Saturday, August 19, 2006
Saturday, April 22, 2006
Jock Itch And Red Spots
your hair ...
in my memories, the dividing line between the "before" and "after".
Wednesday, March 8, 2006
Loading Reason Sound Banks
There was, there is (what we lost)
There was a time when I lived only because the winters would come after the summer. There was a place where they were born and died my summers, a place where the sun broke through the branches of pine trees, the sea and talking lizards slipped into the cracks of the walls, the place for me was the opening of a funnel which dripped from his life. Now that place is not Moreover, those summers are over. Only the memory remains.
There is a road that divides the green from the pine trees and blue sea. In those green pine trees is a dark and empty. There, where there were green branches now there are dead branches and dead trees, where now there are dead trees, there were flames, where there was life there is now a desert. There
the road does not divide over the pines by the sea, because there are more pine trees. The sea is still there, but it is black and just, and no longer spoke in front of him because it has nothing to talk to.
Where were the pine trees there was a camp where there was a camp there are the greedy hands of men. Where was the camp there were projects, but where was the camp there were houses and people, and where there were trees there were laws and prohibitions. Where there were houses there was a man left sheaves of dried pine trees in front of the doors where there were pines, there were flames, there were houses where there were gas cylinders, where there were cylinders There were explosions, where there were houses remained rubble.
Where were our homes there are holes where there were political prohibitions are patronizing, where there were thieves were thieves.
the sea, beneath the pines, there was a white house with shutters green and red roof. Now, the sea, under the dead branches bare and the sky, there is an abandoned house, red roof is uneven, the walls have cracks and peeling, the green shutters have come down and the windows are open mouths and empty eye sockets through whose cries the wind. Where there was no white rust and dirt and those who pass the written, where there was green on black, where there's black, there were flames. Where life is distilled bitterness dripping.
That house is my home. Where there was my stuff there is a vacuum where there was my bed is the void, where our room was a wall there, but that wall is not empty. Where there was a vacuum there is a pattern bonded with Scotch, is the body of a mosquito dunk with the baseball bat the night of a south wind, there is the awkward drawing of a dog and the footprint of our names. Where there was my childhood there were no flames, there was my life where there is an echo of memories.
That house has a terrace, and on the terrace there was a day. That day on the sun terrace there was a mat that smelled of view, a quiet rain that smelt of late, which smelled like a purple sea view. There were Ciccio, Marty, Gianmario, Giorgetta, the three David, Mario, Joseph, Francesca, I have been there, our silent goodbyes, our eyes fixed on the sea, held back our tears eyelashes, silly jokes, smiles and pulled a chocolate donut improvised, and my grandmother who was pretending to be gay, and everything smelled fine. On my desk is a picture, that picture in there we are. Where were our voices is a scream - suspended - in the air. 
There was a time when I lived only because the winters would come after the summer. There was a place where they were born and died my summers, a place where the sun broke through the branches of pine trees, the sea and talking lizards slipped into the cracks of the walls, the place for me was the opening of a funnel which dripped from his life. Now that place is not Moreover, those summers are over. Only the memory remains.
There is a road that divides the green from the pine trees and blue sea. In those green pine trees is a dark and empty. There, where there were green branches now there are dead branches and dead trees, where now there are dead trees, there were flames, where there was life there is now a desert. There
the road does not divide over the pines by the sea, because there are more pine trees. The sea is still there, but it is black and just, and no longer spoke in front of him because it has nothing to talk to.
Where were the pine trees there was a camp where there was a camp there are the greedy hands of men. Where was the camp there were projects, but where was the camp there were houses and people, and where there were trees there were laws and prohibitions. Where there were houses there was a man left sheaves of dried pine trees in front of the doors where there were pines, there were flames, there were houses where there were gas cylinders, where there were cylinders There were explosions, where there were houses remained rubble.
