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2010

2009 Has Been my best year ever.
I’m going to be very quick. I go further on, taking everything and leaving nothing.

Ale, Alexia, Ana, Andrea, Ann-Katrin, Annie, Asia, Bahare, Bas, Benny, Carlotta, Ceci, Chao, Chiara, Cri, Dany, Elena, Elenina, Ernada, Fangyan, Fardosa, Federico, Fleur, Fra, FraT, Francesco, Frinzy, Genny, Giulia, Giuly, Hanna, Hannah, Johanna, Katerina, Katerina, Laura, Lauretta, Lei, Linda, Lorenz, Marco, Max, Mei, Meiqiongzi, Michela, Miki, Mirko, Moritz, Moshi, Qu, Rita, Saba, Sarah, Sarina, Sheng, Silva, Silvia, Silvy, Sing-Hoi, Sóley, Teri, Valery, Vero, Vikram, Yang, Yixin.

If the world was ours, there would be no more war, no one would be rich but we would all be happy. There would be no nuclear bombs, star shields, cold wars, feuds, mafia, there wouldn’t be public or private interests anymore. No one would die without help, who would play a dirty game would have to deal with Justice and Ethics.
But we have to stay real. Overall this new year will be like 2009, if not worse, given the events of recent days. We cannot and we must not pretend nothing is happening. I will fight with you and I never feel defeated.
Best 2010 to all of you and to the rest of the world,

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Merry xmas

Potrei scrivere ore ma non avrebbe senso.
Sono a casa, sono in stasi, come quasi sempre succede quando la mente è altrove.
Odio le feste ma amo lo stesso il Natale.
E Santa Claus, che quest'anno mi ha portato il sole!

Ovunque siete, trovate una ragione per sorridere!

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mixed feelings

Questo labirinto per topi è in realtà la biblioteca dell’università. Fisso scultoreo oltre la finestra. Oggi è una giornata da cartolina. Fuori c’è so much light to burn the eyes. Is it because the snow-yet-little has been overwhelmed by the frost and ice is made, bright, reflective, mirrored taut as a blade. The two abundant
the sky began to change color, the blue gave way to more subtle nuances and now seems to heat load, with red, orange, yellow and pink. Here in the North, if you have ten minutes free, I placed behind the window, his hands a steaming coffee (unsweetened strictly, along with a sprinkle of cinnamon) and watch. Watch the world get at night. E 'emotion almost amazing, intimate. It 's like a painter decides once that is all too much, but really too bright. Some clouds come to disturb the sky quickly and everything points to the center of the earth, in a hypothetical fight in which the sun leaves exhaust by gravity. Today I saw the sky turn purple (damn Matt, what the hell did you buy a digital compact to do if you do not bring it with you?). Then suddenly, as if there was a posthumous revenge of the light, there was a moment when the roof of the earth became purple.
And the night has fallen.
With the night here comes the wind. I do not know why. And the people, the girls behind the windows, despite their boots, although coffee, even in spite of all, start to play with one hand and the necks, as if they were out there and you should fix.
I returned to my desk in this large room and continue to set this girl. It 'not even a blond-and-tell is the prototype of the classic medical student here on campus. Fashionable dresses that soft green sweater with a man three sizes too big that makes it so "intimate" and home and at the same time unattainable. Play with its threads of gold as a child. Volume of a fixed size of hallucinatory physiology, his legs wrapped in a pair of leggings. The eyes these words but my mind is clearly elsewhere. Who'll be thinking about? Or what?
Who'll be thinking about? And to what? I get distracted and stare at the blank with one certainty: 14 days. And I do not really know what to expect ...

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blueberry chocolate

live in wonder. Fantasy, where anything goes. I never want to wake up.

