Sharking Tapes Online

Something that sounds like a good Christmas and a nail less trivial [maybe] ...

ON AIR: Now it's easy, Mina feat. Afterhours
I start talking about Christmas post an advertisement? I would say yes. Here, I talk about the advertising of Tantum Rosa. I could not have looked very carefully - we do not doubt it - but I'm pretty sure I grasped the main concepts and, as it were, the underlying semantics. And, precisely because of this, I will touch on the spot in question: Well, I think the protagonists are three maidens neither too young nor too far in the age to be afraid to get in the elevator for their deadly fumes from urine by johns old girl from [more publicity Super Protector Slip-saving dignity]. Return to us: the three above maidens are about to go to the gym but one of them - focus attention - is pulled back to the last moment: "No, girls, really: I have a vaginal itch that makes me styling of Malgioglio. I can not move house: I feel the need to scratch wildly throughout the day and night, and again, perhaps until death, so I do not think it is appropriate to move from home. In fact, I'm sorry but I run away or else I start sanding down the street here. Hello - oh oh - hello. "To which the others take for the hair, the right to give an idiot [no, not really but they should do] and say," But a bad Deficient rimbecillita, coated and this panacea you'll see that the paper-glass you can use it for purposes more orthodox. "Thus, in the twinkling of an eye, it is evening and we are in the midst of a party. Here come in hideous salmon pink shirt, the woman from uncontrollable itching: the others begin to visibly take the piss, like, "Oh here, you laugh now, you ugly idiot" or "You had to make only a bidet, eh. Now Tantum so do the pink in the tube, bad pigs? Let's not tell Manuel Agnelli, then, might find it wonderful that "[a wise is ...]. In short, everything is resolved for the better. Now, obviously the ad is not endorsed exactly that, at least not with these dialogues, but the gist is this. Traetene the right conclusions. And, if you have a vaginal itch uncontrollably, think about the possibility of wash. Or go to the gynecologist.
A part of the excursus ridanciano, which has little to do with Christmas, I must say that my intention was to write a post Christmas: I now realize that I was a little away from the target.
Well, what I meant - tell you - is that I can not believe it'll be in my Christmas, sitting on the couch or table in the lounge or in my room with my library and my bullshit. I can not believe that eating and scalille cullurielli, who slept in the house where I grew up, you look out the window from which I am facing every day, for all the years of high school. I can not believe I will open your gift next to my huge Christmas tree, you'll be there when I move you at midnight I will not have to go to continue to monitor the phone because you will be there so who cares.
I can not believe your skin, smell and my serenity.
For the rest, nothing. I'm fine. Hopefully my well-being is not put to the test by the State Railway tomorrow.


Yes, you're in a post about Tantum Rosa. Forgive me.
Ah, Manuel Agnelli. Sempe be praised.

Now it's easy so easy.

Antique Wood Ironing Table

I know, I know, but I can not think of anything else ...

ON AIR: True Love Waits, Radiohead
If you do not. Tu. In my Christmas.

[ There are pleasures that do not know and perhaps can not understand. There are joys that I had to keep locked and hidden for a time it seemed endless. There are joys which I should be ashamed, not to admit the evil that made me have you without you ever. I have I waited so long. But so much. Without regret, I was expecting. Trembling, I was expecting. So now I need to laugh. To love and laugh. Maybe clinging to you and without any possibility of revocation. ]

Can Flu Bring Your Periods Early

How can I tell you why because if I am? In fact, I can not ...

"Mi perdoni, signora, ma quando uno è colpito da una pistola sanguina".

[sorry
is all that you can't say
years gone by and still
words don't come easily
like sorry like sorry

forgive me
is all that you can't stay
years gone by and still
words don't come easily
like forgive me forgive me

but you can say baby
baby can i hold you tonight
maybe if i told you the right words
at the right time you'd be mine


i love you
is All That You Can not Say
years gone by and still words do not come Easily

like i love you i love you]

How To Install Aqua Tech Power Filter

I like pissing in the wind, while I monkey around [with you] ...