Where were our homes there are holes where there were political prohibitions are patronizing, where there were thieves were thieves.
the sea, beneath the pines, there was a white house with shutters green and red roof. Now, the sea, under the dead branches bare and the sky, there is an abandoned house, red roof is uneven, the walls have cracks and peeling, the green shutters have come down and the windows are open mouths and empty eye sockets through whose cries the wind. Where there was no white rust and dirt and those who pass the written, where there was green on black, where there's black, there were flames. Where life is distilled bitterness dripping.
That house is my home. Where there was my stuff there is a vacuum where there was my bed is the void, where our room was a wall there, but that wall is not empty. Where there was a vacuum there is a pattern bonded with Scotch, is the body of a mosquito dunk with the baseball bat the night of a south wind, there is the awkward drawing of a dog and the footprint of our names. Where there was my childhood there were no flames, there was my life where there is an echo of memories.
That house has a terrace, and on the terrace there was a day. That day on the sun terrace there was a mat that smelled of view, a quiet rain that smelt of late, which smelled like a purple sea view. There were Ciccio, Marty, Gianmario, Giorgetta, the three David, Mario, Joseph, Francesca, I have been there, our silent goodbyes, our eyes fixed on the sea, held back our tears eyelashes, silly jokes, smiles and pulled a chocolate donut improvised, and my grandmother who was pretending to be gay, and everything smelled fine. On my desk is a picture, that picture in there we are. Where were our voices is a scream - suspended - in the air.
Saturday, March 4, 2006
Psoriasis Scholarship
An easy question on the shreds of the last day [of the story from a third node of the second node]
I'm here to write in the first moment of apparent tranquility of the day. A day that I already know I'll be destined to remember for a lifetime.
This morning I woke up at a good pace thanks to the tears of Virginia, that child is too whiny for my taste. But it's small, beautiful, beautiful angel, that makes you forgive all his taxation character, so small and so big already. I go to her, she looks suspicious to the type "if you give me what I want to smile, if not ... contract." I smile, give her a kiss and go down to breakfast.
It 's a hot morning, already sweltering in the early hours, have breakfast in the midst of pine trees in my house, I always liked it. I think of my friends Julie and Alexander, who will stand for some hours on the start line ready to take the time to agonists perfect place for the exam. The last test is here and I can not wait to see them to know how it went, how it works, what kind of questions did
etc etc ... Later in the morning I go down to the sea alone and meet Marina, we slipped under its umbrella, the fourth from the left of the first row. Umbrellas are almost all closed, it's nice to be at sea because there were few people, it's hot and I can tell all the details of a quasi-love that is going to come between me and a boy, my fears, my stomach cramps. Are the usual chatty.
finally comes Alexander, sneaks out of breath all the Diabolik (as if necessary) in Fata Morgana and comes to us under an umbrella with his inevitable red suit and blue bag. He runs to kiss Marina, greets me and starts to talk after his examination, he tells me the proof that Italian certainly not dull his professors understand. It's hot. He did not speak of the effects of pre love that I feel these days, it certainly will be the Navy, and then I always used to fear the opinions of Alexander, too heavy on my little head seventeen. Both are cruel to each other in giving advice, opinions, opinions. We are terribly sincere.
I leave them under the umbrella to enjoy this time of day release from school work and go home. It's too hot, but the climb endless restores my way home, the shadow of the pines cuddle me, the sirocco wind light pushes me on to.
prepares the table, play with Virginia, he sent a text message of congratulations to Marie, today is his birthday. After lunch, Alex sent me a text message asking if they can come home. We welcome the porch, present them to Frank, proud of my friends. I was told that there is a small fire. The air begins to get heavy, I look at the sky and the sun is covered by strange clouds that can run fast, I feel dirty, I look upon him, and Ash. Suddenly the light changes. Marina and Alessandro take over the car to see what's going on. They return after a few minutes from the car screaming at me that the fire has expanded, which is about to reach the gas pump. We must leave. They reverse and go away.
I run up by Frank and Lambert, we must leave.
get down on the ground floor, open the gate, turn off the electricity. We have to leave.
phone to my father and ask him, trying not to alarm him further instructions and the slurred voice from my afternoon nap by the latest directives: go away.