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imagined I would see old on a wheelchair, visibly ill.
But you are young, beautiful, sometimes more in mind yourself, or perhaps to others, not to see them run away.
The disease is also this. The incurable disease that will slow down, you distort and eventually kills you. And this is scary, because we live in a world in which we always talk as if you were immortal. The disease is not considered.
is designed for the future.
met this woman I was terrified. It has the same appearance of the girl I just met in the subway, yet it's dying. Look closely into his eyes, as if he could see the soul. Do you mind trying violates the courage that you have to ask what it all means.
is about his symptoms, what it means change, change the days when you can not speak or move a muscle while your brain is functioning well enough to try the double pain of compassion of others. He talks about the diagnosis, 20 years ago, dreams of a girl went slowly dissolving.
You have no autonomy, limbs tremble and you can not do anything to control it. You smile but you see all around you no longer have that sense of eternal, stable and durable. You leave and then lots of thoughts. More, more, more.
And then a new relapse, a new high and a new low, until you lose all sense.
And then we'll be back there, with that of pure white coat that is our true to ourselves know (i) ... ithout

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appearances can be deceiving the eye of the future City Hall ceremony

aldiqua and Beyond.
I'm afraid of confrontation, of having to line up, take a position with respect to a hypothetical line of demarcation. I really want to know what my future? It would be much easier to think about their future as the newspaper that becomes infinite. You might think about his future by looking at the faces of their parents and become convinced that good-or evil-the end appearance at least, will be the one.
could instead continue to dream, to unknown places, men and women who know, who will become part of our lives, promising procreation and inheritance of characters, vices and virtue.
could continue to think that maybe there will be a future or that someone has already written for us.
All these thoughts are part of being human. And 'the eternal question about the fate that makes us so unstable. Eternity.
of this city on the horizon, I see only colors. As in a transfiguration, the sounds are made and filled with nuances of life.
The heartbeat is trying to remain stable to the vicissitudes that have-at best-at no extra cost to continue to expire seconds, minutes, hours, new dawns and sunsets.
The eyes are always there on those leaves that move in the mud and flying between the gravel does not make much noise. My senses were accustomed to personal and social dynamics that do not appreciate, let alone accept: I am firmly convinced that love her divorce is desecrated, and yet I'm still here. To remind me that they are one step closer to collapse when I go too far, bombing of cruelty in the intimacy of memories.
I just feel that beat, that is no longer mine. It 's a constant do not know.
I thought they were the headphones that isolate me from this corner of the world so that it becomes equal to everything else.
If you can not change yourself, however, tend to homogenize the environment. Change music, words change but the mood does not seem to perceive it. Would you like to just be somewhere else, new people and new continents to be able to draw.
My world begins to grow: I do not feel they belong to a place and people also begin to lose their entity. Let me be clear, only to be lost. But I'm also haunted by the presence of too many people.
Who wants me here and who still elsewhere.
begin to understand that greatness is knowing where to live lean and lean not know where to live. It sounds silly but it is not: people have feelings and external the words dedicated, memories that hold. Similarly, every person is a member of these things, that only mentally have an owner. I live there, as many of you at the crossroads of the gray matter that does not weigh too much. Every time I think, is a communion of roots, intentions, future projects and truths that make us one, anywhere, anyway.
Stop asking me about the future.
I have a dream to make but I do not know where. And I do not want to know.

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These are moments I will never forget.

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it's family

I never have written. I waited so long and frankly I wonder why.
Behind that screen now there will be someone to read these lines that often hurt me, because I seem brutal, untimely, wrong.
It 's the pain that makes me think that silence is the answer. Hear her crying eyes but I do not have the strength to admit certain things.
When the green light turns on the light in this dark room, I see that room for me is a symbol of family. Because you're there.
I see all those books and read Ele, the cabinet it was always too small and now regret it. I see the cat lying on my bed and written back to the head from high school.
I see my mother telling my father that I'm connected. And I observe a reality that does not seem upset as mine. You are three and you're there for you strength, joy shared is a pain you might say.
There are days when I can not seem to be part of anything, viewers of a reality that seems to go on without me. It hurts to see you joined because it makes me feel guilty for not being with you, to lose that everyday that creates the family.
I understand that the value of family is something that can not be taught but you can only try and learn this.
And if I miss it because you're the best thing there is.

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Indeed, it is splendid! Revolutionary Road

E 'was a great thrill, I was convinced I would not make it to my as-usual-I was convinced that my anxiety would have ruined everything. Instead it was a success.

Preamble. The course of reotrica-let's be honest-it is a great cool. The professor, Peter for us students, that's all that you do not expect. It 's always with the bow tie, his eyes hidden behind small round glasses two small, almost roguish smile and-of course-a vocabulary and use language, gestures and context, as to shiver the emotions stesse.Per who saw Bolt, cardboard, you could say "is pazzeschissimo. It discusses logos, pathos, ethos, the air feels that everyone can offer something good if the context is right. And heck, this is a setting worthy of the gods!