ON AIR: Walking on Air, Kerli
So it would be very trivial, for me, put me to write to the Nobel Barack Obama would be predictable and unoriginal. In any case, I had to do it several days ago: would be more sensible and I would not have seemed like a voice in the tail of a long line of dissent, more or less sarcastic. Right now, in short, it would be good for me to remain in silence to pretend nothing happened. Too bad I can not do it right. When was that? Friday? Well, Friday I was at the computer with the TV on next to me: I was watching a news - can not remember which, probably sz 5 - and I overheard the news of the Nobel. I stood for a moment, impassive. Then I tied up, I turned my face and I turned up the volume to maximum: the committee responsible to buckle moneyed prizes to those who have been able to promote and establish a peaceful environment has decided to award the Nobel Peace Prize to Barack Obama. Not I'm here to list all the reasons why the news has left me ta bases, mostly because it seems to me even paradoxical: I would rather turn the situation around and get to know the underlying reasons and I totally dark which led the Board of Oslo to take this convoluted decision. Obama is not that I dislike: Certainly not. And how could the rest? It 's so good - or maybe it's his entourage to be very, very good - to manage its image, to express themselves and be worshiped by the masses euphoric, waiting for the new messiah. But I swear: I do not dislike Obama. But the Nobel Peace Prize no, holy God. Why? All his intentions were beautifully suspended in the air: wonderful words floating in the sea of \u200b\u200bthe most successful political communication. Not that they can not be realized: maybe it will, of course. We hope everyone. But expect to have - how to say - an empirical evidence? No. Why so much realism? Better a little 'healthy surrealism ... and hope that reality will not disappoint our hearts full of confident hope for a bright future, multi-ethnic and disarmed. Back when the flowers in guns but maybe this time we put them in the Kalashnikov. And smile to the new world, which is actually identical to the old one. But with Obama.
However, the more appalled and - frankly - concerned by the award of this prize should be awarded the distinguished precisely: the expectations were already very high, and this is a fact, but the Nobel Prize has done nothing to constrain Obama within the confines of a narrow and formalissimi engagement with the world. Now Obama can no longer hold back from paying the bill for a solemn promise that he signed as a guarantee giving the very existence [and also be color]: from now on will no longer suffice. I hope.
change the subject, I have the interview Thursday, the latest evidence, to enter the Luiss School of Journalism. I would say that I prefer not to express myself further on: after the written evidence we were in 60 and now it will take 30 for which no is so unlikely that I can do it. Apart from the fact that the interview is sure to be funny, since I have not the faintest idea of \u200b\u200bwhat will be the topic of conversation. But the truth is that I do not care. In fact, maybe I'd rather not go: I would prefer to follow the specialist and postpone the decision until later. The journalism schools are unique and specific, targeted towards a single career [not easy, however,] I am not so sure that it is the right one for me. I would like other options, maybe. Or maybe it's just that I think ultimately a choice too. I do not know. I think I'll wait the final result and then decide. For now I I'm good and quiet in the hall of my future.
changing speech yet, I would like to advertise in Via Boncompagni AIED clinic in Rome is a welcoming place, clean, friendly people where they work and prepared. And, since some controls are not exactly pleasant [at least for me: the world is beautiful because it is different, they tell me], I would say that details are not negligible.
Then, other communication service: Flower, where have you gone? Revealed, if you please, and let me know how it's going to Palermo.
I mean what else? That will not sleep tonight beside me? Now I told you. Here, do not sleep next to me. And I will not be safe.

Little creepy girl with her little creepy face.

If You Have A Cmg Credit Where Can You Shop

hear how the Sonene summir!

hear how the Sonene summir!

How Long Does It Take To Get Trichomoniasis

Calabria, the Mediterranean to discover [toxic treats at will, for fans of the genre] ... Calabria makes me

ON AIR: Daniel, Bat for Lashes
It 'a lot' that I do not write anything and in truth I have no intention of reporting anything. My summer was great, nice, as far as I speak in this unusual way of my holiday: Instead, this year, I was fine. Maybe because I separated from him for just a couple of weeks ... Many might find it a little 'seedy what I say, the fact that my welfare is chained to the presence of others, but I'll tell you anyway: I do not give a damn's never, not even when I was bad and angry, let alone now.
I am writing, however, for other reasons. Why do I need to set some important points and, above all, my final disillusionment with journalism and his world during this summer, we saw and heard things beyond any wildest imagination. And yesterday Victor Felts has dealt the final blow to my naive faith nell'antipatia catastrophically as solid and constructive proof of a lucid journalism, cynical and moderately healthy. I am forced to admit that Indro Montanelli was almost the one and only, and behind him, the desert. Alas.
Again, I really wanted to express my extreme pride for the proclamation of the new Miss Italy: Calabria is a girl who - to learn - is hoping to represent the whole of Calabria and Italy. In this regard, I would like to escape from this his intent, given while he was obviously inspired by the sacred fire of neuronal emptiness.
This morning I read in the Corriere della Sera a fine article by Maria Laura Rodotà . I recommend it highly to anyone who finds what I wrote above slightly resentful: the problem is much broader.
I wanted, then, return the best film critic of the century: call it self-evident and surgical efficacy but disproportionate. But you have to frame the scene and specify the particular film in question: Zabriskie Point by Michelangelo Antonioni. We watched, He and I, half asleep, the historic sex scene in the land of the canyon. Apart from the concerns that pervaded the air, as we were silent, but the climax was reached when he, with a voice thick with sleep, gives the following - brilliant - the sequence of words: "Yeah, you know the sand ass ...". I would say that, in principle, equivalent to "The Battleship Potemkin is a crazy piece of shit." Because even Zabriskie Point is, fatevene a reason.
'll never be apart.