It seems a dream, but I have to wake up, we must leave.
I climb up to lend a hand to Frank with the child. Lambert has just taken off the plaster in the leg and can not walk without crutches. Virginia while I'm in her arms, screaming, wiggling, he wants to stay, he wants to poop, he wants the whole world at his disposal at that time. I called my mother crying, a lady has just called her that all Lido Silvana is burning, the flames are almost arrived at my house. The calm down by closing the phone down. Brava a bitch. But we must leave.
finally got her in the car, Virginia cries, I cry. Just past the intersection of Acquafolies see the flames on the left, 50 meters from my house, and I crouch with his head on the headrest of the seat bottom with his eyes turned toward the flames, the smoke. Seria. With eyes clouded by tears that make it more blurry, as if in a dream. I make small, more and more.
arrive in St. George and the smoke continues to be seen.
My brother goes to Lido Silvana with the bike the fire department telling him to go back, the police tell him "go away, so here there is nothing to do." Antonio, sending a loud fuck it, tells them that his house down there, let him go, he sees our neighbor across the bathing house with water to calm, bordering on the surreal.
not know what to do, take the pump, but do not know what to do. He runs around the corner at the start of the descent to the sea and there are the firefighters who, armed with fire hoses blocked at that precise point, 20 meters from my house. In front of that picture my brother is still, even tears can fall. Everything, even the blood stops veins. It 's like a scene from the film, in which everything moves in slow motion next to the player instead remains motionless, unable to blink.
call us explaining everything. Log home, close the gate, Ristaccia current.
I can not take your eyes from studio100 Statte that incorporates the skyscraper with smoke rising from the sea.
name is Stefano, is the first time I do it with him and cry on the phone. But he does not understand, is so happy that I called him he does not understand my tears. He could never understand.
If he only knew that I did not know who to call.
Mom and Dad are just back from the parade lap. I have not meant much, did not even want to I went with them. As if it could still protect myself as when I was little girl, when changing channel in violent scenes on TV, when my father told me it was all-tomato. "
I'm afraid to see what we have lost.
I go to bed with eyes that burn, ashes in your hair. 
I'm here to write in the first moment of apparent tranquility of the day. A day that I already know I'll be destined to remember for a lifetime.
This morning I woke up at a good pace thanks to the tears of Virginia, that child is too whiny for my taste. But it's small, beautiful, beautiful angel, that makes you forgive all his taxation character, so small and so big already. I go to her, she looks suspicious to the type "if you give me what I want to smile, if not ... contract." I smile, give her a kiss and go down to breakfast.
It 's a hot morning, already sweltering in the early hours, have breakfast in the midst of pine trees in my house, I always liked it. I think of my friends Julie and Alexander, who will stand for some hours on the start line ready to take the time to agonists perfect place for the exam. The last test is here and I can not wait to see them to know how it went, how it works, what kind of questions did
etc etc ... Later in the morning I go down to the sea alone and meet Marina, we slipped under its umbrella, the fourth from the left of the first row. Umbrellas are almost all closed, it's nice to be at sea because there were few people, it's hot and I can tell all the details of a quasi-love that is going to come between me and a boy, my fears, my stomach cramps. Are the usual chatty.
finally comes Alexander, sneaks out of breath all the Diabolik (as if necessary) in Fata Morgana and comes to us under an umbrella with his inevitable red suit and blue bag. He runs to kiss Marina, greets me and starts to talk after his examination, he tells me the proof that Italian certainly not dull his professors understand. It's hot. He did not speak of the effects of pre love that I feel these days, it certainly will be the Navy, and then I always used to fear the opinions of Alexander, too heavy on my little head seventeen. Both are cruel to each other in giving advice, opinions, opinions. We are terribly sincere.
