Paddle Wheel Boats Arizona

Mr. F.

Daniele Alfani - oil on wood - 2008

A Cri and dreams.

was time to decide. After that ugly, ugly day, Mr. F. had no doubt that something had to change, and even at the earliest. He put the jacket into large squares of red and yellow room and sat at his desk in front of the door. It was raining outside and the lights were on Course Hotel on busy road. This time he planned everything. A detailed memorandum would be the place to start. He turned on the computer and began marking to do, a sort of plan to be followed scrupulously. Suddenly he felt a profound sense of wellbeing, as happened every time he fell asleep, she could enter the dreams of others.
That was her secret, her sweet madness that accompanied him for months. No one knew, except her, Viola, but someone had stolen it to him.
all began when he found that place as a servant in the center REM, Clinic Educational Recovery of Memory, his task was to clean the rooms where the patients were those long sleep from which air purifiers did not remember when they woke up more who they were. The new treatment, said the lights to the madness, but for ordinary people were just crazy to prison with no way out. Of course, the legends are fed with a disarming ease, was a place left, a former military barracks in the suburbs, complete with barbed wire with electric shock. The outside walls were crumbling and the large garden that surrounded entirely uncultivated. It was said that the patients slept for days, weeks, sometimes months on end! But there were also people ready to swear that he saw patients wandering in the night, get up to the windows of their homes and observe them, steal the happiness of sleep. For this reason, many people were gone to live in town and no one wanted to work at the clinic. Apart from the doctors that Mr. F had never seen, was the only attendant. Soon he started to go crazy not talking to those patients who were lying in that deep sleep. His friend became the first Viola, a young and delicate, like a doll, talking to her for hours. One night, Mr. F. dreamed of a big green field and many people in line. Among them was Violet, took him by the hand and finally he could feel his soft skin, as a child.
The next day, while cleaning the room, approached her on tiptoe and whispered in her ear-it was nice to see you.
That night he dreamed again the great green field, but Viola was not there. He began to walk toward the thick bushes that extended a few meters ahead and found a path. Without thinking twice he began walking it quickly, he looked back at times suspected of being followed. After a few minutes found himself in front of an old house with a wooden door. Consumed by the time it seemed as if he had fought a long battle, reeking of rotten and was peeling a bit. He entered with the hope of finding Viola. Took him only an empty room. He looked up toward the ceiling and saw the holes. Looked like portholes, as there was water inside, but it was black. Only then did Mr. F. noticed that the floor was a sheet consumed. The gap with care for fear that it will crumble from what seemed fragile.
In small print it said
"Now dreams.
Let yourself go to one of possible worlds above you. "
After a few moments, the black water and wrapped it up and was dragged.
When he finally found himself able to breathe in the great green field, the sky was clear and there was no wind. Everything was quiet, and there was no one thing that frightened him was that he could see the boundaries of this small world, he felt no smell and had no tactile feedback. Mr. F. realized that something had gone wrong. He felt stuck and his heart began to beat wildly. Then he began to hear rumors that Mr. F. had made a mistake, had taken the wrong road and was lost. Panic possession of him. She began to scream and seek a new way out of this world empty.
In the new world of Mr. F. there was no time. With her mind came in a moment to touch the edge of the field and then had to stop, he felt bound, finished.
When he woke up and opened his eyes it was morning, but was not home.
Before him stood a white ceiling, the heart pounding and her mouth was bitter and dry.
panic when he realized he could not move my hands, but found that they were simply tied to a bed. She turned her head to the side and saw her; Viola was smiling at him.
-This is one of the possible worlds or is it a dream? - Said F. that could not even recognize his voice.
-Nobody knows, "said Viola.
In a moment all around the world to Mr. F. became dark before his eyes he saw the door that they were waiting for.
and fell asleep.

Brent Corrigan Streaming Mega

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year Fun

The members of the cultural association "Il Viale della Formica" wish you happy Christmas and a very good year 2009.

On this occasion we remember the main activities carried out this year.

The year began with the organization of photo exhibition in which they were exposed more than a thousand photos of people Castionetto.

So we started a fruitful collaboration with Nicola and Massimo Pizzatti Giana organizing an evening information on forest and how to live in our times.

The organization and execution of the mowing of lawns Dalico us so busy both mentally and physically able to cut many areas 'abandoned' and draw a path of reconciliation between the Lofa and Cà Go Vegi.

Even with the people of the journal "The mountains fun" and in particular the following are some projects we Beno. The first was to rearrange the path that leads from the Val Fontana alp Mortirolo.

Throughout the year we completed the awareness with the municipality on infiltration Castionetto tower, arriving at an intervention that has placed the majority of issues. The

Beno then made a evening in the parish hall talking about Mountain, we have worked with a short film in which people who have lived their lives in the mountains than once they told their experiences. Thanks to Massimo

Nicola and the elementary school Castionetto did a wonderful experience in the woods above Castionetto experiencing a reality very close, but not so well known.

friends of the Society "The sbrega" of Piateda presented a spectacle dialect cheering the numerous participants.

