarette between his fingers. And 'as if you were talking to you. Although physically not there. But I still talk to you, in my head. It 's like your presence was constant. And paradoxically, it had always been. I know that every word I hear, and I would tell my whole life. You speak definitely walking, or lying on the floor of a tavern. I will continue to tread this path with you, making your hands back into his jacket for the cold . Walk all the ways that exist and thank you for being there (in my mind, in a map?). Graffitatti climb over the walls to see what is behind you. What's inside of me. An abandoned factory, a historic ruin. Perhaps only a yard of uncut grass and grass pitches. We provide all the things I'm most jealous. I am confident. I would go Southern Hemisphere here. Where everything is reversed, the spirits of the seasons. As of now. I'm not afraid to travel the world. I'm not afraid anymore ... I know you're listening to.

the "you", maybe he'll understand.

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I write but I do not.

that will probably have this "bad" habit of not having to write when things start going your way.
will I need to savor every moment fully, and focus, even if briefly, on another it seems like you're wasting your time.
will be that until I could not be sure how things were evolving it was hard even to repeat it to myself.
But now it seems to me to live a dream. A wonderful September that I did not end more.
E 'started, for me, a new year. Fresh from school, I always filled of good intentions in September, but never in January. And I keep still. And I finally managed to fix some 'my life.
And, mind you, who do not believe it.
I expect before the apocalypse of 2012.

After two years at home depressed as ever in my life, to throw myself on the university not to think of everything that was happening around me, I finally start over to work.
Having spent months doing interviews, believing less and less in my dreams and all I could expect from the future, finally my phone rang with an offer for work.
And it's a bit 'too early to say now that everything is wonderful, I have yet to settle in well and understand carefully what is my job. Ma .. work. I repeat: LAVOR O. Signed contract. Salary this month. In short, the normal range (that time is not seen in more then a lot ...) for me is happiness.
Having solved the business problem has eliminated 80% of my crying, my hatred towards myself and step by step, my self-esteem is returning to levels in normal (of course under the MIA not some other human beings). And then there

HIM. What finally is again mine. And mine alone. And I'm crazy love in the adolescent stage, and scream and yelled for a bit jealous' justified, the rest of my Paturnie and my obsessions have the upper hand. But this time I decided to pursue a decent relationship, not to cancel and not to cancel the rest of my life. I'm ready to make sacrifices because I want to be special. Why the peace and serenity that I send to my side when it has never had a par with any other guy in the world, and I do not exist most beautiful thing.

And to complete the picture from "Cristina Model Mill-White" (please, for once concedetemelo) keep doing tests with excellent results and my much-coveted and desired degree is getting closer.
Bello.

And now ... silence. Let's pretend I have nothing to fear of the apocalypse, and this would be less suitable period for the destruction of the world.

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The clouds are lighter than the sky as soon as I set foot outside the house. The sun is almost completely down and the moon shines its light. I drank? Do not touch alcohol for weeks. Maybe I no longer needed. It is not a hallucination, though. The white circle stands in front of me and I feel close, very close. Around an arch of light was too old to be common. Right next door, a cross in the sky. Perhaps the wakes aereii that two have met, maybe two clouds thinned. At ground level, my neighborhood, where I'm away. An old woman quickly turns the corner with two shopping bags, one in each hand. It seems to escape from something bigger and stronger than she. One time, a shadow, a row of cars parked on the sidewalk in front of his house. Everything is so common for me, I do not fear anything here. Probably, if I were a foreign land, these places do not feel as safe, and act like the lady who is just out of my field of vision. I have no fear even death, here, if I keep on walking. And the night I went adelante, a knight-errant pitch with my elephant. I turn a cigarette that I just bought. Not the best time to enjoy it, though. Is not yet cold enough and do not suffer from the hands to keep it between your fingers to the icy air that goes to mingle with the smoke clear what happens in winter. But it gives me quite the same satisfaction. I'm no longer alone, I found my friends. I agree with some cigarettes, a bar and some comments on our lives. And in the street whenever it renews the agreement. They walk along with me. We move away from the center, all together. you seek, to find the connection that binds you to all the other people. I'm talking, talking nonstop. We find ourselves, without even having time to think out of the city. Open before me endless stretches of wheat fields, wild grass and legume plants. Behind us are the hills. I can see everything very well although it is already night. Every so often the houses perched on a hillside hide behind the smoke of my cigarette. But then reappear, as if to reassure me. I lent my blue scarf to someone but I'm not cold. The smoke coming inside me warm and keeps me awake in front of this marvel in about ten minutes from my house. It 's wonderful and makes me feel even closer to him. I lie on the deserted bike path and let others go ahead without me. Try to stay in the group, the calm is important but freedom is all about. I grant me only a few minutes in the company of myself and the end of my cigarette. Which is the least favorite part and that always makes me more ideas. But this time is different, the cross is still in the sky but the moon has ceased to illuminate it. Instead it gives light to all that surrounds me and makes me so happy. The world. And I'm in love. not stand between the people distracted I tell myself. I get up, I reach my friends. I embrace them one by one. I again also my scarf. It has a good fragrance that mixes with that of tobacco and the night air of autumn. I'm in love, although I do not know what. From what I have around him, of my life, this evening. The world. I know that without these minutes I would not have ever realized. And I would have lost too much of this. I fragrances and beautiful landscapes on him. Amo.