I leave them under the umbrella to enjoy this time of day release from school work and go home. It's too hot, but the climb endless restores my way home, the shadow of the pines cuddle me, the sirocco wind light pushes me on to.
prepares the table, play with Virginia, he sent a text message of congratulations to Marie, today is his birthday. After lunch, Alex sent me a text message asking if they can come home. We welcome the porch, present them to Frank, proud of my friends. I was told that there is a small fire. The air begins to get heavy, I look at the sky and the sun is covered by strange clouds that can run fast, I feel dirty, I look upon him, and Ash. Suddenly the light changes. Marina and Alessandro take over the car to see what's going on. They return after a few minutes from the car screaming at me that the fire has expanded, which is about to reach the gas pump. We must leave. They reverse and go away.
I run up by Frank and Lambert, we must leave.
get down on the ground floor, open the gate, turn off the electricity. We have to leave.
phone to my father and ask him, trying not to alarm him further instructions and the slurred voice from my afternoon nap by the latest directives: go away.
It seems a dream, but I have to wake up, we must leave.
I climb up to lend a hand to Frank with the child. Lambert has just taken off the plaster in the leg and can not walk without crutches. Virginia while I'm in her arms, screaming, wiggling, he wants to stay, he wants to poop, he wants the whole world at his disposal at that time. I called my mother crying, a lady has just called her that all Lido Silvana is burning, the flames are almost arrived at my house. The calm down by closing the phone down. Brava a bitch. But we must leave.
finally got her in the car, Virginia cries, I cry. Just past the intersection of Acquafolies see the flames on the left, 50 meters from my house, and I crouch with his head on the headrest of the seat bottom with his eyes turned toward the flames, the smoke. Seria. With eyes clouded by tears that make it more blurry, as if in a dream. I make small, more and more.
arrive in St. George and the smoke continues to be seen.
My brother goes to Lido Silvana with the bike the fire department telling him to go back, the police tell him "go away, so here there is nothing to do." Antonio, sending a loud fuck it, tells them that his house down there, let him go, he sees our neighbor across the bathing house with water to calm, bordering on the surreal.
not know what to do, take the pump, but do not know what to do. He runs around the corner at the start of the descent to the sea and there are the firefighters who, armed with fire hoses blocked at that precise point, 20 meters from my house. In front of that picture my brother is still, even tears can fall. Everything, even the blood stops veins. It 's like a scene from the film, in which everything moves in slow motion next to the player instead remains motionless, unable to blink.
call us explaining everything. Log home, close the gate, Ristaccia current.
I can not take your eyes from studio100 Statte that incorporates the skyscraper with smoke rising from the sea.
name is Stefano, is the first time I do it with him and cry on the phone. But he does not understand, is so happy that I called him he does not understand my tears. He could never understand.
If he only knew that I did not know who to call.
Mom and Dad are just back from the parade lap. I have not meant much, did not even want to I went with them. As if it could still protect myself as when I was little girl, when changing channel in violent scenes on TV, when my father told me it was all-tomato. "
I'm afraid to see what we have lost.
I go to bed with eyes that burn, ashes in your hair.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Wart Or Skin Tag On Urethra
An easy question on the last day rags [ by a second node of the story]
The third test of maturity exam starts at 8.30. We stationed at the school entrance on the ground ready to hurl at each other in a furious race to the best place, as illegal immigrants before they board, erasing all memories of civility and friendship. This race is furious and I know I'm one of the fastest. Failure noises coming from my bag, and I'm afraid that the precious pockets Accordion lose the stairs. I feel your shoelaces and run for attention imagining to be lame. I'm afraid of falling and being left behind, but I smile when my butt is in a chair in the middle of the row. E 'on June 25, 2001. It's hot and there is a strong sirocco. I'm afraid that I can get wet underarms, leaving a wet trail on the jersey. I am writing to arms locked. There are
aid, teasing and after a while it all ends. After
there is only calm. After
is the sea.
