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.
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.
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;)
