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... ... DO IT NOW AND THEN

not remember if we never said goodbye

do not even remember how started and if there ever was a beginning

Do not you remember me and we

not remember the evil that I've done and you can not remember if I did

not remember the love ...

not I remember I told you goodbye

If you ever wanted to silence speak for me

"Goodbye, now, today and forever!"

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All will '

seems to know a life

but in this life I know I have not met

and if one day to see you and do not know you from a life

means that my suffering will end

and perhaps end, even your

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Gabbiani I wanted to make the Coliseum

I leave the subway. And once there, full of all its colossal grandeur, the Colosseum. String spaceship, lights, shadows and hordes of tourists set out to conquer the Martians-immortal picture. A quirky star wheel, however, attracts my eyes. S'accompagna to cries that resemble those of a jarring and grotesque mishap. Seagulls? Gulls at the Coliseum? " Yes, ..." I say. They are everywhere. And I expect that I, in Rome, of banal gray crows!

[photo by mia_euridice]

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there is no bad thing to wake up one morning and think "what if .."
better to be repented of a choice than to live in doubt of what would have happened if you had the courage.

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I miss you so much, I have found you in my bed to take refuge in your embrace.

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hermit

The best ideas always come to me in the morning. Just woke up. O just before waking. In short, in the region space-time-read that I can not tell. As the title of this post. Which is true. The hermit was a perfect profession for me. But where are the contemporary retreats? Gorges, caves and hovels. The Saints have dug them visionaries or searched the mountains and ravines. I'm too lazy. So I built the shrine to me in my head and I put it following the beginning of my sparkling inconsumabile misandry.

[photo by Orzz ]

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the cold I remember your warm hugs and the feeling that nothing in them and no one was hurt.

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Dies irae

One after another, will fall. A domino ruthless and tragic in that strip of Mediterranean Africa licked by a purple and too close. It 'ran out of time fathers' meek and silent. We are just tired of children to look like nothing, unhappy and impatient of restraint to engulf the world. The speed is the same as a web of wicked and angry cries. Emulation, in fact, land and air strikes. Approaches and sweeps away because it will lead to momentous changes. It will cost much more blood.

[photo by carved ]

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I missed too many things, I have not forgotten but are still on my way.
Did I not tell you enough how I want, I never said I want to be your breathing, your sleep, your melancholy. Wait, there will still be somewhere else, we can be lulled by the wind slowly consumes us all into the fire of our kisses, as a single burn.
Now what remains is our eyes, light for the world, for us as a deep abisso.Ti wait for my life, where we have to start over interrupted. 'll Wait for your smile still picture of red my emotions in quick time.

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Freaky Eaters of Caravaggio

man of excesses. If one is a genius, however, he is forgiving. And if we bring the middle ages, the rehabilitation is complete. Michelangelo Merisi was a bit 'crazy and even violent. Complaints, depositions, court and sentenced to death to prove it. In the pending handwriting and faded old documents that only now has anyone had the good sense to go and study. Missing a few years of life, now. And you have no idea what I ever did this wicked and shameless painter. It takes a mockery of the living. Again.

[photo by mia_euridice: Caravaggio, Portrait Paul V, 1605 - detail]

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books

A frame of books. Read and read. They come because I can not help it. We also try not to buy but they are stronger. I obliged, by dint of prohibitions or reproaches. Then I meet a library, and I say "Just take a look ..." and I go out at least another book. Maybe less substantial, perhaps less expensive. Another. The support of those waiting on the tower. Sooner or later I will read everything, love that not left me yet. They are my life and my food even if someone keeps repeating that you do not eat.

[photo by siddhartha19 ]

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Seventeen March duemilaundici

They decided for a day of celebration. Then they started to get slaughtered. Who wants to deny, those who want to erase, job seekers, those who want to celebrate, those who want to ignore those who want to show off, who wants to remember. Pathetic. One day every fifty years and they fight like naughty children, stupid, used to receiving much attention and regarded as essential. If you are not sharing on nonsense like that, how can they bring to the surface that resembles this country, increasingly, a monster with too many heads and no hope?

[photo by Aracari ]

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Eternal return

Sun The baby wakes up in the arms of the blue, takes its first steps playing with the white clouds and the horizon greets with a smile. The warmth of the morning fades, leaves swaying gently in the cradle of the night without a sound sleep closes the eyes of the sky. After the sweet darkness, awakening every day explodes with a heartfelt cry of hope, like the opening of so many daisies on a lawn in the spring.

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The following act

"I'm the next act waiting in the wings. "
myself that I design my future. Any change in my life, then, seems to be decided by me, even when it catches me by surprise. The only thing really necessary for our existence, we themselves, able to create for ourselves every day according to the new realities of our consciousness and needs. I realized that my destiny gold seems to depend on how I choose to live every single moment, so there is hope for me and for the end of my suffering. From now on I have no more excuses: it depends only and only by me. The reality is sometimes a desert and seek solutions to survive or die of thirst. Sometimes it is an ocean, and the only option you have is a piece of wood that keeps us afloat in search of a bank. Only when life gives us challenges to the extent possible we learn to truly know ourselves. We are like the leaves in the fall, pending the thrill of the wind or a drop of rain to make us fall. And as the seasons change so we learn to move behind them, learn to walk in the footsteps of time, we become pure and inevitable.

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Mausoleums

not want to keep everything. Something is right that is lost, inevitably. I can not pile up long-peel flavors, powder or lumps of suffering defeats. I had to learn, with age and its error, it is necessary to throw away. Without complaint or hesitation. Bask in portions of life now past due and bad can paralyze reducing this to a perpetual funeral. I keep myself in the rare or exceptions: Process for removal. Genero space break away from the ruins and the skeletons. So breathe better.

[photo by -lense flair ]

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The other language regardless

slide in dialect, from time to time. A language that contains the fragments of rulers and defeats, which retrieves pieces of French and English to combine them again in a common pay and sacrosanct. Mozzano the words I come from, with accents that fall rage and disrespectful to cut syllables. Dual unification of letters for consonants and endings: a legitimate abound for centuries. Magnetism circling like arabesques. Sounds other sounds that rise from the belly of a sullen ground, but pure in his own way.

[photo by Hengki24 ]

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Compared

If not now when . They called that. It 's a day when women like me will go to the streets to reaffirm to be women and not objects. I am not opposed. Yet I find appalling the idea of \u200b\u200bliving in a country (or world) where women like me have to organize events to commemorate the men, and perhaps even to themselves, are creatures worthy of respect, as bearers of dignity and not just a body to be used as a traded commodity or abuse to various abominations and repeated. I demand respect regardless. That's it.

[photo by Greyguardian ]

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I'd like you expect from me so I held downstairs, I wish I could be sure that one day I want to close, I want to be sure of the affection you have for me, I feel safe in your arms, Thee look into the eyes, but they are solamanete an illusion.
I wish I could forget and lose the love I have for you, but it will be impossible and, I miss you and tip all the time.
you ever wanted and I do not ever want me.

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.. and realize that nothing for someone who has been so for you ..

.. and still is.

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Stupidity as a complication

I mentioned a few times, just talking, talking about this book, one page of Charles Bovary Flaubert on his cap. Flaubert takes half a page to describe this hat is so complicated, but ultimately concludes that resembled the face of an imbecile.
Now, many of the complicated things in our day, are complicated in this sense, in the sense of stupidity. We must simplify.
There is so much deep thinking on the thought of some politicians.
I think at some point we should make the operation simplistic to say that they do not think.

Leonardo Sciascia ( video )

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Ink

I write because I need it, I write because I know that as always understand me, I am writing because I know that I will not send Why this letter, but I know the law. In the silence of this room the only sound is the echo of your memory like a drop that beats in my head. I fought, I did everything to pieces, I cried, I turned to faith. My weakness is now talemente great that I made up my strength. Walk the line, yet. As the first steps of a child, I had to rebuild my life around what you had left me and the only thing that remained, after all, it was me.
guess you can understand what all this for me is disarming. I loved you and the only thing I wanted was you know. Enough for me.
I write because today is like seeing a new dawn, a new opportunity. Now to me there are too. In this room without you, along with many tears and prayers, I found myself.
I write because I do not care about the victory or defeat of past battles, but the only thing that matters is that I had the honor of fighting them. The past is like a catapult that threw me into the blue beyond the storms, changes color to the memories and reinforces my wings to fly in the present. I'm writing, even if it hurts. This is the only way I know to really feel life.

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Everything, immediately and without too much effort if

want to have is our worst downfall. They teach us, and let us teach, to want what they want. Deaf and incapable. Should we unlearn the rush to own, a voracious greed that is consuming us and the century from which we seek shelter. Every whim is done urgently, every tear you despair, every vision you mania. And the patience of growth, as well as the sweet taste of a wait, they become the fury of the flames. Those necessary to incinerate the rest and to speed up the priorities of a few against the needs of many.

[photo by noyereve ]