M. waiting for me on the beach of Lido Silvana. By the entrance to the free part of the beach and I slip illegally over the establishment of Fatamorgana thin Cannizzo, entering as a proletarian hero in the cunt of a village high rummy player. She is lying on a cot, milk white, her eyes half-closed due to the strong sun, looking at me I smiled and relaxed ready for a kiss. Beside her sat on another couch is A.. I can not remember anything. I dive
enjoying the sea after days of seclusion on a black sofa in a hurry to study things that do not remember anything.
I'm lying next to M. and she notes that the clouds in the sky running fast, really. It also sees the moon, sky and white as can be during the day.
E 'sweet as a virgin abandoned in a forest of fairies, M. in his astonishment.
clouds run more and more.
are no clouds.
E 'smoke.
we recover from the spell and we collide with reality. And the 'smoke and pine forest near the camp there. My campsite. Our campsite. We see movement. Meeting
MI, a lot of my neighbor just two years earlier, which says to report to my father that the camp will not open anymore and it is burning. He smiles as he says, as if he was approaching his whole life in one tablet of cynicism out of place combined with the desire to appear clever and involved, as if to be concerned about the present, occupy the space-time passion of contemporary culture to an incident involving be fooled. I hate him with all my might and mumble inaudibly, "that asshole".
We run the machine, you see smoke, I do not see flames, do not remember. I have a car uphill, near the road. I can not capture an image on the retina. The car, the safe, the departure scoured, A. who wants to be together without rushing to the house because his brother in law has a broken leg and is accompanied by her sister and daughter. Leave it there. Civil protection directs us back to the coast making us go to shore fag. The people look at us as survivors. M. I cry and I watch from afar the flames redraw the skyline. I go fast, maybe 140 KHM on a road 60. I run despite the flames are now about ten kilometers. We arrive at the house of M. and Tampa a little wall. A young boy smiles and I I look at him with eyes full of silence, perhaps he understands and stops smiling. We climb up to 11th floor and watch the local news and we shake hands in front of his parents prohibited. I keep calm and explain the facts. From twenty kilometers you see the smoke from a few inches do not see the tears. 
The third test of maturity exam starts at 8.30. We stationed at the school entrance on the ground ready to hurl at each other in a furious race to the best place, as illegal immigrants before they board, erasing all memories of civility and friendship. This race is furious and I know I'm one of the fastest. Failure noises coming from my bag, and I'm afraid that the precious pockets Accordion lose the stairs. I feel your shoelaces and run for attention imagining to be lame. I'm afraid of falling and being left behind, but I smile when my butt is in a chair in the middle of the row. E 'on June 25, 2001. It's hot and there is a strong sirocco. I'm afraid that I can get wet underarms, leaving a wet trail on the jersey. I am writing to arms locked. There are
aid, teasing and after a while it all ends. After
there is only calm. After
is the sea.
M. waiting for me on the beach of Lido Silvana. By the entrance to the free part of the beach and I slip illegally over the establishment of Fatamorgana thin Cannizzo, entering as a proletarian hero in the cunt of a village high rummy player. She is lying on a cot, milk white, her eyes half-closed due to the strong sun, looking at me I smiled and relaxed ready for a kiss. Beside her sat on another couch is A.. I can not remember anything. I dive
enjoying the sea after days of seclusion on a black sofa in a hurry to study things that do not remember anything.
I'm lying next to M. and she notes that the clouds in the sky running fast, really. It also sees the moon, sky and white as can be during the day.
E 'sweet as a virgin abandoned in a forest of fairies, M. in his astonishment.
clouds run more and more.
are no clouds.
E 'smoke.
we recover from the spell and we collide with reality. And the 'smoke and pine forest near the camp there. My campsite. Our campsite. We see movement. Meeting
MI, a lot of my neighbor just two years earlier, which says to report to my father that the camp will not open anymore and it is burning. He smiles as he says, as if he was approaching his whole life in one tablet of cynicism out of place combined with the desire to appear clever and involved, as if to be concerned about the present, occupy the space-time passion of contemporary culture to an incident involving be fooled. I hate him with all my might and mumble inaudibly, "that asshole".