Like every year thanks to the elementary school and kindergarten, Dosso was decorated for the Christmas

E 'was in fact a very busy year that has given us a lot of satisfaction, thanks to which we are urged to strive to do even more and better in 2009.

again congratulations!

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theater evening

As in the previous evening in the company of Piateda 'The sbrega', the audience appreciated the funny gags. The room

"Don E. Tognolini "was full and the three acts of the evening passed quickly.

This was the sixth presentation of the new effort of the Friends Piateda said in the safety and fluidity of the show.

We left with the hope to see you again next year!

Shimano Citica Or Canon

camillo


Camillo is a player of Snai.
Camillo is nicknamed the doctor. And 'old, but maybe not that much.
Camillo spends his days in the training room, the white room, windowless, empty. You see all races in the program and play a little, a euro or two at a time. At 12 go to eat lunch and then back to caritas.
Camillo, when he wins, run out and buy something to drink red wine often. My colleagues have the requirement once the bottle and if they are drained, to his face.
Camillo has a green jacket, worn-out, full of stains. I am afraid that has not ever really wash.
Camillo stinks and when he speaks does not understand anything. E 'toothless believe or just eat the words.
Camillo never talks about anything. To anyone who asks questions or makes fun of and always answers just the usual litany: "Do not break my balls," he says.
Camillo once gave the bitch to my colleague. If you think I seem to hear those words with such difficulty, as if his breath was really valuable. Troy said, spitting too, for the effort.
Camillo, in training room, eat sausages or raw figs, and when you win the ticket gate dirty with leftover food.
Camillo, once the bathroom of the bar was busy, he did a poo in his pants in the middle of the room. There were those who wanted beat him that day because he smelled.
Camillo is a bitch when it comes to cash to play, try to confuse you in any way to screw the money.
A Camillo I dedicated my first real story. He told of a desperate man who dies.

Camillo died. yesterday.
In the room, everyone was talking about it today. They did not speak to him, saying only that he was dead.
Camillo died yesterday. seriously.
This is a tribute to him for a man who has gone without ever talking to anyone.

"Horse racing is a hell instead. I stand for on my own. Do not talk to anybody. That's something. Of course, I know the stakes. But I have to go to the door, use your voice. After years, they end up knowing you. And many of them are decent people. I think all those years of contact with the people provide some insight. For example, know that most human beings are big pieces of shit. And yet even with pegs keep his distance. By staying on my own, I have an advantage. I could do at home. I could shut myself in and play with the paints or something. Instead I have to somehow get out and make sure that humanity, more or less the whole, it is always a big piece of shit. As if you could change! Hey folks, I have to be crazy. Yet there is something, in short, for example, I do not think there's death, there you feel too stupid to be able to think. I took a notebook, I thought, well, 'between a race and one I will write something. Impossible. The air is heavy and flat, we are all volunteer members of a concentration camp. When I get home, then you can meditate on death. Only a little. Not too much. I do not care to die and I feel no regret. It just seems a mess. When? Wednesday night? Or while I sleep? Or because the next horrible hangover? Car accident? It 'a burden, something that needs to be done. And I'll go without faith in God should be fine, I can face it head high. It is one of those things you have to do, like putting his shoes in the morning. "
C. Bukowski." Captain is Out to Lunch "

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views

" Al
worm that has eaten for the first my cold flesh of my body

dedicate
in these nostalgic linked

posthumous memoirs. "

Machado de Assis

If I say that the chestnut has fallen from the branch, we can deduce that:

-chestnut is on the ground.
-chestnut has been pushed down from the branch
-chestnut was sick of being in the tree and was thrown.
-era chestnut is time to fall, since it's season.
-chestnut was too much in that class so he decided to take a ride
the chestnut-needed excitement, attempted to do bungee jumping but something went wrong ...
-chestnut was elated and jumped ..

I like the fact that the points of view.
Nothing is permanent, everything is complex, no one can write down a few lines.
Imagination is everything counts.
I'm that chestnut?

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thoughts


"Our life runs so fast that if we do not write in the evening the event of the morning, we work Ober, and no longer have the time to keep it updated. This does not prevent us from wasting years, to throw away those hours which are for the man the seeds of eternity. "
Chateaubriand, the fact of keeping a diary.

So I lock myself in private thoughts. Away from prying eyes. and to whom?
boring for those who hear me speak, for real.
tangible write words on paper no lines that never end.
gave me a pen.
rediscover the charm of writing in a journal. One true.
I never did. I was not able. Now I just want to know, my truth.
It 's a beautiful effect. It 's a good feeling. Of release and exposure.
I am satisfied.
But probably change my mind.
was for months I had my bag here beside me. I watched as a tenant intrusive.
Now I understand that it was for me. I do not know what's inside, anyway, will soon return full of dust.
Travel.