What Are Atypical Glandular Cells

hydrophobic or as it's never too early to make weapons and luggage ...

ON AIR: Cu'mme, Mia Martini feat. Roberto Murolo
Yesterday morning I did a reflection of more than negligible. I had just woken up, it was about ten o'clock and was dragging down the hall trying to open his eyes for good. There is a premise to be done before continuing the story: I have been here in Cosenza, I always wake up in a foul mood and the situation tends to worsen dramatically with the anxiety of the morning chatting [chat early in the morning?!] In my - and especially my father - can not break free. Well, yesterday morning I was already preparing to come to terms with this painful reality when I heard a high volume of my tv, I opened the door ajar, and I found my mother's intent to sweat on the treadmill [have one in my bedroom and mother uses it while watching TV, of course-volume breaks eardrums because we do not already heard: imagine that thing with the hellish mess that is in the background]. But the point is not that. The point is that he was watching a movie, that I do not quite remember the title or maybe - just - I have not even bothered to learn about them. In short, this film was one of those bad movies, in fact, not bad in the aesthetic sense of the term or concept. No, it is one of those movies that no one would ever feel the need here is: one of those comedies in pink sauce, pseudo-funny, full of paaesaggi romantic comedy situations that someone would judge, sexual misunderstandings [yes, are still in fashion] and women Stuffed [I would say, filled] dignity [to be clear, those who give up slap, stop unwanted conversations left the room and find men willing to get totally ridiculous for them: no, not a science fiction movie or at least I do not think]. But arriving at the essence of the matter: these films often tend to result in a rather handsome man, also very caring person, who was abandoned at the altar as a salted codfish. So I open a parenthesis: the dignity of women filled two are WONDERFUL men willing to marry them or otherwise to engage in a serious relationship with them and, in principle, Massine, tend to choose the most asshole hoping for his miraculous redemption sentimental. Here, get to the point, because nobody has yet thought to analyze the views of that poor man? Why was not yet made a film about the tragic history of this unfortunate man full of emotional power that is taken for a ride all the time [the kisses, promises of eternal love, the brillocchio that gave what they thought was his her ... bullshit] until the final abandonment, after the money and invested with in the ceremony [which, theoretically, should be paid by the bride's father, rather pissed off too vain to put on the casino], in a house in a typically charming and seemingly perfect relationship. Well, what is the reason for this inexcusable gap in World filmography? Perhaps because that individual is not a nerd nerd, and therefore not worth making films or television series about him, perhaps because it was impossible to categorize his story in any way except as a drama without reasonable grounds socio-cultural perhaps because you should not pay too much attention to the fact that absolute perfection can be abandoned at the altar [in fact, usually, the guy is perfect but rather mediocre], perhaps because they do not give a fuck about anybody. And in fact, come to think, do not give a shit about anything to me either. And I do not see why I should be a lawyer of lost causes ... Above all, I do not feel any empathy for the poor fellow, I must not.
Well, it's too hot to continue writing. Especially since I do not have much to say and I'm afraid of not being able to hide it.
You know how I feel? Like a miniature Lady [still more mignon of the real me, I mean] that walks on a calendar written in huge red letters and drag this giant pencil, marking with a cross every day passing with a slowness exhausting. Through Sunday. And then to 14. And then the 24. And then at 31.
I was once an incredibly patient person. But I'm getting old.
Ah comme if it is'.

My Baby Keeps Turning His Sleep

For the title of the post, are torn between "the truth that I remembered" and "stupid things and trivial "[Lamb Of Origin will take a few] ...