We run the machine, you see smoke, I do not see flames, do not remember. I have a car uphill, near the road. I can not capture an image on the retina. The car, the safe, the departure scoured, A. who wants to be together without rushing to the house because his brother in law has a broken leg and is accompanied by her sister and daughter. Leave it there. Civil protection directs us back to the coast making us go to shore fag. The people look at us as survivors. M. I cry and I watch from afar the flames redraw the skyline. I go fast, maybe 140 KHM on a road 60. I run despite the flames are now about ten kilometers. We arrive at the house of M. and Tampa a little wall. A young boy smiles and I I look at him with eyes full of silence, perhaps he understands and stops smiling. We climb up to 11th floor and watch the local news and we shake hands in front of his parents prohibited. I keep calm and explain the facts. From twenty kilometers you see the smoke from a few inches do not see the tears.
Sunday, January 29, 2006
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
How To Install Head Unit In Gl Laser
an easy question on the last day shreds
We start from the easy things: where we were on fire?
Where were you know, you were there, while everything was happening.
But where was I?
I would not even remember the exact date, if you had not posted with the photos.
I at my house. It was late morning, no? Perhaps the twelve ... Raffaele was at my house, we were studying. I was sure to remember that we were studying Sartre, but this is not possible because the exams we had already made twenty days before. According to the dates of my record book, studied English, Shakespeare. The Macbeth. His downfall is "a forest of trees that walk," or something like that. Curious irony.
I remember my mother warned me. He'd call my grandmother, who had been at home more or less half an hour before it happened all over. He had to take the stuff, plates, sheets, did not want to enter, as always had to fight with the guardian. He said that the house was pity that the yard of the house had also found piles of dry pine. With a nervous gesture of the foot he had cleared away, he said.
I do not know if I ever said that our house my grandfather had built. That, and the church of the north field, which incidentally has that shape on purpose, because it is the M of Mirelli, the family of my mother. It seems like a challenge, they are the only things left standing. We all have a strong bond with the house. There my grandfather died, there I took my first steps, there came Francy newborn, leaving hospital ... There we lived all the key moments of our lives as a family, for better or worse, many things were affected, of course, but after the fire some wires were irretrievably broken.
Now I think maybe that nervous gesture has saved our home. Saved, then ... My fear, as you know, is that everything we've experienced is lost, defaced with the trees, houses, our own presence there. I look at your pictures and I realize I do not recognize the places ... and this thing scares me. I would like to collect everything, as long as there is still time.
We start from the easy things: where we were on fire?
Where were you know, you were there, while everything was happening.
But where was I?
I would not even remember the exact date, if you had not posted with the photos.
I at my house. It was late morning, no? Perhaps the twelve ... Raffaele was at my house, we were studying. I was sure to remember that we were studying Sartre, but this is not possible because the exams we had already made twenty days before. According to the dates of my record book, studied English, Shakespeare. The Macbeth. His downfall is "a forest of trees that walk," or something like that. Curious irony.
I remember my mother warned me. He'd call my grandmother, who had been at home more or less half an hour before it happened all over. He had to take the stuff, plates, sheets, did not want to enter, as always had to fight with the guardian. He said that the house was pity that the yard of the house had also found piles of dry pine. With a nervous gesture of the foot he had cleared away, he said.
I do not know if I ever said that our house my grandfather had built. That, and the church of the north field, which incidentally has that shape on purpose, because it is the M of Mirelli, the family of my mother. It seems like a challenge, they are the only things left standing. We all have a strong bond with the house. There my grandfather died, there I took my first steps, there came Francy newborn, leaving hospital ... There we lived all the key moments of our lives as a family, for better or worse, many things were affected, of course, but after the fire some wires were irretrievably broken.
Now I think maybe that nervous gesture has saved our home. Saved, then ... My fear, as you know, is that everything we've experienced is lost, defaced with the trees, houses, our own presence there. I look at your pictures and I realize I do not recognize the places ... and this thing scares me. I would like to collect everything, as long as there is still time.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)