Laura

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Chronicles of an Italian mad - III

(COGITO?) ERGO SUM!

In search of the need to philosophize too long ago forgotten by the Italians

" think is one of the greatest pleasures of being human," wrote Bertolt Brecht . Along the same lines, the inventor Thomas Alva Edison, who said " The man who does not cultivate the habit of thinking loses the greatest pleasure of life." more imperative the philosopher Averroes "Who thinks it is immortal, who does not think he dies. " But we all feel this need to think so hard? Apparently yes, but we were not taught how to cultivate it. By now most of us are accustomed to content rsi an anonymous aphorism card chocolates, or the happy ending of a love story of dubious taste. In our society, space for philosophy are increasingly tight. And the philosophy is meant in a general context, not speculation or meditation on reality and the origins of the world. To do philosophy is the use of brains, or have studied, as it often is made to believe by those who lack the courage to express their ideas. In an interview, the same philosopher Giorgio Giorello defines philosophy as "the free exercise of thought, which is not subject to any strict rule or definition." Perhaps no longer feel the need to philosophize, to think with our heads? No, a little 'a bit of laziness' by inertia on the habit of always having everything ready and at hand, the majority of us do not even go to his head to stop a second to think. Some people write on the increase in popularity of philosophy in our country, and this trend even gives the name "filosofomania" but, actually, is more and more towards the oblivion of the true meaning of this term, not speak of the exercise of critical thought itself. The rubbish that has been shaped by philosophy of Socrates or Plato would have been the symbol of the stalemate of the human intellect, the hand of a man, more important, even more than the heart. In fact, more than ever we need to philosophize in the true sense of the word. The television must be turned off more often, the computer too. We must capitalize on our ability to think, and stop believing everything that catches the eye and is incorrectly called "philosophy". The truth, happiness, and everything to which man longs for nature, must be sought by everyone, even very deeply: I have never as evident as people try to make them appear, and, of course, you can not find already spoken through the cathode ray tube or pre-written text in a song, like an Easter egg surprises called stereotype.

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I listen to Italian singer of the last century. Poetry. Tomorrow back to the winter, or at least in the minds of Most of the people. And there is no better way to get it, do not listen to these melancholy melodies. Colossal mistake. Sale undeciphered a melancholy to me, everything for a moment. I can hardly hold back tears. Why? I think I can also control certain feelings, certain emotions. But apparently not. I lay long in bed, the body expands. And in a lightning are shot out of the house. I do not even have time to notice. Ipod, legs, and maybe some cigarettes hidden in the bottom of a pocket. In the deserted streets near my house I make an appointment. It 'Sunday, late afternoon. A complete family returns home after a dinner at the home of grandparents, or uncles. Who knows. It makes me feel home, but at the same time out of place. It takes me just to meet the world today seems to move. Precisely in the opposite direction to mine. Who did the calculations wrong? Those who leave and those who return, between the two parties? I am the only one, apparently, that opposes this current. They come to be so many that I can not even discern all their faces. Burn my eyes, maybe this, maybe not. Anyway, after walking. I have to let me go where I lead the legs. That does not stop. But in the end I know the way I'm going. Even if it seems random. The more I get closer to the center to meet more people. I try always to break away from the block which are all those people together, even if in my journey I run into a disproportionate amount of them anyway. Some stare at me until it overwhelms them. Others do not move to let me pass. The two things I normally would on your nerves, now I care very little. I am unable to stop the legs, I swear. I pass a house that reminds me of a past love. 'S great, and dreamed of going to live in two. I stop for just a second. To print the form in memory and return a few years ago. But there is no time, I have to keep walking. There is no reason why I should stop the perpetual motion that seem to have geared my legs. Like, it makes me feel better. The melancholy runs off with the sky, my head and that house. Leave space in my eyes, you look around in the streets, dragging their pediments of neoclassical buildings, the facades of Gothic churches, inns and restaurants remain closed. Porphyry seems to dissolve under my feet and I happen to find myself jumping up to shoot in the streets of my small town. The soil can move fast, but I tied my boots to a broken mast. And so maybe I decide to go home with a sun of the seven in the evening which is just before sunset. I've always said is the worst, what kills more, though it seems. It starts to hurt the hip but it's the last thing I could think of. I continue to move forward, and although I do not understand now, searching. dissolve if you'd ignore me. But what is really happening? I recover, but I continue to seek his face for all roads that pass. A sign, a color, music. I have the feeling that he is doing the same thing. I'll keep your dreams, and you take me into consideration, although it seems strange. I could not feel better. Really? Really. I'm almost home and the streets were deserted redone. But it is as if he were here. I just need to know that I am the guardian of her dreams. I will lay on a blanket in the grass, will extend his arms and say congratulations.

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Absent Absent XVIII XVII XVI

veiled sun in a sky that does not exist, impalpable. A thick blanket over me. Too thick. Perhaps because of my condition today. Last night, night excesses. As often happens in these times. I remember maybe half the things I've done. I drank, I smoked. This is certain. Is there anyone around me who wakes up with cuts or deadly blows and has no recollection of how he can get esserseli. Who moans turning over in his sleep on the cold marble floor. Who sets the ceiling above it, hoping to find the strength to rise. Around a house that I barely remember who he is. There had never been before and this morning I do not think even the same as last night. It 'a very large window that can to see the sky from the blinding light gray. It seems that the sun has forgotten to exist lately. It 's a more mass in the middle of all that white pearl. But no one ever sees it completely. I prefer it this way, although I must say that the light so clear, though not sharp, it kills me the same. E 'early, too soon, I think. But I have to go home. I'll pretend to be back yesterday early evening. I try to convince me to be able to recognize well the streets of my province in these conditions, and with little strength in my body that I still wash my face and go out. And in a very short-lived glory, I'm in the car. 'S cold, and nobody knows that I have taken last night. We are in September, would be technically still summer. But it is not. Not for nothing. I strive to keep our eyes open as I can, take the road that goes towards home. It 'a bypass, and there is hardly anyone around. Only trucks of all colors and lettering on the trailers in the strangest language in the world. I am certain that being the smallest, silly, and perhaps even useless in this Filamar of colors, albeit distorted by the unnatural light, which at this hour of the morning I feel infinite. Smell of petrol comes from outside, and enters by my window like a slap in the face with the air created by the fast motion of the car. I have indeed noticed that more than one hundred per hour, and perhaps not the healthiest choice to do given my conditions this morning. The road is long and colorless and it seems not to end up over the skyline. I turn on the radio to wake up, but little used. I still turn my head and after-effects are felt more than ever. It seems to me that the road that stands before me is parallel in all respects to the sky. Not only for the position but also for consistency. I seem to be compressed between two worlds colliding. Perhaps the only way for me to be able to save and hold on to the sun. But it hides a contract of indefinite duration. I try to fix it as long and as often as possible, but there's no way. Maybe ... I think it would be enough. Believe that it is released for real. Inside of me. The blanket then it is not too thick. Not turn off the sun if the shooting on ...

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Photo Credit: Alex "Grey" Gargiulo

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Before leaving on a long journey ...

Before leaving on a long journey
Bring the desire to adapt
before claiming orgasm
Just try to love you ...

I'm leaving. Last day in Rome between luggage, clothing, and loose papers that remind me to take everything, and then party with my cousin.
E 'strange summer, I can not define it, good or not, certainly not ugly. I've been through worse.
September will be my time to take stock of another year goes by and all I have done to reach my goals. With my usual sub-zero self-esteem are a few things I did for myself, but this time more than last year.
And now there's him, and I do not know where this will lead us attending, we will finish where and how. I know I am well again when I'm at his side and I know that for him is the same, this is enough for me. And I hope enough to him.
Venditti said "some love do not stop the immense speed and then come back" ... and I hope that our wandering has come to an end and that we can go back to believing in us.
On balance I like it already this summer, I put new plugs for my future and I have a new awareness in myself that I hope will last as long as possible. I feel
ready to face life, my 28th birthday soon and all the new challenges that await me, convinced I'm doing everything I can to get back to being peaceful.
Happy holidays to all.
good trip to me.

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I woke up quietly. E 'late morning and the others must have already left to go to sea. Not all, one of the two cars is still out. My. They can not stay there all in one. A bit 'will still be down to sleep. The usual, I think. I enjoy the house all to myself. I make myself a coffee, eat something and take out the two-liter juice barattolone that reminds me so much of Germany. I have breakfast distracted, but makes use of every moment and split-second of this time (because it will be soon, I know) that I have given to provision for myself. I find myself numb in front of the label multivitamin juice. I realize that is something that happens to me more often than you think. I shake, I go to the bathroom and I realized, bringing the fingers thumb, index and middle fingers of his right hand to his nose, that smell of cigarette. It is not a mirage olfactory morning and there's only one way to justify this: a cigarette. Maybe I just smell the tobacco in the nose, now, or, who knows, my hands are not impregnated with another scent. I feel free and mistress of myself. I can decide what to do. Coffee and cigarette I have instilled a strength that I thought I no longer have. I opt for the sea. Especially, a beach that is heaven for those who practice water sports officials from the wind. But I decide to go without the initial intention. I leave the house. The bones are heated. I take the car. What peace. I put a radio station at random. The road south is lined with dozens of flags of the region. I have seen no anonymous. For a moment I feel at home. Shooting on the few things I need and I lay on the sand near the shore. Resting his head on the ground level ad I seem to reach a higher dimension. I'm listening to the music but the sound of the sea is stronger. I give up and let myself be soothed, as enchanted. Often, this giant by changing colors scares me. Will not that I grew up in a seaside town. Sometimes I'm even more absurd overtones. As if it was the first great house of evils in the world, and the other, a peaceful harbor for vessels stranded. However, is its vastness that makes me so delirious. Or I have already done with some other small body of water? I curse myself for a second. I get up to sit. The bright sun beating on my head suddenly. I light a cigarette with a little 'difficulty, since the blowing wind. Staring at a line drawn between the horizon and the sea. E 'dominates to the sails and boards. And from a strip of high ground. They told me that from here, in the days Fair weather, you see the Corsica ...