ON AIR: Bachelorette, Bjork
I know, I know. Should I start [or start at all, even] to write something made sense: I mean, the Italian political situation does not currently offer a few very valid arguments on which to rant, wonder and irony. I could describe in detail the ontological disgust [yes, ontological] that causes me proof of the vision of the smile in the face of accusations that Prime Minister should stun those who hold a mortal as his constitutional position. And to focus, in particular, on how much leave me astonished and contrite [not annoyed but contrite: makes the idea of \u200b\u200ba state of physical suffering, punitive damages of curling drive] the idea that our prime minister could easily screen saying "I'm not a saint," almost [?] to confirm with half mischievous smile all the allegations [?] recently addressed to his moral integrity [???]. Then, all things considered, I do not care the least about the sexual tastes, quirks and perversions of those who govern my country, to the extent which have nothing to do with the public sphere and its credibility: the exact moment when the bedroom [or sofa, or lounge table, or chairs in the garden] of the President of the Council becomes the color is theater for the exhibition of asses and girlie no reason to exist, networks of ties [to put it mildly] based on the assumption indelible human baseness, both male and female [I would say women in particular], display of performance mythological and gifts sbriluccicanti nonsense, finally proved to be of poor quality journalism for what they are and have always been, namely novellatremiliano gossip, machismo pathetic that make up the throat for nostalgic Magone policy perhaps more hypocritical - or moralist, if you will - but certainly more dignified ... what was the point? I lost the thread. In short, the point was that I will inevitably throw up. And then? What else would give the Italian political scene? Ah yes, of course. The electrocardiogram plate of the alleged opposition, in the first place. The soliloquies in delirious dipietrese correct that, for some time now, like a shadow following the surprisingly polished our President of the Republic: Napolitano now can not even go to the bathroom or take a nap without the fierce afternoon [we should say 'the demon'?] Tonino find something to say about the constitutionality of the procedure used. And, last but not least, the story of our dear Beppe Grillo, the patron saint of all consciences also disappointed by the policy but not enough to spare himself the humiliation again clinging to a saving mysticism new populist [as folk and fun, I admit] the the Democratic Party has absolutely denied the possibility of membership, and then stand in the forthcoming primaries of the party. Well, we're all very sad. Even I, yes, I swear. Perhaps in the end, if you were a candidate in the primary and had also won the [hypothesis is not entirely remote, also confirmed apocalyptic horror with which the upper floors of the nomenklatura of the Dark Shops have welcomed the news], I would have voted for him . Above all, I would be incredibly fun day after day to monitor the slow descent of the Redeemer in hell fuck dark policy, his manifest incompetence, their clumsy demagogy and its slow but inexorable process of moral and material corruption. Unfortunately, the curtain fell prematurely on this adorable show of good comedy. I'll try to do with reason.
I said originally ... I addressed issues related to current events, politics, literature. At the movies, maybe. And I will, I swear. But humanity as a whole and, specifically, the world of interpersonal relations are too juicy topics that I will be able to deprive completely the pleasure of some little reflection on these issues. I should point out that this time he is not [for your happiness and pace of wd? who dared to criticize my style covertly between the mystical and silly]: no, not this time, because I never imagined could be so calm and happy and languid e. .. uh huh ... enough. I know and I know him: I would say which is more than enough, as I love writing and reading of words that inebriate and know about us. Ordunque, what I mean? Ah, yes. I wanted to launch into a debate on a particular aspect of humanity that I've always enjoyed and still enjoy today: the way you try to self-importance, when it is clear and obvious that it has no importance. Some people live their lives desperately hoping that someday someone will notice their brilliant personality, a brilliant personality of which they themselves have doubts [and right]. Some people spend hours and days to study the lives of others, hoping they fail and must be broken to achieve the legitimacy necessary to accept and accept a life obviously unsatisfactory. Each individual has their own faults and shortcomings but some tend to project them on others, hoping in this way to leave potersene and claim victory while the other succumbs. Some people have not understood yet, not after a few years of life, that the world is a stage where their pathetic play of the fourth film scripts by category and that people are not there to lay down their lives [as is their love to do], so run the serious risk of being wounded to death by silence Prolonged or failure to reply. Or for some 'detail not shared'.
Laughter, laughs. And the sad realization that each does what it can, to give themselves a sense.
A place like this.

But how do I go from here? You tell me. I already miss the air.

Drink me, make me feel real.

Magnum Vs Regular Condoms

not work well, I can not make me run, there is gimmick that could malfunction ...

ON AIR: Candy, Paolo Nutini
Umbria is beautiful. E 'shaped in the green, gently, almost as if the extreme forms - the high tops or plains persistent - do not exist. And then there are small towns that look to hard to believe that they can stand it, as if they were hanging on the rock. Narni is beautiful: it is a tiny medieval village with underground moderately disturbing and magnificent views of the Valnerina that I embrace and be embraced with her eyes. Well, at this point I would say that I'm ready to write brochures and obtain some money.
He was always there with me. I could meet his eyes at any time: there were no distractions, there were no computers or television sets that distracts us from us, there was the anxiety of having to speak to power and tell a pittance. I was with him, adhering to his skin, to seize every moment to be printed in this little head that often malfunction. I wrote everything in the brain in an indelible way: He sat under the gazebo, the way they sank into the bed, the Coop, the Pringles eat from his hands, breakfast with the love stuck in the eye, the words that should not be pronounce [calls clumsy, wrong, those who delay too long to get there], Céline, Buzzati, all those sunflowers, stained sheets, his sweaty head, familiarity His body simply my own, Rocca Albornoz, endless climbs, cat friendly, the restaurant with breathtaking views, Giorgio and Luca with their stockings wrinkled ankles, Palmiro, the dog vicious, the jam nonsappiamocosa, the strike of gas stations, "porcodioooo", the extra day in Narni, the underground, St. Nicholas, the Holy Office, the tank, the kisses that I can not give him a stomach ache, the waterfall Falls, all those steps, always know with me, know that you can say and do, feel free to be with him without self-defense mechanisms, to trust completely, tell him everything even the slightest thought, keep your laundry along with mine, caress her arms, worship Him in everyday life, the exceptional and the exceptional everyday. Porto's all here in this little head on which to bind the thoughts and trigger loop intolerable presumption of ill-paid and alleged love [because they paid no, it is not acceptable]. I enjoyed every second, every drop of sweat, every step, every word, every mile, every look, every alley, every breath, every smile, every moment of silence.
Eventually, though, I always mistake. Am I wrong to think that we can go beyond me that I am, that little, stupid and clumsy that his flesh has nothing to do on time and that illusion of having a hope of peace total, in the remote possibility that I might be all that He has for me.
But I'm so tired, tired even to be desired.
yet relentlessly followed. I want to live every day as euphoric familiar, I love your person every day of my life, I would not have to ever repent, I would not feel always on the brink of tragedy, I want to breathe deeply the smell of serenity. More than anything, I want to love him every day with the same consistency and constancy in return receive a smile that knows how to say no, my stupid love is not vain. It is not love this room full of problems, silence, tears, dedications and hope for eternity.


wish. I would like to live with you, I would like to pass quickly this week in an unnatural distance, I want to come down from yours. And I feel stupid now, the focus of this stupid silence me.
This morning was pretty humbling. And when I say "pretty" mean "very."


And lay you down on your rug.

Taylor Lautner Sound Board

disinceppare my Mom, Mom, grow up I want to make the user or as a final determination is the only true basis for a lucrative future ...

ON AIR: Eye in the Sky, Alan Parsons Project
Mm ... concepts have recently simple. For charity, within the limits of my idea of \u200b\u200b'simplicity', of course, but in principle I have a precise and linear ladder of needs, actions and thoughts that I follow dutifully. The food, sleep, sex, silence ... the emergence of a need satisfaction is more or less immediate. I would say that the whole world should follow this guideline: I find that most of the collective problems would be solved. It 'clear that this is not a hymn to theft, rape and rude: far be it from me, so too are to give advice like that. But it should be a little 'peace with everyone did the beast that is part of them, among other things, I think, in some it is particularly developed and are those - I fear - people who try to conceal their true nature behind a screen of fine words, words, words ... Jesus, I can not take more than words.
In fact, I lost the thread. I'm not sure what I should not even be the point ... but I think that has something to do with: 2 +2 = 4. Elementary, rigorous, inevitable. And enough with the ruminations on nothing at all.
I realize, however, that the discussion above could constitute a clear and obvious contradiction to my claim to erect on top of everything and everyone's mind: the divine mind, at least in my case. In the other, or it it does not very little difference. But I was saying ... I still think that the human being should impose the proper filters and limits the right to their animal instincts, otherwise I would not know where to find the cause of our supremacy on chimpanzees, dogs, cats, goldfish and Silvio Berlusconi. My argument, however, is a bit 'more abstract [yeah, it's stronger than me] and probably a bit metaphorical, I say that people fill their head and mouth-transcendental mastermind of complications to avoid having to admit especially herself to the vacuum. But it all spectacularly useless when you have nothing, nothing is inevitable that the take over. On the whole, and so particular on those vaguely intellectual complications of which we tried to live. And in any case, it's time to roll up their sleeves and do at odds with themselves, with others, with life, and then with real pain: it's time to take responsibility for what - like it or not - you is. There is only the 'I', 'could', 'do': the conditional, usually, always after combining the present and the past, and even after the future. The conditional is a convention to the whole human peace with the string of banal frustrations that we carry with us from time immemorial.
we probably made a bit 'all of this dough. I would be presumptuous and dishonest if Negassi, if you think you potermene pull off. But I respect people and are constant in love I feel, always. To me there is no mood turned, there are no moments , there are no answers at large, and not those sentences: My door is always open. But I'm tired - tired deadly - of having to knock, to have to speak softly, of having to always think that I could and I never hurt anyone. Especially if this is unilateral. I'm tired to force myself not to make noise, to measure every word and gesture, close your eyes if something makes me mad by pain or anger: do not take it anymore. I've reached the saturation level and now I weigh my words: every word weighs so deadly. And I can not stand those attacks to avoid being attacked in turn: I find it an offensive form of cowardice.
I no longer want to smile at those who hurt me, whoever he is. And that's it.

You know what? I do not happen only to cry on the train that takes me away from you, even if only for a week or even for a day. I also happen to smile for no reason, like a crazy hysterical, though I think I'll do anything during the day and then at night I'll be with you. Yeah. In the library, I smile because in an hour or two I'll open the doors of your house and after a while 'you will come too, with that big grin all over for me. On the street, I smile because Monday we're going to Umbria and I'm happy we could go even Vaccarizzo calabro with diligence and in any case I would be happy to do it with you [obviously this is not a real proposal but a mere hyperbole text, I want to clarify] . I smile when I raise my head and I see an airplane, because we're going to Berlin in September and I would never have even dared to dream of ourselves back together once again to you. I smile in meters [and there is not at all easy] because I know that soon you will give me a tiny little kiss on the lips. I smile because I'm on the train and a sunflower to me is a sign of eternal happiness, absolute, there is a huge field right on the road at home. I continue to smile because your skin always moves me and I move you today.
Yes, it is not long - in fact, has very little - that I smile a lot.

And I do not need to see anymore to know That
I can read your mind.

Why North Face Logo Not In Back

Since prehistoric times is a problem

Theme in the classroom: "Death. Unfortunately, it has always been among the "natural phenomenon" more popular. Talk about this strange phenomenon that causes pain only for the people around us and an event to explain the emotions you felt at that time. "

Development: "Unfortunately, death is one of several popular phenomena, since prehistoric times"

(All true. From: Serianni-Benedetti, "Writings on the benches," Carocci Editore)

Plasma Donation Arlington, Tx

The turnout is the new civil religion or even that it is useless to complain ...

ON AIR: Suzanne, Fabrizio De Andrè
The title of this post could be misleading: it I'm not going to talk about the election. Nausea, now complete and all-encompassing, has become a form of slumber slumbered idelogico-making: in other words, I was in Rome, however, even back in Calafrica, would not have gone to the polls. Or at least I would have invalidated the card. Or I'd set fire to the throne [no, too difficult].
And yes that "the country is real." But, frankly, I would prefer that it was not.
Anyway, my life has ill-defined colors in this period: the degree, Barcelona and then the first real trip with him, the days to follow, everything I slipped from his hands fast enough. I had a heart full and overflowing for a few weeks but now has taken over the complete inability to decide on a feeling, a mood, a disposition any. Negramaro I would say "poised". Not me. It's a little 'too' chenesaràdinoi "and I fear it is not for me.
are about two weeks I'm here, to Him I am well. Well as I happen to be only when I go to bed with him and I wake up in the morning with him: when sleep occurs while m'incastro in His embrace, and when the day I enter in my eyes and I'm there, with his belly against back, enjoying the happiness of your ridiculous regular breathing. I know which is pathetic. And it's not much to me. But right now my well-being has this address: I can not help it. Nor pretend to want to give it up, if only for half a day, I've had days where the pain came to tear the flesh to bite and chew off large pieces of me. There were empty abysmal, in my twenty three years of life, loneliness and a blind strike anywhere and with anyone, at any time of day and, most of the night, knowingly relying on the absolute certainty that I never had two good eyes in which lose abandoning any defense. I have to live this peace I can not spit up all hope - as unconvincing - they gave me to live in many years past to hurt me. It is not me that he has resolved his life, because sometimes it's all very complicated, but this speech does not make sense: I do not need to wonder whether it is right let me fall into your life hopefully. I just can not avoid it: He is the sensational show - semi mystical - that turns any security, almost like the beautiful sunset that makes you think for one second that God might really exist, in the end and beyond everything. He is the sunset. And He is the person to whom I would like to "want to be a better man, desperately. I is inevitable.
Ah. A year and a day from the film 'Sex and the City. One year from the "crossroads" and the night that I've freed from your arms even for a minute.
My life sense. Indeed, it has more than one. That of others I do not know.

Why do you have touched your perfect body with your mind.

Pepe The King Prawn Plush Toy

Ania Szarmach - Wybieram Cie (music video)

The video favorite Klaudia ... (: You've ehhhhhhhh)

Accelerated Emt San Francisco

supports La Porta ( Philip) that the Italian is coated with plastic. That language is losing its natural flow to gather in more and more rigid and stereotyped formulas that save us the effort of thinking and our partners to understand. That "the gradual insignificance of many expressions that we use refers to the gradual insignificance of our lives."
are the prerequisites of a book ("It's your problem", 107 pp. Gaffi Publisher) in which the door gives us his personal catalog of fossils of language, expressions that the indiscriminate use, instead of giving life, has irreversibly turned off .
Examples: somehow, like that makes a difference, as I say, One moment, I can not care less, it is your problem, and so on. Tic language that would be "revealing of attitudes, modes of feeling, existential strategies, habits of mind, collective neuroses and obsessions. "
I will say now, for the avoidance of doubt, that two of these expressions (" like "and" somehow ") I use them with alarming frequency and are the first to recognize that, in most cases, they add nothing to the meaning of my speech. This does not imply that such discourses are inherently meaningless (hopefully). It means, rather than the articulation of words in my mind is slow, laborious, full of pauses hesitation and without even notice that I fill with inert material language.
La Porta, instead, gives a different explanation: "somehow" - he says - would like to express by speaking of "dialectical attitude of thought, the demonstration of a spirit seriously problematic. Only that "somehow" you can really connect everything with everything, and it has the right to a sort of immunity and (...) the moral judgments is cautiously pending. "As for" how to say? "Would be the led to a civilization in which "has become more important things to say rather than what to say" and would represent a kind of "historical recognition of the obsolescence of content."
What can I say? Or rather, how to say? I just persuade these explanations. I seem to be attempts to find the roots of a lazy and superficial fashion, to try - yes him - too much content (anthropological, social, cultural, emotional) in those which, in this case are simply empty forms. More convincing was his reasoning if he had mixed too much the language of sociology and pragmatic policy, merely to treat expressions like "is your problem," not I could care less "or" makes the difference " maybe I can really sum up the esprit du temps. Why did not he do that? It is his problem.

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Let There Be Love

I'm back again!
It's good for neglecting my blog?
Who gives a fuck, do not want to put it?

A.

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his words against you

Among other profanity, including some rather foul-mouthed, which I and my brother's kids would gather on the street and brought home produced as proof of our citizenship in the adult world, there is one that our grandmother was never willing to welcome to your dinner table: "Picio. So I did not understand why "Picio" looked like the most detestable of "fuck", which also came from the same galaxy that lacked semantic plus coloring Regional able to make nice and friendly even the most unique vulgarity. In fact, cleared through clenched teeth "casino" (which she still evokes the idea of \u200b\u200ba brothel), "shit" and even "asshole", remained "Picio" non-negotiable to mark the border of decency with respect to which the minutes would not be been more willing to retreat.
Years later, in retrospect, it occurred to me that her grandmother, most of the term itself, probably annoyed sound, more sound and the image he had of those who could use that expression unpronounceable (which in fact she never spoke, quoting as "that word there).
I mean, my grandmother probably associated the idea of \u200b\u200b"Picio" not to its meaning, but the appearance, voice and tone of some real person who presumably used it frequently and that must have seemed very rude. The problem, in short, was not the end in itself, but the world it evoked.
This whole premise that today the magazine "Focus" has published the results of an informal survey conducted among its readers asking what were, in their view, the bad words (115 of insults, curses and curses) of the more profanity our language. For the results of the survey (and the plot of "volgarometro") I refer you to the following link: http://www.focus.it/Community/cs/blogs/vito_dixit/archive/2009/05/16/327851. aspx.
Here I will confine myself to some remarks.
The first is that at the top there are two oaths, which even the author of the survey have the heart to return to writing and even atheists (33% of boaters said that was) considered a taboo impassable, with good peace of paranoids who see no threat to a god-believers. Also note that the blasphemy against the Virgin Mary is considered, albeit a little more serious than that against God, but it is no surprise in a country of big babies has always been devoted to the Blessed Virgin of the Father rather than linen stretch Onnipatente (meaning one who provides the car keys)
Second observation.
Among the insults given in terms of ranking themselves appear innocuous as "porter", "lackeys" or "proletarian" which frankly did not know you could use to hurt someone. However, there is ever that simple identity - social, sexual, ethnic, religious, professional - is the natural space dell'ingiuria. Not mislead the fact that "Jew", "rabbi", "negro" or "Gypsy" are in the second half of the league. Firstly because it is not uncommon, when they appear together by a qualifier ("dirty," "bastard," "shit", etc...) And why those who say the most often considered not to offend anyone but to make a simple act of "ascription" in a category (lower, ça va sans dire: the essential reference for in-depth book entitled Frederick Faloppa like this post) .
Third observation.
As a boy, at worst, it can feel to the "asshole" to insult women heavier ("whore" and the like) spring from the bowels of the most tenacious slimy sexist and of our civilization. Not to mention the homosexuals, that even the detergent of political correctness ("gay" instead of "queer") enough to bleach the stain of original data from their own condition. Last Observation

According to the survey, "fascist" and "Nazi" offenses are still considered much heavier than "communist". Judging by those who govern this country, I would never have said.

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The slaughter bears my name ...

ON AIR: How leaves, Malika Ayane
I did not think I could still feel that way. I was deluded to be healed. But no. Salvation does not exist: there is no possibility of escape from the void.



This damn nostalgia.

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Moderat

Between the grammar and etiquette. For years, the walls of Turin, the posters appear periodically with a written peremptory: MODERATE. The capital is not enough to make the idea of \u200b\u200bhow thick and threatening letters that are written, that seen from afar intimidating as an army of bouncers deployed. When we walked past the first few times, it seemed to me one of those millennial messages such as "Zeus sees you" (See Charles pestle), and I happened to arrest me in front of it to reflect on when and how I had behaved so reckless as to justify a call from someone so energetic. It took me a long time to realize that that was not written an exhortation addressed to me and other sinners, but the manifesto of a political party, the "moderates" in fact, multicolored team that brings together nearly all the parties of fugitives arc Parliamentary by Rifondazione Forza Italy. Other
can not tell you about their political, except in the Piedmont are with the Centre and Apulia with the center.
The only certainty about them is that I do not know the Italian grammar, or that are rude. To avoid any ambiguity would have been enough emphasis, or at least that would use a smaller font. Not having done neither the one nor the other, you'd think that they wrote it on purpose. And what are the real ones the first to have to moderate.

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pierced

In the sense of distant, remote, deceased. In the past perfect grammar is more of a past: a past that is before another past, is in fact a sort of grandfather of the present. In the indication there are two types of pierced - The past perfect (I had begun) and the remote past perfect (I had finished). If you see any grammar, yet you will find the mirrors with the conjugation complete, in fact, that we study in school regularly. Unfortunately, as happens to many grandparents, even the dead do not have an iron health, especially the remote. Indeed, it seems that that is slowly consuming, forgotten in that kind of language that is home to many who are not accustomed to frequent and literature.
For the sake of completeness, I should mention that there is a well in the past perfect subjunctive, which is used for example in the hypothetical sentence ("If I could I'd come '). Even there, however, the speakers tend to prefer the past tense ("I was if I could ') that strictly speaking just a little grammar would be' imperfect, and yet, perhaps because indeterminacy to its flexible, enjoys a growing popularity. The
pierced, however, is not only a verb tense. It is also a state of mind, a kind of emotional premature senility, inability endemic decline of things in the future. Dead and those who say "in my day," as if "those days" were the immovable center of gravity of the story and not just a frame in the continuum of human affairs. Who is pierced in addressing the crisis brings up hours Keynes, now Reagan Roosevelt hours, forgetting that none of them would have even imagined as a perversion of the subprime financial. Dead and those who make comparisons between the Wave and sixty-eight, denying young people protesting against a reform school and university sacrosanct independent identity. Passed away (sometimes, indeed, even "extra-past") and Facebook, hatch providing access to technology with old friends, old photos and old emotions that at some point in our lives we led in the attic and now for some reason we decided to re-emerge on the computer screen.
do not know if you have noticed, but while the crisis is pressing and pushing through the future, one of the most popular consumer products of modernity has become the past, even the dead. The offer companies, TV and of course the Internet (Facebook, Youtube and sites for nostalgia), and is not the same operation ol'ancor more nostalgia than usual - and sought - fashionable revival. This time it sells the past because there is demand. The increasing demand for those (especially 30/40 year olds) who are moved in front of the new 500 seems too much for the old, creating community to understand what happened to "Supergulp" who upload and watch the episodes on youtube or of Portobello 'Another Sunday, losing his mind in front of a replica jersey Inter Herrera, who seek the meaning of her own life in the catalog of wrinkles and receding hairline on Facebook.
the rest is normal if you look at the past in front of you no longer able to glimpse the future. