Emerson 10 Garbage Disposal

DURING Andrea De Carlo




Andrea De Carlo is an author that I have been following a lot: consigliatomi by chance from a friend, then entered the arrogance of my reading in Hit. Why start a review like this? I think it is the desire to just spit out a bitter taste in the mouth that lately I leave the books De Carlo. If at first his lyrics leave me a sense of magic in the mouth because life is something magical in itself - but when De Carlo tells his characters and their countries becomes even more - now I just got tired of reading stories with different names and work with different colors and scents (but then maybe not so different) are repeated endlessly along the exact same thread.
Yet it is true that a painter is known by the style of the stroke, a cook with the flavor of spices, a designer from the color of the fabric ... but something new in their jobs there is always a landscape, a seasonal product, or a soft rather than tight.
dream for some time to read a book by De Carlo, again, overwhelming, amazing ... completely different from all others in all respects.

So, not having read the texts of De Carlo, I told myself that maybe it could be a new innovation: Durante, Andrea De Carlo Edizioni Bompiani.

Peter, the narrator (who has the same voice and the same profile as any other person narrator of De Carlo) lives in the hills of the Marche (more or less the same places more or less already seen) with his Austrian girl alone obligations or work without boundaries ... Or so they think they live (hoibò. .. I am convinced that you have already read something like that ...) until it reaches between them during the perfect man, quiet, irreverent but reverently, who mounts his horse and fly away like the wind, ignorant of each rule, nice to frighten even the dog to Peter and that is literally down to his feet every woman he meets, but also many men, including our Peter .
to discover that when it is not so perfect ... or at least, TO ME it is not at all (although the author, in an interview has defined the ideal, the author and the best hybrid many other things).

How to fall at the feet of a man so self-centered? How not to get angry in front of his way to escape? Leaving lives his lives, scattered here and there without love? And then, we wish to consider the many limitations that against women? ... Other than falling at his feet, we must flee!
Andrea De Carlo will have to exalt or demonize his character?
In the first case for me when we are not successful, but if he wanted to demonize, well then he has succeeded well. During

Council who has never read De Carlo: you can make an accurate reading of his writing, without having to read everything. Once you have experienced
De Carlo, knows what is going to read. POINT.

Scorpio Man Very Selfish In Bed

"The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night" by Mark Haddon The



The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night by Mark Haddon , Einaudi, was reviewed by many as a detective story. For me it is not: maybe the pretext on which part of the story of Christopher - the protagonist of the book - may be relegated from the typical themes of a yellow (the investigation into the death of the Dog in the Night), but from my point of view this text encompasses much more. Introspective depth to a world different from "normal" with raw realism and sensitivity turned on us getting to know and love Christopher then, with all its foibles, fears or habits that from time to time we also recognize even our "normal" and so different a boy with autism.

A book that is read in one go and not find out who killed the dog at midnight, but to approach Christopher and understand what the boy is able to exceed its limits just to reach the goal, which already from the first half of the book is no longer find the murderess.
come to an end, I wanted to start again because Christopher is un ragazzo dal quale non vorresti staccarti mai.
Un libro che fa riflettere sulla diversità, ma che fa anche sorridere molto.
Solo una domanda mi martella nella testa: quanto Haddon è attendibile? Voglio dire, le sue parole sarebbero davvero anche le parole di un ragazzo con la sindrome di Asperger? O la fantasia limita la realtà?

Chi ama la matematica ha un motivo in più per leggere "Lo strano caso del cane ucciso a mezzanotte": un problema da risolvere in appendice, che per me è assolutamente irraggiungibile visti i miei limiti in materia!

Gay Meets Richmond Va

bookseller Selinunte Roberto Vecchioni





Questo è un libro che ho letto già da un po', ma che porto in the heart inextricably: The Bookseller of Selinunte, Roberto Vecchioni, Einaudi .
The reasons for my attachment are more than one: on the one hand I have deep admiration for the author of the text, Roberta Flack, that I would listen for hours and hours (and I refer not only to his songs) and Magic ecstatic, even to the point of not being able to shake his hand and thank him when I can find him (but that's another story). On the other hand I love the text in its contents: quick and effective in the exaltation of the words, indeed, write words with a capital P. Words ... that our world would be if there were no words? What would become of us? What our feelings? But there would, then, the feelings? The Bookseller of Selinunte not selling the books (yet another novel starring my beloved books!), But reads them aloud for those who want to listen to them: just a kid understands the meaning and importance of this strange library and every night slips away from her bed to eavesdrop on the voice of the old bookseller.
A magic land, a magical tale ... attention to the words ... God help us if suddenly flew away!
Do not waste words I want you to listen to the lyrics of The Bookseller of Selinunte Vecchioni. I could not put it in my playlist, but you can hear it through a video itaca.dgl
Here it is: The Bookseller of
SELINUNTE
So at night when all was silence in the street,

I climbed over the window and walked with their shoes, and I slipped
in the dim light of his shop
to hear the voice of that little man. So


at night in that room where I forgot the time, I was
to eavesdrop

while he was reading novels and poetry as words of things to touch
and the rustle of pages I was flying ...

And words like music silk
took me by the hand and led me away
where the heart no longer feels far
:
in pictures, in books and in the skin of those who had already lived
things tanto uguali a me,
nella follia d'essere uomo e nelle stelle
per andare oltre il dolore più inguaribile che c'è;
e le parole si riempivano d'amore,
le sue parole diventavano d'amore,
le sue parole diventavano l'amore...

Così la notte quando gli incendiarono la casa,
e la gente rideva e diceva che era finalmente ora,
capii che c'è davvero una diversità infinita
tra imparare a vivere e imparare la vita;

guardavo il pifferaio che si portava dietro le parole
e se le trascinava nella luce bianca della luna:
non si voltò, non si voltò neanche a salutare,
se le prese su tutte e le gettò nel mare...

E le parole del libraio da quella sera
se ne andarono per sempre
e mi lasciarono con gli occhi di un bambino
che non può sognare più.
Tutte le notti torno con le scarpe in mano
per vedere se da qualche parte le riporterai;
di giorno provo a ricordarmele ma invano,
troppi uomini non cambiano
e non cambieranno mai:
parlano tutti ma non dicono parole,
le loro cose non diventano parole,
mi manchi tu, mi mancano le tue parole...

Ma ci son sere che scendendo verso il mare
mi sembra come di sentirti, e non ti vedo;
ma se mi illudo che sia ancora tutto vero
quasi ci credo.