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Absent Absent Absent XIV XV

I still need to drink. And I drank. Sometimes I think seriously of becoming an alcoholic. But, even without a bad drunk, I love it. It 's so and I can not help it. SOMNO the beach with friends and we have entire cases of beer in the fridge. Yet some other mixture of alcohol. I am, as some nights in my intermediate state between sober and drunk. "No, I'm sober, I have no reason to be." But not even drink. My mental state is a focus on clear thinking, but the body does not respond fully to duty. So it happens to my friend, roommate. The exact same thing. Evidently it is not uncommon as a reaction to several tens of degrees of alcohol that are thrown in the body. And I lose control. A bit '. And so all of us. Away with secrets, confidences, and even kisses. I can remember that night with him, so much that has influenced my life so far. But, incredibly, drinking, Paire me to see far, far away from me and from my person. I'm being a bit 'of melancholy, but ultimately I'm divertrendo and this is of little importance. My friend argues that we should drink more often to be more sincere. Among these discourses alien to me a second. He's right, do not say no. But I'm somewhere else, and almost seems to fly. "Be my magic carpet, take me to the capital." Lose more and more control of my body and maybe even play with the mind the crowd. It 's late, it is night, but I did not sleep. Not at all. Someone said they are a nocturnal animal, which I talk and talk more with the advance of the evening. By the way, I see the sky a little 'clear. I still hold a beer in hand. Raising it, my head slightly blunders. We are approaching my favorite time of day. O say, one of them. The minutes before sunrise. A dozen, and summer is spectacular. The sky is blue. But seriously blue. Not blue nor purple. Blue and begins to blow a breeze during the day has hardly ever equal. I lift the can into the sky, which at this moment I feel closer usual. I lay on a couch in the bank, with the others. And enjoy the full range of these minutes. Soon the sun begins to warm the sea and fly over our heads. Headache on the way, I think. But for now I just mixed the classic mouth of someone who has been drinking. The sun washes my face while I light my first cigarette of the day, so a bit 'helps me think and increases clarity. "Rinse your face in the morning sun." I still thirst. But this time, me and my friend, let's mineral water, which is better.





Carol, and although not directly, Poss.

Daughters Happy 3rd Birthday

I do not like the departures. No, I really do not like. In most cases, at least. I often find myself at home, especially on Saturday, waiting impatiently for the arrival of the evening. The opposite happens to me from other foreign parties, I have anxiety and I would not even there that night and the sun light up my room forever. It is now arrivat al'estate, and this is a phrase that I hate. One of those axioms that fill the mouth of each average idiot. We are in late July, about half, this is the period in which we live. Returning home from a short walk I am surprised to hear the cicadas. Take possession of new Cities in July. I saw him, and it has changed. At least a bit '. It seemed to me not to try anything, in July. I just felt a bit 'too full of himself. Perhaps the cicadas have invaded him - is July. I want to arrive in the evening in the city, and sleep as little as possible. I prefer the weak morning sun, I quiets the mind and fears of the mind can not be controlled from outside. In any case, the total state of quiescence is not for me. I want someone to tell my story. But just returned allotment. And I'm afraid not to return. Stupid fear. And if he were? But it's July and I must go. I think somewhere else in the world is already the next day, and it remains in my list unoalla countdown for the return. And I'm reminded of the cicadas, in a landscape of their legitimate property, usurpatogli. So it makes no sense fretting, I can abide by them. I hate starts, but I love the world. All feel exactly the opposite of me. I do not know who is right. Yet I love the world, although sometimes it scares me. Irrationality, they say. A dear friend gave me company, a few days ago. She loves to travel. And I love it too. We will go to sea with the other, never, I think, so I'll be fine. Travel. (Maybe) just become estranged from the mass exodus of citizens in a hurry. Out of their homes, fleeing from themselves on charter flights or queued up quakche highway where the asphalt is sunburned. Meanwhile my town smiles at me. Perhaps I too am a cicada.

Marta Shaa

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Absent Absent

wet my face with cold water not properly. I fixed stupid in the mirror for a few seconds before I realized that I do not want to dry your face. I left the window open. The skylight for accuracy. And 'big enough to fit inside my head, wanting. I climb on the sink, pretending to ignore that will be difficult to hold all my weight. But I do the same. With his face dripping with water that I was already wet neck and shirt. I put my head out. The roof. The tiles an inch from my nose. The gray sky and other houses. I never felt watching my way from this point of view. And 'as if for the first time I see her. A fine drizzle that I pat her head. Will not last long. Also because I want to leave. Bicycle. Faster than I can. Arrive in a random place, just inside the center. There is a wall. It may not be able to stand on it. It takes me a bit ', but instead do it. It 's all higher from here. It has stopped raining. Straight in front of me, a villa. It winds along the road for a few dozen meters. And 'old, and it's ruined. From the time. Atmospheric and chronological. E 'of dark stone. The windows are covered by large grids. But what strikes me is the door. E 'giant, is immense. How can I do not ever noticed? Posting from all the little doors of the center. Moreover, it is well decorated throughout. Carved, to be precise. Above, a pediment, the same size. And over again ... The sky. So much gray as soon as possible. And 'as if the house was put there on purpose for this afternoon, so gray nonstante the season. Actually, though, the weather changed. On a completely overcast, the sun of early June, almost summer is imposed. Then again the utter dullness. The rain. Small, thin, thin. And this sky in perpetual stasis, at least for today. I pass in front of buses and cars. A noise that does not even feel. I contemplate the house, the door and the sky as if was something I had never seen before. And in a moment I find myself down, returning to a reality which now seems untouchable. I came down with a jump unlikely. My knees will suffer a bit ', but does the same. I feel like an ice cream. The end of the day absurd oxymoron. Instinctively, I decide to go and buy a bar that I know since I was little. It is not far from where I live, and it is always the same for years. I went toward my feet and covered in a little 'hot. The roar of the machines in a symbiosis with the sky makes me feel at home. It must be said that I probably missed this. E 'was sunny for a few weeks. Beautiful, yes, but after a while 'I was fed up. I'm stupidly happy that afternoon. By that time, with these houses, these avenues. And I want to eat ice cream. Among other things, the way I've changed my mind several times about what I wanted to take. Biscuit or covered? I do not know. Do not decide until they arrive. Go for the covered, costs less. The bar, much to my surprise, has changed. E 'became double, has new tables and chairs. Even the bar has become much bigger. There is no doubt that it is improved, according to common opinion. For my fees are too snobbish. However, the owner is genitilissimo and soon I have my ice cream. I eat it on the street as if it were the most normal thing in the world, apparently in an autumn day. I sit on a bench in front of a private clinic. Lives here in front of my best friend, but I do not want to get up. I want to eat ice cream in peace. I'm hot no matter what. Maybe I should go home, I think the rain will start again. But I have not finished the ice cream, and I'm not going to move. Suddenly see a bald man in his forties. He rectangular glasses and blue shirt, he looks quite serious. I think it must be his father. Carrying on his shoulder a pink backpack. Behind him, a woman down a bit 'younger than him, almost as high a child's mother, and another, probably her sister. This goes back to his dad walking without looking back. I think the backpack is the youngest child. Her hair blacks, and tails. It reminds me of an old friend of mine. In his hand he holds a small doll, I can not make out the shape. He looks around bewildered. But happy. It 's like seeing the world around her for the first time. A

Gigia

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XIII XII XI

Esco, pretending to use the phone to avoid the eyes of others, the office where I am. Outside, the sky became completely gray, light is halved. Only a few brave white flash still seen among the clouds low and threatening. Untied from the pole to which the bicycle was tied, over a meadow and fallow, now resigned to being the mud for a long time. The rain of recent days makes it more difficult, although there un'odore spring that still lingers in the air. Mixes with that of the time by rain. It makes me laugh, and I happen to think of it often. I step on the red bike pedal sent between the drab apartment blocks. Been converted into offices, and I see people in front of the computer or in front of endless practice, with tired faces, invariably under the bright lights neon. However, this would be the pedestrian zone, and I know, but I continue to pedal at speeds higher and higher. I like to go fast, and I would say that I like even bicycle racing. The latest grind tens of meters in seconds and go down the descent, which leads me to the road. Instead of slowing down, I go even faster. I realize this is insane, but I do not care, more I do not have that much time to think. Ali, you've got it written on the feet . Exactly what I feel in the pedals and my legs. Ali. Needless to say, I do not feel fatigue. I'm wearing only a shirt and a short scarf. The wind does the rest. know what you are, you become a star . I feel completely master of every single thing. I do not know how many miles I'm traveling anyway, certainly not enough for me time to stop and no stop and no intersection. Fortunately no damage. The scent of rain mixed with that of spring and continues to accompany me back a few days before. My bike on the porphyry, the white houses of the center. A shiny gray station wagon driven by a woman. I I move to the side of the road. It has the windows open. I know a song to his most famous title as well. All the way to Reno . Fixed the car dazed. The owner drops. A lady of about forty, who flaunts his wealth. I look away, I will not let me out. Meanwhile, the sky became darker still. Gray blue. Threat of rain, but I feel that it does not rain. As it does not rain inside me. And 'as if this spring was taking around everyone except me. I feel her presence, her smell, and its colors. The sky protest, and even buses full of people with coat and umbrella stand perpetually wet and slippery in wet subscales. But no, I have recognized, in the spring. I've seen in my town. The instruments to invade the streets, in bars with tables outside, in the smile of people walking, even under one umbrella. No, not rain. How not raining inside the mind of anyone. And the cold has gone away. No, not rain. And tonight I'm going to listen to jazz in the square.

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I do commissions. In fact, I do not even know exactly what. My mother spoke, as always speaking. And, as usual, I have not heard much. So I have to return a book at the library, I feel it in the storage case. It weighs a lot '. It must be one of those essays in which the blame falls on global woes of lack of values \u200b\u200bin which the company now pours. And then I have to buy something. But I do not remember what. Peace will come to me in the street. Pedal with these thoughts for the empty head. But, little by little, a strange feeling comes over me. E 'absurd, but enjoyable. Very nice. It 's so nice to me that the risk of not noticing a red light. Brake abruptly, too abruptly. Almost lose my balance. The sound of screeching rubber unconsciously brings me to a question. Why are suddenly happy? For my efforts, needless to say, I can not find a shred a plausible reason. Not even half. Proceeds along a path colonized by the billboards. Lego bike in the first post I can find. I went toward the library, the book begins to wear on me too much. I climb the stairs faster. I leave the book to the first employee I can find, looking at me as if I had some explanation. I limit myself to a "goodbye" and I'm leaving. Obviously there is no hope I remember what I had to buy for my mother. I come home empty-handed. I'll take my words as usual. No more, no less. Change only the topic of discussion. Well, I'll tell you that I'll go out again to take what she needed, and that's it. And in a second. Green. Under the light of an unusually sunny summer. A figure male. Him and his green shirt. E 'with someone else, maybe two people. Only a vision, fleeting. I hardly have time to implement it. I stop to see if I have hallucinations. But the only thing I can remember is that color. Green. On. Illuminated by the last afternoon sun. Of course wonderful. Suddenly I want to go home. Or better yet, take the road from downtown to my house, and flatter myself once again. To be happy for no apparent reason. And 'as if I knew I'd met. Illusion. Because of my dream is here. It is nothing but a provincial town, in a spring for a day too hot. A city that illusion. The shifting shadows, the state highway, shops ethnic food, buses, and everything else. More traffic lights almost missed this time because of a boy on a bicycle. It seems a little bigger than me, is nice and smiled. He caught my attention for a while, and, again, I am happy. I smile to myself, and I like to delude myself that this city still has much to offer me. Thank you to delude myself, but for a few hours, even if just for a bit, 'so wonderfully well.

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Absent Absent

Esco perhaps because spring has arrived. I go out because I can not bear to remain locked in the house. I go out because I want to be alone with myself, and I'm good. I go out because I want to. And the way to inertia. I put my hands in his pockets. Although no longer officially winter, I still chilly hands. Inevitably, I look for blue and white package. I can not find it. Neither in his pants, or in the lifejacket. That there are almost mathematical when needed. Distance between the tall houses, all identical. Built on an elevated level compared to that of the city. Walk around gives a strange feeling that I know by heart. I'm going to the center, perhaps. It begins to raise a breeze. For a split second I can imagine the smell of summer. Then replaced, however, by another unexpected scent. I raise my head instinctively. Someone is cooking the sauce. Tomato, onion, basil. For a little while I can hear every single flavor. I stop. But it's too late. The wind has already taken away from them. Surplus not for long with the music in my ears. I mind the local distances. Soon I will be in the busy boulevard that divides the old from the suburb. Instinctively, I take a cap, right. The music does not monopolize more than my hearing. Keep walking, just as before. There is no other noise except that of my footsteps. I want to listen to my shoes to beat on hard asphalt. And it happens again. Another gust of fragrance of red sauce. Tens of meters below. This takes even less time than before. A few seconds and has already dissolved in the air. I can not help but be hungry. I look forward to my i-Pod. 17:47. For a second it seems strange that at this time there may already be someone who prepares food. Then my mind turns inevitably to another thought. Food. I'm hungry. Maybe that's why I'm going right to the center, there will find something. I'm about to fall into temptation again, rummaging in his pockets, looking for a poor cigarette. Help me to turn off hunger and keep walking without the heavy feet. I curse a woman in the street, turn back. Does not move and I have to radically change course to avoid it. Smoking. I stop as commanded by a superior force. I take a deep breath. I take everything I can. Passive, but better than nothing. Not quite what I needed here, but I was still hungry. I have no idea where to go and I do not want to search. The clock of a store marks the six and a quarter past. Yet the sky is almost clear again. Turn towards the avenue of the station. Many bus stops, know them by heart. In particular, a. His. And there, for the third time, I smell a kidnapping. It is not gravy, and not from the upper floors, but an open door to my height. The sign on the wall says Doner Kebap. It 'just what I need. While going towards the entrance, I remember the winter. When my dinner was often a sandwich of them. I miss the darkness of the six, the smell of gas in the cold bus. But decided to settle for this kebab, although spring.

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X Chronicles of an Italian mad - II

THANK YOU FOR S. .. TUDYING? A school
more alive to teach kids how not to fear the future

"Ah yes, yes, you're home from school. Beautiful day! ": This is one of the likely responses that could give any young Italian if he were asked what is celebrated on April 25. The thought seems impossible and even a bit 'scary to think that there are teenagers who surf in ignorance of the meaning of such an important occasion for our country. And this is just an example of the emptiness that are falling gradually many of the historically fundamental holidays. Why? A matter of generations. Young people today do not know the past, and is therefore not surprising that they do not know the future. Needless to blame them, they do what they can to get into the adult world and, in a nutshell, to understand how the toy. Lodoli Mark writes about: "Sometimes at school the teachers are amazed at the arrogance of this, the only active time in the minds of many boys. A thousand stories and the many people that we should be grateful for what they still make us understand, are finally dead and buried. There is no hope that they can speak again and tell. " Well, those who criticize it for this? Parents of adolescents who have not submitted a sufficient love for the culture to their children? Not entirely. The boys themselves, filled with notions memorized by guides of dubious quality, who do not know the real life outside of school? Absolutely not. The main culprit of this massacre is the modern school, unable to provide models of behavior-based culture. It is understood easily by saying that education is the responsibility of the family, but if it comes to history, culture, and discourses of pages that should help them for life, then the balance of power lies with the school establishment. What is taught students the dates of certain events and the names of some historical figures, though not really know what you're talking about? I remember a lesson on Henry VIII held by a professor in London. He asked us, after making us read a dozen papers written by contemporaries of the sovereign and that concerned his person, idea that we had made on him. I thought, amazed as my traveling companions, my peers, "This is the way it should be made history." Even in Italy. Live witnesses, although we are talking about centuries ago to draw useful lessons for life. Learn by heart the words of the user as if they were gospel? No thanks, I prefer to get an idea of \u200b\u200blife knowing the history through the documents and information on current, rather than having the satisfaction of lean holding in his hands a piece of paper with the words "Secondary School Diploma."

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Touche me, rugby player! IX

Copying an excerpt from my diary Comix, to break a lance in favor of rugby players and, more generally, of that great game of rugby =)



Guys, the hours of physical education, I would recommend: betting on the rugby! I also say to all girls who love football: rugby union are the best! They are beautiful and unconscious. Have not yet been ruined by the letters, the coupons, the sculettine, those of Rai blinding the stars! I do not
rugby union agendas, calendars, clothing, but only their hair: the marble statues with muscle chops, and an oval ball in hand to hide the other two. The rugby team is divided in two. The beautiful and those that are of types: bad. The game of rugby was born
universities and is an intelligent game: in fact big and bad types must all be folded under, rolled against the other big and ugly. Who works with the cervical.
The heads of the bad should not be veed and so beautiful to leave the TV screen running, with their hair, with beads of sweat that bleak, that g aloppano beautiful in these green fields like the Valhalla. Hence the cry of women, 'Go there! Go' way! That stuff "
Maria Pia Timo



from top left: Ronan O'Gara, Ireland
Jonny Wilkinson, England
Dan Carter, New Zealand

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winter ... the dawning of a southern beach, he walks on the shore, looking toward the horizon. Last memories of the dream. I get up almost shooting. I go downstairs. Into the kitchen. I open the fridge. All doing the least possible noise. I take the first thing that I find. Must be the cold. Too cold. I move the window curtains. I look through the cracks of the shutter. It 's still dark. But the kitchen clock marked a quarter to six. I no longer sleep. I'll be back in the room just to put on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I take the car keys, I want to leave. My parents are asleep, my sisters as well. I can not wake them up. I can close the door without making too much mess. Now they are quiet. I go down the stairs of my apartment building, always colder than the outside temperature. It takes me a little 'remember where my father leaves the car back from work. Found. I put the key in the door, sit down. A smell of tobacco mixed with lemon Arbre Magique pervades the interior. The old leather seats are impregnated. Cigars of my father on the seat to my right, along with some old sheet. I open the window manually, the smell was killing me. Whether the urge to smoke, and for the risky combination with lemon. Enter a breezy spring, almost the sweatshirt is not enough. I close the half and put in motion. I realize that I have no idea where he wants to go. I have not thought of a destination. And the gas tank is by no means full. I think all my friends will stay asleep. Maybe some will even out. And who knows in what conditions. I decide to leave and take the streets at random. I do not want to think about an itinerary and even I need. I just wanted to leave home to do something, I lack sleep. Certainly I would not asleep again. Pop my head out the window and puddles. The night before it rained. A shower, I suppose, while I was sleeping. The morning air still knew a bit 'of rain. I hold the steering wheel as if he were to guide me. Do not touch too much speed or the accelerator at a speed the same. The minutes before dawn are lit by a moon of the street lamps in the gardens. Everyone is asleep, except a man with a cigarette. Goes in the opposite direction to mine. I have a direction? Unconscious. Bring a dog on a leash. A half-breed, for what little I see. It should be calmer, slower than me. The excess and turn on the radio. Turn down the volume, so the music is just for me. A guitar breaks the silence of the clouds that watch the walls of this forgotten suburb. A song about fifteen years ago. I know it well. The car takes me all over the place as anyone. I do not know. And I do not want to know. These agreements contribute noise to take me away from this deserted road in the province. A look at the horizon, he walks on the shore. And behind the winter dawn of a southern beach ...

Bottom Of Mouth Polyp

Absent Absent Absent VII VIII

1, 2, 3, 4. Apart from the intro on drums. Leo today is disheveled. Move your arms synchronization with the legs. His drum sounds alone for a while '. I have to attack me. Before I turn to touch a chord with the audience. There are many. A lot. They are filling the room. I see many familiar faces, but I pretend not to notice. I can not distract me. The look of all is now fixed on me. Attack. The volume of my bass is very high. Or maybe it's just me that I have this feeling. People are starting to move. Some are already on my pogando riff. The only thing I can feel the vibration of those four strings. The left hand and the right coordinate perfectly. Seem to like our song, and many more. They left their guitars. And the voice. I feel good and relaxed. I play with a smile. Almost does not seem true. All of these people, us on stage. They are quiet. I scan the faces. Unconsciously, I'm looking for. Here it is. Why he came to see me? Why do I look? Why wearing the same sweatshirt that night? Brown, white lettering. It is definitely fun, but continues to stare at me. I realize that only now I'm really happy. I have my four-string in hand. I'm playing for him. I realize that I'm looking for some '. I turn away. But inside of me I can not pretend. I'm happy. And 'here. For me. After so long I can really think about it. Perhaps it was all a game. Magically, my music is making me believe. My mind goes over those minutes. I wonder if he is also doing his. After all, we had not seen for a while '. And came to see me. To find me. I realize that I never had the courage to face the situation. Probably I'm gradually regaining a modicum of self-control. I smell smoke. I turned instinctively. 'S him. This is leading to the mouth. I'm not envious. Now, I do not need. It is enough that there is. Here. To hear me play. To come into my life. The crowd I am only interested him now. E? the only thing I could wish for. He holds the cigarette between two fingers, and keep watching. I lose a smile. Returned. I will begin to obscure the view. Stage effect of smoking? I can not anymore. Little by little, everything becomes less clear. I do not distinguish anything. Neither shapes in front of, or behind my group. I begin to not even hear what I play. I headed to my amp under the stage. I jump, I would say in a vacuum, mentally calculating the distance. Jolt. I slam my back against something hard. I open my eyes. The floor of my room. I have a headache and the light is strong. An empty bottle of Jack Daniel's on the ground.

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Way out of control of my feet. The legs move driven by something that is not my brain. In the same direction, like home, but cmoe if I was driving my insconscio. I know where to go but not me who decides how to do it. Macino distances fast, jumping from one platform to another while avoiding obstacles. I feel a few feet from the ground, there, close to the hood covering the gray sky. It seems the water in a pot about to boil. A street full of steam but that does not overflow. My nose ice from the air January, however, reminds me that my body is anchored to the ground. But I do not feel I can, as I was moving in that age gray perennial boil. Way bold. After all, on the one hand the feeling is absurd, the other makes me away from the blank faces of people I meet. Do not record them, just some common. I do not know if they have a story to tell. I can not keep them in mind if I look away. The only thought I can make you concretrizza when I look down. Innumeveroli cigarette butts thrown on the tarmac, but only half finished. A pity. However, had arrived in the fall. Then the winter. I know that. But I seem to have realized only now staring at the cigarette. I feel a kind compassion. It will not smoke for a while '. And I feel the need. Between my feet and winds the uncontrolled desire for nicotine. But what takes me where I'm going? I just feel my frozen nose. It occurs to me, looked up his name. I do not know what he is doing. According to normal thinking, or nearly so. But soon I wonder if he has never felt so at least once. Thus, at the top. I realize that my security is a fleeting feeling. Third thought. Stroncante. But where is my head? Maybe I have the fucking time ago.

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Freefall Freefall Writing Writing II


Really not in the mood. To study, I mean, to stay at school. Got other things in mind, and everybody seems to be in the same situation. But i's kinda new feeling for me. I feel myself walking over the walls and my thoughts pose away from here. That may be 'cause I'm tired, but I'd prefer the changing hypotesis. Everything around me seems to rearrange in another key. I like this. I mean, actually, I like it now because I would say I finally found the right way to balance every single part of my life. That hurt. But now I'm seeing the sun again...

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Esercizi delle otto e dieci dopo la sfuriata: inglese.
Scrivi le prime cose che ti vengono in mente, senza badare a forma o errori.


I usually wake up at 7 o'clock. I get dressed and have breakfast. I go out at 7.30 and I still feel asleep until I open the front door of my block of flats and I walk into my road. This is when I start to wake up not only phisically, but mentally speaking as well. I've hot headphones in my ears, and as I walk I listen to music which always makes my mood; but sometimes I like to hear the silence all around me, so I turn off my iPod and the only distinct sound I can hear is the one my path makes. I go to school on foot not only because it wakes me up in a way, but also because I get inspiration by that. Most people ask me "how the hell can you walk 20 minutes in the early morning when you can take a bus?"...

the clouds are already beyond ...