Image: Roland Topor, one of my favorites:)

How Long Will It Take A Mild Laxative To Work

talking tigers and anchovies



"says an English traveler with as much intimacy with a live tiger. He had coached and caressed but he always kept a loaded pistol on the table. "

Stendhal - Red and black.

few days ago I dreamed of a small tiger.
I do not know why I threw an anchovy. She ate it.
appear and disappear.
to walk away but I felt let down their guard when she came back and attacked other people.
Now that I'm thinking about this dream I had the idea to another. Much more distressing. There was a kind of robots (Mazinger style) that had invaded my town, at the beginning (if I remember correctly) had just invaded my home. There, too, tried to escape. Sometimes I could not pass through certain areas of the city. There was evidence as to accomplish, and I walked a lot. I seem to remember having had this dream several times, taking place here, to contadilandia. I remember once when I was in a street, everything was completely dark and I Trudging toward the light. Then came back the light, at first I was convinced they were fireworks, but it was a dogfight. The robot was able to land at the end, and I tried desperately to escape, but of course he was following me, or rather, I always went with my actions at the end where he was. Bella short mange.
Another time I remember it was set during the day and the robot was in Guido Monaco square (a square ring for those who are not farmers and do not know: P) I remember people screaming and ran out as pumpkin and I did not know what to do and tried to hide somewhere. I still remember when I thought to be protected, as the robot soared, has stopped a few steps from my position and after a few seconds, the vision of a foot giant who tried to crush me.
terrible .. brrr ..
all this to say what?
nothing. I wanted to post something more beautiful, but the exams are sucking me every spark of vital energy, so here it is. Few misspelled words and in a hurry. As they are, as in a dream and a small tiger chases me, closer and closer.
And in the end ... those of us anchovy?
:)
soon.

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Babel Fish

Whatever allegories want to say is simply that the incomprehensible is incomprehensible, and that we know already. But the problems we face every day is a different thing. In this regard, once a man asked, "Why so much obstinacy? If you followed only allegories, allegories you will be yourself, and resolve all your problems."
Another said: "I bet that this is an allegory."
The first said, "You won."
The second said: "Alas, only allegorically."
The first said, "No, in real life. Allegorically've lost."

Franz Kafka.

"The day I prepared my bag-empty-there was a great uproar among the old. The meeting was divided into two, some said that no chestnut would have to leave its shell and go for a walk the world, others were intrigued and admired his resourcefulness. I solved the problem: When I fell down vote, without saying goodbye. The world seemed immense ground, all my preparations immediately struck me as unnecessary, so I went to the world at random, not knowing what I experienced wonderful adventures, but with the knowledge that I would come home with empty suitcase. "

From "Diary of the Chestnut Pilgrim" page. 17.

Kerrigan read the fascinating stories of the chestnut pilgrim, but he had to do it secretly. It was strictly forbidden to read that book in public, the chestnut had in fact been officially banned from Castagneville, when he was escapade in the middle of the final vote for approval of his adventure.
Engrossed in reading totally did not realize then the arrival of the great leader, His Royal Highness the shell, which not even say goodbye to the young chestnut snatched the manuscript and said in angry voice:
- what the hell do you think to do?
- ah, great .. Shell I here, why do not you come over the chestnut pilgrim?!
- Foolish young chestnut, the pilgrim has defied the advice and consent does not care if it's gone! He challenged the law! It can not go back!
- but is doing great things in dynamic world! - Said the chestnut becoming confident.
- Chestnuts are made to be static, can not wander around the world, more than can fit in your pocket of even one human being, but nothing more!
- I do not understand, Big Shell! The chestnut pilgrim knew so many people, has made many friends, also known Babel Fish, the King of the goldfish! He fought with him, at his side!
- It is embroiled in a war, a young chestnut K., a war that is not approved by the Council of Chestnuts.
- not true! the chestnut is peaceful pilgrim!
- Make yourself comfortable Young chestnut, now I will tell you how was the story of the chestnut pilgrim and Babel Fish.
"After the pilgrim Chestnut jumped out of the tree during the voting, landed without too much trouble thanks to his suitcase used as a mattress, but once he was in the dynamic world, he realized that all plans and maps that had designed were useless because the bottom had no reference point. And so, that a child picked it up from the ground and put it in his pocket. The baby back home had already stew of chestnuts and threw it on the table. In addition to disorder the child saw that the chestnut was not the only one to have been kidnapped! with her in the corner lay a little pool fish, which had as its guest a cute goldfish. A castagneville not taught the language of the fish, then the chestnut pilgrim did not know how they could communicate with the Pesciotti. "
- But great shell! - Broke the story the young chestnut-everyone knows as the chestnut has pilgrim communicated with the fish! rather tell me how did you know Babel Fish!
- then you read a good piece of that stupid diary eh? however you will be satisfied.
"A few days later, having racimolato a map of the area, the chestnut was able to sneak into the pockets of the child and thus escaped from the house. Once the child is perceived to have the chestnut in the pocket launched in the wrong way in front of Acquariolandia, home of all fish kept in captivity. So paying attention to the chestnut came in and immediately tried to leave the goldfish from the grip of vicious piranha! It was here that he met Babel Fish, who taught her the language of the fish and from that day the chestnut fought side by side with him to free all the goldfish! "
- But some fish die then?
- Unfortunately, yes my young chestnut. Some die, this is war. But do not worry as we go to the paradise of the chestnuts, the fish should be in their paradise, where they swim happily and there are bad guys trying to piranha bite.
- and Babel Fish? - Said the chestnut.
- Babel Fish is the head, a fish strong and courageous.
- And the chestnut pilgrim?
- The chestnut is out there somewhere, sometimes it sends the pages of his diary, his adventures, but we do not allow to come back on the shaft. Has now made his choice. But enough is enough, a young chestnut, it's time that you fall into your shell and no longer thinks that silly chestnut traitor.

In memory of Bean, my goldfish, who now swims happily in the paradise fish: °)

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things

"I know you accuse me of arrogance, and perhaps of misanthropy, or madness. These charges (which will punish in due time) are ridiculous. It 's true that I leave the house, but it is also true that the doors (whose number is infinite) are open day and night to men and animals. Who wants to enter. You will not find here womanly luxuries nor the splendid pomp of palaces, but the quiet and solitude. [...] The truth is that they are unique. I do not care what a man can be transmitted to other men as the philosopher, I think that nothing can be communicated through the art of writing. "- Borges," The Aleph "


Sometimes "things" let us breathless.
Sometimes the decisions are not rational, but thrown in there for a moment. Without bothering to think.
Chestnuts you know, are "things" conservative. They're very careful what they do, with whom they talk and especially when jumping from the tree. The chestnut has done little in his life, but everything that has lived has collected and kept for himself, he tried to accumulate "things" into her small suitcase. And 'well known, however that is full of dust. The chestnut then inserts these "things" inside the suitcase and paf, it becomes all the dust. Some say that this dust is magical. Some say that lurk inside instead mites bad that when he opens the chestnut, come out to them the raspberries and try to bite.
The chestnut is solitary, surly and easily offended (when the mites attack, of course).
short, he has a bad temper. Sometimes you do not understand, nor be surprised if others do not understand: you or are out of their gourd. That's it.
chestnuts too, have duties, since their not-very short-lived attempt to take things as seriously. Why is it that you undertake to do the tests and when they realize that you are very busy and will not make you break down a lot. For this reason they feel the need to live, buy a ticket, which is much more than an hour's concert, is as a journey to distant worlds and collect every now and then a shell, the most beautiful, and bring it with him in his suitcase full of dust.

"if a story would be set on a long beach promenade. A beach with no beginning and no end. The story of a man walking along the shore and may never meet anyone. His gaze lingers from time to time to observe some object or fragment taken from the sea, the footprints of a crab, a lone seagull. The landscape is always the sand, the sky, some clouds, the sea. Cambian only the waves, always the same and always different, more smaller, larger, shorter, longer. " - Ludovico Einaudi-Waves.

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clouds

Clouds ....
clouds .... continue to spend clouds ....
they all collapse height,
only things real now nothing between heaven and earth exist,
threats in the mist condensed into colorless
cotton flakes of dirt a hospital without walls ...
clouds .... continue to go through ....
... continue to go .....
(Pessoa)


poof.
everything is gone.
you I
I wonder if it is all invented.
as the child's invisible friend, that you can only see you. For others you can say anything, but you'll never believe, I do not ever see.
my child's eyes in front of you.
music in the background, your.
Why?
clouds as we are.
clouds in a sky blue, sometimes red, which could explode.
tears from the sky, from this world.
clouds as we allow ourselves to carry, as long as there loads of rain, suddenly.
as clouds fly beyond everything.
Eyes of my child ahead of them.
For a moment I sense an image and then .. poof ... nothing.
clouds, they never the same shape, and I can also wait for a cloud for ever the same, but she will not come. Yesterday I thought I sensed his form for a moment, elusive.
but clouds. have a way different from mine, I can only watch it go from a distance, continue the journey to new eyes, different from mine.
do not know if the clouds have a specific trip to be made, I do not know who should do before you turn back to that little girl, probably will not see it ever again.
But no matter, because she does not know.

I've seen that girl, watch the sky every day and waits.
wait that cloud, one that has seen a day for a moment, that has stopped, has shown its beauty and then poof ... is gone, on his way.

A victor,
good trip, man.

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here contadilandia

"When I bent down on a map the characters of the future book begins to emerge visibly among imaginary woods and their dark faces and glittering weapons capolinoe were looking at me from unexpected areas, as they passed back and forth, fighting, and looking for the treasure in those few square centimeters of a screening plant. " RLStevenson

We must stop choosing the beaten tourist track.
abroad now has nothing to offer. Italy is tasteless, if not win the World Cup or European is not nothing to destroy. alternitiva seems to be a valid and then contadilandia.

contadilandia A Stranger things happen:
orchids come out for a walk down the street at night, so for air, or maybe just their souls.
A contadilandia there is a legend of the pan:
seems that if you leave dirty pans with oil for over 24 hours they are automatically washed saaranno by themselves and are lying in the same place, or maybe will go for two steps with the orchid.
A contadilandia the garbage does not exist, or perhaps when the basket is packed out with the orchid and the pan so much to make the odd man out.
A contadilandia happen - as in all parts of the world - that friends will betray and disappoint you, or maybe I'm just silly inventions. None will ever know.
A contadilandia there are also trains that, when used properly, they can go wherever you want with a sauna and a free controller provola at times.
A contadilandia there are horrible people, but also friends of gold, although we are always there to have an examination by two days.
A contadilandia there is a map of the city. No need, she is not even on maps.

This is what awaits you if you choose to relocate here, to contadilandia, meta armioniosa of zombies, monsters, and tourists and why not, Pesciotti.
for info: www.contadilandia.com
we thank victor for his genius;)

Death From Polymyositis

walk-a horror story in 100 words

Tap ... tap ... tap .. .
I hear them. They
.
are neighbors. I'm not crazy, believe me. Save me from them, their gear stinks. The whole city has changed. It 's like dead soul. Now I am going to die, are coming to get me.
Tap ... tap ... tap ...
are in their footsteps. I can not escape. I can only leave my heart here, my last memories written in blood on a dirty shirt. I hear their cries, desperate screams that bring only madness and death. They are close, I have to save, here they are! No you can not .. can not be true ... I am ... oh my god .. are zombies!

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poof



- Are you dreaming now. And what do you dream?
- No one can guess
- Why, he dreams of you. And if he stopped dreaming of you, where do you think you would be?
- Where Are They Now, of course.
- Not at all, would not be anywhere. Because you're only one thing in his dream.
- If the king were to wake up, you will go out ... poof ... just like a candle.

"The dream of the King" Lewis Carroll

few words.
6800 I inventoried items. plin plin plin ... and I was the worst: P
Now I sleep ... I am very sleepy ... maybe I'm already asleep ...
poof
...
thanks.
I feel light, very light.

ps. I have a question: who told me that thing in the house? or I dreamed .. sgrat .. help.

May And Ash Doujinshis

rain and wind with

note. A window
overlooking the world. A church that seems
destroyed.
My hands are getting older. ruined.
Everything deteriorates around me. It scares me.
Rain and wind on me.
Now I walk with a heavy heart.
I would laugh but I can not.
Now that I understand what it means to grow up, I want to return a child.
A world that no longer exists. I'm afraid and I would just run away.
But there is a window in front of me.
A window overlooking the void, on nothing, on a wet world look from up here, a dirty glass, a cold floor and clouds more black.

Rain and wind on me.
On my world.
And I can not do anything.
My mind is lost thoughts in empty, meaningless and I'm watching.
from afar. This world languishes.
But this is only one window and I am the only one paying spectator.

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m.

"He explained that as a child he used to accompany his father to the National Library and, too shy to ask for a book, which merely took from the shelves of an open volumes of the Encyclopaedia Britannica and read whatever he happened ce vo under the eyes. Sometimes he was lucky, as when he said, had chosen the De-Dr < volume> and discovered the Druids, the Druze and Dryden. "

-Con-Borges A. Manguel

One thing I can not stand is the TV.
It 's almost always useless and annoying drowsiness that gives me a few minutes after I send in the death phase of starvation. Jelly in the neuron sends me short and since I have one I think is better to avoid looking at it, also because I like finding a channel that I really tired and I'm lazy when I spread on a sofa or the like.
All this preamble is useless to say in passing that recently I saw a cartoon which seemed vaguely know. Obviously I did not stop nor did I stop. It 'been the case. I was asked to change the channel. So I had to turn that phone Mephistopheles and paf. FLASHBACK.
I must have been like 6 years ... are living in my house and I think it's on TV Saturday night because there is Bagaglino (the Bagaglino makes me think of Saturday night). I am in a corner of the room and I'm playing with the house of ghostbusters .. There are also voices (my dad?) That is late or something.
I find it amazing that until a moment ago I could not remember absolutely this cartoon, nor have ever played with dolls and haunted house:)
smile even more because if you think about it I'm not sure that this is true. Maybe it was another house and other figures. boh. I like this uncertainty. I especially like this randomness. It 's all controlled by the case?
few days ago did not know how I "discovered" a book that might interest me. He spoke of a man, Alberto Manguel (then boyfriend), which for a time was home for him to read Borges (Borges became blind after age 50). In 2004 he published a booklet entitled Manguel with Borges. His experience is wonderful and now the reader (me) is captured by the strength of the book so much that really seems to be there to Buenos Aires in 1964 to listen to Borges.
I think it's a wonderful thing.
As one door, three-dimensional Once inside you on a place that does not exist, but that it existed.
I can not help but think that I would like another door that takes me back to a house at a time, but especially to a person. E 'May a great month and I miss her. I miss that scent, the melody of a voice that I can remember only a dream. I miss those stories, expressions and games. I miss those days and there is no door, nothing written me back to those days. There are only memories, but in my head and sometimes I'm afraid to forget.
So I close my eyes and now I seem to feel that perfume and I want to talk, so ... as if no time had passed, as if you were still here and although I can not even kiss you maybe you're really with me.

hello m.
: *

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mutations .. PS

"We can spend a lifetime in the world tell us what we are. Sane or insane. Shanks or holy sessodipendenti. Heroes or victims. To let the story telling us if we are good or bad. A let the past determine our future. Or we can choose from us. And maybe invent something better is just our job. "

Change is not the right word but the first that comes to mind, say Victor Mancini.
changes. It 'a lot' that I think of changing the image to my blog. Today I did, although as usual the photo (but when will I learn to take pictures of human?) Does not do justice. I also engaged in a holy person that will change everything and save me from my bad figures. (Thanks Christian). The picture proposed here is a landscape oil on wood created by my lovely currant, as soon as I saw it I fell in love and in no time Did I stole it. Now lies in His imaginative splendor on a shelf in my room and I guarantee that the visual effect is billions of times better than the one in the picture.
to complete the work I have also added a nice try on sondaggino Jiji, I urge you join, participate, participate .. also because there is a fantastic prize up for grabs there will reveal that now because I have a headache and I snore: P
farewell forever;)

Poptropica Bummble Bee

I'm in a waiting room.
's night and now I wait.
There is silence.
Sometimes the red door to my right opens. People leaving dressed in green or blue. They seem quiet, do their work. I wait. The chairs are worn. Consumed by the waiting time. that has a gash on my left. It might seem a smile but to me it seems more like a desperate mouth. A mouth that screams, or rather he would like to scream, but the voice does not come out. From here, everything is quiet outside. there is no noise. In the waiting room is all muffled. Time does not flow as in reality, there are different times. The minutes are marked by the noises coming from the red door. I try to steal recognize familiar voices and footsteps, but as soon as I turn around I find blank faces that I did not say anything.
The items in the waiting room have different meanings. I see looks lost, I would like specific answers but I think these waiting rooms do not have this accuracy. It 's a world that does not know who scares me. Beside me is my brother. Let's talk about this and that, but now within a few hours do not remember any words. I only know that in the waiting room can not speak of things difficult. There is talk of coffee, bathrooms and hard work. We talk about what I would or would not want to do. We talk, but the white walls, I remove the item and I make it hard to hear. Before me there's a handwritten sign with care, in blue. It 's a beautiful blue and I bet you want a girl who wrote it. A girl my age, perhaps, in a Monday night in April, when the situation is quiet, sits down and writes. Seemed to me to see her take a blank sheet of paper and write a few words with a pen and stained floor. Then cut the tape into small pieces and accurate. Minutes that pass in the infinite time. That time does not count, which is marked by red doors waiting to be opened.
Below are the sign of the treads. I guess the people waiting, like me, and that supports the shoes to the wall. I would not. I do not want to leave footprints here. I do not want this place. I do not want this place above all that I recognize.
In this world time beautiful person. There are hours of waiting, there is only the wait. The wait to see you and no matter what I have to wait, time passes and there is no other. It 's another world, made up of silences, phrases and futile hopes.
It 's the waiting room of the emergency room.

When the red door opens and you You're standing there, everything changes. Crossing the great entrance door is a return to reality. The time now is punctuated by minutes of breathable air, by different sounds. It 's night, but I do not know if it's cold, I'm good at your side and the red door is just a bad memory.

Will Glucosamine Help Tendons

Erewhon

"It is not by actions not based on a balance of considerations"

By December I'll make a travel.
London. I e. .. who wants to come with me:)
without thinking. Letting go. Leave. I was in front of the tour guides (discounted as well: P) and I said I wanted to make a trip.
London.
I want to go to London. To dream and live.
It 's a bit that I do not write. I lose myself in books and universities. Imbarattolo smells and sensations register. I get angry, too. Vivo. Basically I'm fine and I'm happy.
I smile and think of a journey that scares me and I can not wait to do.
I get lost in thoughts more or less real, images and memories that hit me, but who are not afraid. Dream and laugh as a cleft. :) FANTASTIC.

Progressivism And Existentialism

Alchemy

"Recipe:
An ancient castle, of which roughly half falling apart,
A long corridor with many doors, many of which should be secret,
Three dead bodies and bloody beautiful,
Three skeletons packed with care,
An old, and hanged with several stab wounds to the throat,
Thieves and bandits will
A sufficient amount of sighs or horrible noises muffled groans.
All these ingredients, well mixed and divided into three portions or volumes, which gives an excellent mixture of all those who do not have black blood can be taken by the bathroom before going to bed.
It will benefit the most sensitive. Probatum East. "

Anonymous - Formula to write a gothic novel in 1797 -

What scares me is the occult. The invisible eyes.
I have the strange habit of going out at night . In silence, one step after another, the darkness deep. The streets are my friends with thick walls, the lights out. I feel followed at times. I took a big coat, black. I always try to change around , but I realize I do the same old roads. I decided it was wise appointments in a notebook. Red. I like the effect of the red coat that slips by. Red in black. Via Roma, Corso Italy .. the writing is fast, the names of the streets outlined. I walk as I write. Sometimes I stop shooting and I look back. I think I see a little man who follows me. Her green eyes dazzle me and I have to cover. In recent days more and more strange coincidences happen to me. I am in front of small texts on alchemy that I thought not to possess. I opened a random page and read Homunculus. I immediately closed and I escaped. I do not remember where I put the book, I was sure to have left it on the table, but when I got back was gone.
Last night I dropped the red notebook. The track was wet and now has some horrible stains on the cover. When I opened it I felt faint. I saw that the street names were changed, but the writing is mine, and quickly sketched. I did not know the roads and do not know why but I think I threw the notebook.
I wanted to go home, but did not recognize the streets, I went to a street with lots of huge wooden doors into a corner until I saw the strange figure who seems to be a cross between a gnome and a fish. I followed him through the night, trying not to distract eyes from the blinding green that gave off that small and fast figure. As I labored to follow I saw a door opening and for a moment I peeked inside. Now I swear I did it! Illuminated by a single candle I saw people discussing deformed around a table. E 'was only a few seconds but I'm sure they were not normal people. In addition to having some strange hats that made me cringe is that .. the candle lit up the room even though it was only placed in the middle of the table, while they were in the shadows, blacks, not reflecting the light. Of black shadows. I am sure that one of them I have seen, heard footsteps behind me quick quick, a cold that I hounded her shoulders. I ran, losing sight of the homuncolus (but there really?) I was following, until it seemed to see a dimly lit corner. I hid myself, counting the beats of my heart and fumbled in his pocket to look for the notebook, remember to have it thrown out and I found only one sheet. This. I thought about writing here the last events of recent days, hoping that someone can find and save. The space is running out, on the other side of the paper I can see only a strange recipe .. looks very worn by time but I still can not decipher a piece that says: "Formula to write a gothic novel in 1797 .


---
maritozzi Thanks for the inspiration: *


With Cipi for illustration dell'homuncolus fantastic that you see above (and sifting through his good blog is really beautiful) =)

Head Injury And Vital Sign

past

"It slips in Golden afternoon
plan with the boat crew lazy;
an oar here, one there, no expertise
manovran her arm, in the mirage
to make some sense to our rational
zigzag large-scale "

-Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland-

So I take my rowing boat.
But sometimes I get lost in private thoughts, new universes.
I lose myself with my dreams sometimes do anneggare, throw them into the sea as punishment for treason.
Sometimes my side is a chest that looks like a coffin so is the weight that is dark in there. I hear that in the stormy nights you want me to sink and disappear forever. The sky turns black, the enemy, crushing me. Then comes the storm, and even if I try to be prepared is sometimes so strong that the risk of getting lost in all that sea, infinity. I'm afraid of the sea. The black sea, where you see nothing. Yet you talk, but talk of death. Talk about the past. Of things that I did not understand or realize too late, in the heart of wounds that still bleed.
Sometimes I would hide in some nook and cranny, but I discovered that mine is only a small boat, a paper boat abandoned on a small pond that goes without a goal, pulled from the wind.
When the sky is angry because I'm afraid I can not swim, but every time I'm about to fall, I see my trusty crew seem ready to reach out and save me from the jaws of sharks.
trusted crew Thanks to you a hearty laugh and a healthy bottle of rum.

Cinematic Orchestra - To Build A Homemusic Sheet

ZAN ZAN!


dear diary, because Diary gives the idea of \u200b\u200ba loser as I will call you Ernesto, who at least has a cool name;)
So .. Today I discovered that a person can claim to know if the Italian can write (without looking at the dictionary), although with the acute accent and they say (and write) rather than building construction. Then, if you do not know dear Ernesto conjugate verbs is the same. The barber, snaiesco mythical character, perhaps it would have been promoted, even though his typical sentence is: "... if alora draws ... that is, if the whole draws, I Alora ... would win. "It 'obvious that after 10 seconds has made the international goals and he has lost all the money.
Ernestuzzo Dear, today I also understood that the City spying on us. He decides our life and its decisions are insidacabili. The City has decided to spend his money to do a writing course with professionals. The course is free and that's cool. But it's Tuesday, and Tuesday is an unlucky day for the chestnut. Then as they were only 4 cores, the chestnut has thought to ask to move the date or time to participate. The answer was that the City Council on Tuesday asked to do so and we must all bow down and give thanks, even if Participants are only 4 and the final job will do the professional writer. Then Mr. Common is a great fool: disburses the money to do a course where at the end the final paper will do what they should teach writing. Genius right? disburses the money and not even going to teach, write, and we salute him.
the drunk was right when he said: "It made a world that you are no longer standing." [Cited]: D

Oh I forgot the title ... zan zan it is a tribute to his invention, and Cristina (she's not as Ernesto imaginary friend really exists) and should be used no more than an examination. The "zan zan" consists in leaving the courtroom after the crime (the rejection) and scream to the world ZAAAAAN ZAAAAAN with both hands to move. Today I passed the exam, I passed almost arguing about the split of the sentence and what does the word "archaic" ... I had a 27 to have written, I got 21. The verbs I asked them, but never mind, at the bottom, you know .. know how to speak Italian is useless, just know that "Sister" is an exception key = dell'apocope)

Brazulian Wax And Infection

could all go to the local zoo ...


"Life, do not talk of life .. .

people never ceases to amaze me.
Tonight (oibò) I spent an evening at the emergency room. I then discovered that there is a worst job of Snai: that is to be acceptance of an emergency!
Apart crazy parents who want to shelter children who have influence (which in the meantime spread germs to people on hold) the scene more "hilarious" was the lady splashed sicula! At 22 he wanted to force her daughter to admit it was not known if she was pregnant or not, no one knew what she was, but screaming on the great skill (if it is the peak) of the doctor who had examined her in the morning and that he was good because it was discharged. After minutes of screaming ape the poor man's acceptance found that the medical file on the computer did not contain the results of analysis of the morning nor the discharge sheet that had magically disappeared. Meanwhile, the lady insisted to go on the ward (do not you know) mixing senseless shouting threats. While this was happening, a crowd of people (family of 5 + 8 babies parents or similar) is catafiondata toward the exit, laughing as if they were left by the first of a comedy.
The faces of those who were waiting were these OO
It all ended with the lady who managed to get shelter and wandered through the hospital screaming that his rights, the man accepting that was vented with parents affected children (who have plagued all), the little family happy with the decision to spend a Saturday night and I alternate that with only two hours of waiting I managed to visit a doctor in case maritozzi: D
cool no? :

Illustration by Daniele Alfani .. sballottolava us as the train home. =)

Nothing goes as we would like. It 's so, we surrender to our smallness of being small. The fault is all we know of Copernicus and his theories. It was better not to know to be small, of being useless. Things are broken in my world, fix it sometimes, but not very good, are often so fragile that they break even. It 'an imperfect world, I know, I accept it and watch it fade, rot and rebuild again.
The world is subjective then. There are many worlds, many universes and many parallel realities.

Today I discovered that Terry Pratchett, one of my favorite writers found to be suffering from a rare form of Alzheimer's disease. Then it is unavoidable to think in the end, what you write, our smallness and fragility. He will leave us his dream, a dream written, a new universe, and I spit tiny universe can not do anything if you do not consider myself lucky to have known her world. This is the reality. The objective reality. And I can not even try to fix it.

How To Make Victorian Wrapping Paper

"racecourse is full of fools.'m Sure there's open the gates. Then lie down in the stands, or on some bench, and sleep for the duration of the competitions. Who never watch a race. Then get up and return home. some other roam here and there, you are vaguely aware that there horse racing. go get a coffee and look around like stunned, dried, lifeless. [..] and the end of each day I see someone with his head down, between his legs. some are crying. where are the losers? who wants a loser? "
C. Bukowski.


After working for a few months in a betting shop horse you think you've seen them all. The next morning, as soon as you open the doors already see people get totally drunk, who does not even have money to eat, those who hope, who is already desperate. Sometimes you see people transformed from day to day. In the eyes now see only the demon, the demon of the game. Know them now, they have no interest in the outside world but only have eyes fixed on screens and posters. They head into the belief that he had found the way to win and as time passes and find themselves with less and less money in your pocket become irritable and nervous. It 's like the demon from within consumes them, day after day, until they become soulless monsters.

Then you go and try to stop thinking about those people, try to clear everything and change.

a few months working in a fantastic place.
If before, when I went to work seemed to enter the antechamber of hell, when I enter the library each time it seems to me to cross a door where every wonderful book has the great power to drag you into a new world for you and unknown. It 's like letting go on a journey not knowing where it will get you what you leave. It 's a matter of confidence, too. It 's like opening a door where you do not know what's coming back.

And people then have a blast. The

blind and deaf woman is my favorite. It 'a wonderful woman, her. Obviously the tone that dominates the decibel uses permitted by law, to buy whatever you propina, but if you just do not like back home, makes no problem to change it. E 'convinced that the accumulated points are not the money spent, but some other mysterious mechanism. I love it. If you do not see people at the counter, it can be heard shouting "c'èèèè neeeeessuuuuuunooooo?" and vibration, the books are committing suicide by throwing himself down shelves. There is also the Mr XXX, who calls
3 or 4 times a day and sometimes just passing through to take 3 large envelopes with the logo of library. For months I wondered what he was doing with these bribes, then I discovered that used to put the garbage. (Maybe because the bags are black?)
Then there is the man of the bears. He is totally crazy, I think. It comes a day asking me a book in French. On the bears. The volume is huge, is agitated and sweating. While I try to google the book ghost begins to open his coat and the scent that comes from his evil arms nearly knocks me out. When I give him the news that the book is no longer on the market, moves away talking to himself. As soon as he sits continues the discussion with his knee. Then I get scared and are trying to hide under the case.

aaaah life .. is not wonderful? : D
It 'good to be chestnuts.

German Army War Heroes Ww2

C'èèè neeeesssuuuuunooo different universes??




Image: Tobia Rava
Lobby gematria, 2002. Emulsion and acrylic on canvas and board temperature 91.5 X66 cm, private collection Washington USA 5