Today I had the honor to present my thesis project, of course, translated into English, before my colleagues and unflappable under the above-mentioned opinion of prof. Have emerged during the various presentations, different cultural and social background of us students, but it was all fascinating and exciting. I was told that I have a beautiful voice, clear, not hesitant, I have excitement and enthusiasm that I a beautiful facial expression and gesture in my art is great (dare I add, typically Italian). The project has been defined very interesting and it was perceived that I was in the topic.
I ran back to that Oct. 16, one less day and a month more than today, when all this began. When fears of a boy turned into a moment of glory that makes you see the beauty of the world-transforming was not King Midas-everything evil in the absolute good. I reread my thanks and I discovered that you are all still here, I even found some people that I talked too long in the past. I saw the photographs, prints made by Alexia, my watch, pen, I thought back to the crown of gigantic then, I heard your perfumes in the hugs that I can distinctly remember. I see everything as if I had not experienced anything like it again the first time. Italy seems to have arrived in the autumn, at least so says mom. Well, here the sky is blue and the sun shines high in the sky, playing with the reflections of the glass. In my mind I thought that all along you're moved here to let me enjoy the last days of summer, warming up with your ray of my everyday life.
I love you.

PS: in the photo, the group of Master Students in Biomedicine struggling with the cold waters of Sweden. Obviously, I have thrown. I lost a few years of life, but it was worth it!

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Sorry not love Thee.
There are times when dreams are not what we want.
The road is lost among the leafy trees is white, so clear as to be annoying. E 'was born from those stones that seem so thin sand, silent and permeable. As the water of the river that takes all the evils and pulls them along. This path is our "way of revolution, a revolution from empty despair.
There is a residential suburb, there are beautiful homes and friends to invite, there are no birthdays for children, gardens to grow.
There are no more dreams for people unhappy that they are aware of being such.
can no longer pretend, we can not cling to any more, the future is not, to the happiness of the little things.
No more room for believers to be happy and does not know not to be.
Sorry could not leave.
I regret not being able to stay.
I have no dreams for now. Believe me if I say so. I have no dreams to make because my body can not endure. I'm a fool in a normal world and the nomal in the world of the insane.
I have a drop of happiness in a sea of \u200b\u200bpossibilities.
And I will not get them dry, I will continue to be bathed in these projects, such thoughts that arise in day and night, chasing each other, you are beautiful and possible, forgettable and outclassed by something even better, at least to my eyes.
Leave me here as I've already left there, to find myself again, different but equal. In a new context to chase a need: that of an infinite garden, where there is no trial and no truth. But only
emotions.

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new sensations

Welcome to Stockholm. Everyone keeps repeating that phrase. I look at the happy smiles of the tourists and I understand they are no longer one of them.
"Well, you'll be where? I found a hotel that seems really nice "
"Actually, today I'm moving here for a couple of years, I follow an international course"
Frost, we were not even under the snow storm in the middle of December.
see that two hearts beat within them: the first is that you instinctively say "there's another forced to leave, that anger but also how much satisfaction" and the second one is true, that shields evil and keep the old emotions.
Stockholm has welcomed me in the way he remembered it, clean, honest, punctual, quiet, multi-ethnic. Looking back at life so far, blacks, yellows, mulattoes have always been the exception in my life. Here, in the district where I live, the majority population is the Middle East and I am that I represent diversity. Noto eyes on the subway, I feel the same detachment of some and the curiosity of others. Try to mess but you can not, do you care about the language and customs as well. The market square is there every morning with its cargo of merchandise, standing in line at the bank: everything seems normal, everyday life. But this world is not mine: they are at that stage of reluctance, in which the bad talk about your country turns into a boomerang of failures and regrets. I feel "temporary" (blessed as I understand), I repeat "2 years" and quick calculation in mind what is missing, until the day when things are reversed and I'll feel at home. Until then days and nights will pass at dusk and will always think of my sea and to you, my friends, and will not be able to hold back the tears because I feel defeated. Defeated for
believed to have made a difference, to have been better, he thought for a moment that defines the working man. They are all nonsense, dictated by the emotions that flow out of control.
In the morning there are more families, only silence and a house that maybe home is not: a dorm with all the comforts, where the sense of family is hanging hook left some rust. There is more everyday, there is the magic of being at the table and talk to someone, listening to television and you realize that talk about things you can not understand.
E 'that the discomfort of the first day.
But I smile, because it is passing.

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DDN

I had promised that something would change. From now on this beach in the north and moving-to try to acclimate to the best-will be called "Diary of the North".
I will try to tell you how to change my life and my mind, already suffering from too much input.
I hope to always be here, your trusty Matthew

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sand at night

down the window, feel the fresh air that just before dawn-and-squinting I do not think of anything else.
On the night of lights and stars, the beach is my only salvation.
It 's summer, the summer knows that my skin tanned from the summer go together, making nonsense along the crowded streets of people who know each other are mixed.
These days I seem to live "the last things": the last time before leaving the disco, sunrise view in the last row on the road still alive, the last breakfast after a night of binge-heartedness.
There are many details that make some unforgettable experiences with the summer I find myself looking for an example.
tanning gets rid of my dark circles, with jeans, shirt and loafers, ready to be taken in hand to feel your feet touch the sand, the night is the beach of desires and refreshment of the mind.
let me drag not caring patterns, ports, arrival and departure.

not mind being there but .

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look back on these days, the cicadas, the sun burning behind the slits of a roll, to the feel and thrills of sheet at the first light of day.
had done-that-I'll think I'll ever do it again.
I can always do it again?
And the days pass, and fell in love in the cold.
And the days pass, warming the heart and soul of a madman like me, who knows he has all but which never fails to appreciate the way down.
I help you?

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living room

There is a road in the middle of nowhere parallel between the metal and finally a train roars and scares of the cicadas in the summer. No one knows where it's rumored that someone born with, but end up "in the country that is dying."
Some houses remain unchanged with the passage of time in the valley bathed in fog, which rises in the morning to stifle with the sun and lies down again in the evening to make your life indistinguishable.
"Back to the sixties american" you might say to cross that door.
There is an old woman who forgets is forgotten and, speaking of things that may not be familiar, a doctrine that has made the first illuminated and then slave.
An unstable man, "shaking" as the spark that turns yellow, bent over volumes and volumes on the Spirit, sits back in the bedroom, the temple of faith and (non) reason.
The opaque colors, white black in a kind of moving, they are completely separate but equally fluid as immiscible between them. Everything is in place, clear, pure, free from all anxiety.
As the lives of these two people, one climbing on the other.
Their roots are not known, but aim high, too much to understand and share the joy of a lifetime.

Because who does not cultivate can not expect to collect .

It 's like a dark window in a dark room, empty but inhabited.
It 'just a photograph of eight smiling faces to give life to a house of terror?
What are smiles? Honest, dishonest? Of interest, pulled by fear? They claim

They know me,
They pretend They Know, But They Do not


This taste of the tears of rage? Pour in the name of what, because of whom?
What does it mean?

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Hymns and banners
The inventors of regional self-interest have thought a new
: Expose the banners to be attached to local banks
Diera tricolor (the one with which "we will clean your ass")
and abolish the de facto national anthem "
is a pain." (statements by a celodurista). Regio-ni
Many already have their banner, while others will have to create from scratch.
This, however, is an attempt to further divide our
Italy in the thousands of small states ruled at one time by
eminent heads of celeriac with a high rate of parasitism.
Their only privilege was to rob the
their subjects. Now the morons are flourished in
clusters: the ignorant who pretend to be statesmen,
shopkeepers who believe they are economists, criminals or sim-ple
indicted and convicted, who believe they have experi-
you justice ... However, these individuals are all great phrase-the
whose only talent is the selling of ad-
dormentateste bales. People who are against Italy and its insti-tutions
, but lives inside of them parasitize
money galore and even the good faith of its followers;
people outside of time, given that we live in an age of-
globalization, people whose children are so brilliant
from having to repeat the baccalaureate exams for three vol-
you and which is assigned a sector of their organizational
party.
I hate people who wear shirts of a single color.
and scorn those who menano proud of that color. The tut-
to have the old flavor of fascism movement that began its sad
process by wearing shirts of a single colorectal
King and resurrected the story of Imperial Rome to galvanize young people and Zare-
creduloni.Quelli d ' today, more festivals, no han-
organized a celebration in which they were teach-
rites a cart pulled by oxen, surrounded by characters but
-masked heroes, and a drink of water Po, followed by libations
much more invigorating . Then, intoxicated, not with love
Po alcohol but, praise be to Alberto Giussano
mythical hero with various Bossi has nothing in common.
pity that, after him, the various municipalities have been divided by Lombard
the usual questions of the workshop. Meanwhile the party has spent almost fascist
€ 30,000,000.00 to resurrect the history of
quell'Alberto producing a film which talks of
Lumbard of the time, not those of today: shopkeepers, racist and selfish
beyond measure. As I said in one of my pieces
, they invented the rounds, just like
time of the Duce: the who, at least, was not as ignorant as them.
These troublemakers of disputes, the makers of fake heroes, the
Italian government gives the money to keep up a day-
tion, a television and a thousand other activities "separatist"
such as, for example, World Cup of idiots
separatists, Miss Padania, performing pagan pseudo
Celtic, etc. .. And the old banking scam? Boooh!

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Is that how love looks like? -23

Happy b-day my sweetheart, For All The Things I Should Have tell you, for all the things left unsaid, for all the feelings never shown.
A pledge to your beauty, to your voice and smile.
Once I'll be far away, I'll keep on remember how you called me "Mylove" and everything will be alright. Even
sadness and regrets.
Because yes, I'll do have.

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E 'started in August, the month of holidays, the month of "switch off because then it starts again in September."
Behold, I in August off and start again.
List suitcases in preparation.
List packages to be shipped too.
ticket taken.
House found.
What's missing?

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... .... HEEL AND DE ON HIS GRANDFATHER (dedicated to the masters)

The incomplete expletive-Roman gives the exact impression of the topic that we want to treat it
: Volunteers and Heroes
crafted by Who wants war.
In my day, the heroes were those who sacrifice the
ro-existence to an ideal. We make random examples: At-
Tilio Regulus, Pietro Micca, Enrico Toti, Save On New purchases and so on.
I could name a lot to fill a tome
twenty pounds, but those are names of real heroes, not
people who have chosen the military life for the unemployed, and give an in-
mission abroad "voluntarily" to gain re-
while risking, or 5 euros to 6.000.00 mese.E 'a risk
paid in advance, then, and you do not see the logic behind
stick to those who are killed in an attack,
the title of hero.
heroes were those who Mussolini sent to die,
shoes with cardboard and woolen clothing in the cam-
Spain to Russia in '42, those heroes were civilians, malnourished and
scal-zi, who died under the bombs that had at-nazi-fascist madness
pulled on civilians, forced to wait for death
day after day. None of those heroes have given
prebends and medals that are now distributed to
profusely and their heirs have not been compensated for poor
with the millions that are given today for the death of the voluntary
Tario or Heads of State and Ministers attended the funeral
of sacrificial victims of the follies of those tri-dittatori.In
sti iperpagato days there was no volunteer, there was, however, the obligation
to die killed for nothing, and the estate,
if ever there were, it was given without any pump, the glorious
card ECA: the re-
Berlusca from ni to the poor of his era.
Where are the heroes?
The truth is that these heroes are not, why not serve
wars unleashed to occupy or control the land, and de-
Vono's oil profits go to the bosses.
The poor guys who died for this trivial reason, dead
to earn more money to whom it has so many were convinced that they
in those places of death, extreme poverty and slavery mulie
-ber, to bring the ' Western idea of \u200b\u200bdemocracy
led by strong powers.
peoples evolve independently when all their components
struggle for the achievement of mutual equality, with
this we mean that, as long as the Afghan women will want to make
slaves without trying to break free from that condition, nothing will change
their condition.

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hidden paths

E 'the greatness of this blog: its non-immediacy.
Now, with Facebook, you enter the homepage and you are bombarded with updates, photos, videos and links.
Even without, and all under the eyes.
The blog has its magic Who's verament einteressato to get there.
FeCl Someone will say that my address (including a month dellamia Equal treatment will change the page, I decided to give new life to my diary) is one of the bookmark in your browser, and some even come across my beach and stay there for the holidays, sometimes back-and-in rare cases are stabilized on my shores, sharing you and commenting.
pensaot I also have to close (as happened with the MSN Space, but for other reasons) because blinded by the need di comunicazione.

[Velocemente ricordi svaniscono e velocemente nuove parole da custodire]

Grazie, a chi è rimasto e grazie a chi passerà ancora da qui.
Siete la mia linfa, la mia ispirazione.
Sempre più questo mio diario è la faccia più sincera con cui mi guardo allo specchio e con cui mi presento a voi, vicini o lontani che siate.

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THE GOVERNMENT ... ... ... .. UNBELIEVABLE of imbeciles

Such a lunch at home, with people notoriamen-
if mafia, the worst delinquent, with a foam
another, even convicted Mafia, founded a political party .
This last, then, with his face to be found, founded the "Club of
Good Government "and baptized with a name of football, the par-
tito baby: just as it took for a people
servant, who lives in calcium, and only one, day and night.
The founder, then come to the government of the country, chose the
his ministers among the lawyers who defended him in Tribu-nal
, by thousands of accusations hanging over him, friends and a number of trusted
soubrettes ... .. I do not pay and now, for
intensive care of one of his doctors, a kind of mata-dor
escort (many call them otherwise) and clearly underage nymphets
, among all this affected me chose the marciu-
its candidates for Parliament in his country.
His acolytes have fallen almost everyone convicted mafia,
corruption, collusion, and so on. He miraculously still standing
: always acquitted effect of terms, or
of ad personam laws to protect. The people
ox, admire cheaters and those who, having combined
of crimes, even serious ones, can make French
ca. Ox goes to the people well that he entered politics with the sole purpose of
not go to jail: one according to the qua-
stand as the defender of the family, despite having two or three
and go to bed with a bunch of bitches What is a just and
normal one, despite having wives and children, runs
below to a minor and it calls breakfast in the re-
storante of the Senate, one that, just to look young and
for-you, you set up a new crown, you stretch the skin and roughness-
if used in the care of a scientist to mostrasi
macho to the bitter end, and one that, although the head of a go-
winter, thinks it can afford to show
corrupt and vicious, so you can sciorinare coram populo
their sex thirst stimulated by mixtures of your doctor.
Maybe the people ox does not want to be, the fact is that
's opposition is made up of individuals like quarrelsome
of those dogs that are held the bone. And here the bone is represented
presented by power, that each member of the opposition believes it can manage
position against all other Member States of their own faction
! I wonder if all these individuals so quarrelsome
able finally to come to an agree-ment between them and
to resign themselves to govern only those
more capable. Amen

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... Farewell Othello

To you, dear Othello, you were also a little my grandmother. I love you, wherever you are.

Okay.
Today I died with you.
reborn today with you. Flights
high flying away,
You broke the thread that tied the kite
And that kept him safe from this wind blows hard
What today.
For a moment it seemed the end of the world. Your
powder coated all
You got heavy
You made immanent
're gone like a flash, off
Did you like this, without giving time to time.
E 'was like pushing a switch:
life giving, life
borrows,
Life expects something in return.
not enough suffering, not enough
struggle,
the tear is not enough that destroyed a smile,
was not enough to scream the word that has offended.
You're never ready to forget a face, you become
maybe good at adapting to new realities,
It grows by bridging gaps,
you fill with something that never replace it completely.
Why say goodbye is something I do not understand.
're dead but you're not.
So, I look for the last time as if it were the first.
hug, I salute you and smile.

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De Profundis

define the "current thinking", but only the stron-
zate pull out of the hat of the magicians who have disap-
parire the opportunity to investigate the mafia and all other
criminal organizations operating in our country,
in the field of listening to telephone conversations. If it were not
so far-fetched, could be said that the legislation
sector is colluding with them. An almost sci-fi stuff! But in our
Italy, where colluding is almost equivalent to a self-
tion of the Gospel, who really is the power of organized crime
: corrupts everyone and everything, from politics to unemployment or
to illegal aliens, who are offered by a dealer or destiny
pimp. And these are the trades from which they derive
suitable means to corrupt valuable pieces of Sta-
to. "And I'll pay," Toto said in one of his films, intending to re-
that it was the people who paid: almost a made the death of Justice-
; de Profundis, in fact.

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The wrestler

Because tomorrow there will be just him and my summer will have a peak and a sense, emotional and beyond.
The Olympic a thirst for hot Imperial Rome. In my ring, and when he will be the wrestler with the acoustic guitar will sing those notes, I'll be in paradise.
A micrfono and a stage.
Why the Boss always gathers his faithful.

Because the night belong to lovers, Because the night belong to us.

Thanks Bruce, you're my hero.

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"serenity" at sunset

statement or notice of availability?
And you? What do you say?

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GREAT

The small crinita feels great! From the top of his fa-mose
wedges and a close look into a slot of an eye, he
... ... It feels great, pompous, when appointing the other Heads of State
, quotes them as if they were his intimate friends: is the popes of all time,
neither more nor less. With the money has run
bought everything: friends, enemies, power and right to participate in the summit where he pretends to decide the fate of the world
. A big step forward for a parvenu king kissed
fio-socialist who has everything, or almost as much of his fortune
due to the Sicilian branch and the rest of the corrupters
and the corrupt staff.
Now is also fat, could be said that it is also bolso:
his appearance and his estate are the result of medical science, the quality-
the irons, the hair, and puts his
glands in the state to function, despite everything.
Curiously, the most elegant was Obama's long-limbed and non-tar-
Chiado and dachshund. ... In short, in some areas of our penis-the
, the dachshund would say: "... is a fetecchia"
believes to be fascinating: all women crave. Mica
are stupid! The "escort" that he attends so-
Nante want money for their services, and the promise of being promoted at least no-
minister.
It is certain that the movement of "celodurismo", of which he does
part, is in full decay, as represented by individuals
decadent and the next great journey ....

Costco Bakery Sheet Cakes Order Time

Alchemy

In that station-like white elephant-the bench under the sun seems my only shelter.
From the gossips, who grew up decrying the actions of others.
I lean over the yellow line, crossing the border, I look to my left. Nothing.
My skin burned hard to follow the movements of my body and look for air refreshing.
Nothingness also right.
I spent hours last night and I expect that night is still.
To feel the noise gulls in the sky I do not know and recognize that whatever will save me.
's always me, for a moment I thought I sold, have succumbed to those who wanted me obedient and rugs.
I thought I would not be able to speak my truth, not being able to keep thoughts other than "those who must have": I had the fear that as a synecdoche, a part of it all became possible without of redemption.
But a break of any kind, there should be no matter who is the shame, the inability to get comfortable in bed or worse, set the your best friend and tell him the worst of lies.
The error is around the corner for the human being who experiments on his life and it is equally true that life itself is full of signals.
Like the alchemy of things, life and nature, it's all a sum in which no term can be canceled in favor or detriment of a second.
The wind blows and the life sapped of emotion consigning their greatness to Nature, the only temple of eternity.
Appearance on this beach, a new rain to dilute my thoughts ...

Level 19 Of Electric Box

THE PITY 'AND FICTION

remember that some time ago, a very successful pop singer was ended in the net of justice, more than once, accused
dell'infamante crime of pedophilia. And all the times when the cable-
that compensates the families of the lost innocence of their babies, with handfuls of millions of dollars. In my opinion, he was a despicable
, without morality,
as is the mass of those who today weep, as though it were a hero, after
crucified him in his capacity as the ogre. He was a kind of
doll fake everything, from the lines of color, the sen-
timenti showed that, under all feminine. But for
theatrical impresarios, for all those that govern the star sistem,
he was an inexhaustible source of revenue. Why? There is a
easy answer: the world is corrupt to such a point of having elected
own god only money! Increasingly it is monotheism.
After all, the God that no one has ever seen, or
that few have seen, it is like money: a few see it.
I, who have eighty years, I also remember another singer, Naples-
Tano, who became famous, who ended up in jail for the same rea-
consumed close to a lake of Abruzzo. He dropped a
once and in the rest of his long life, redeemed
donating his art to others. The other, the pop star, he fell several times and repeatedly
cloak its shame of money.
What's there to cry? Perhaps the fact that he conclusion
know his life, though tragically, too late.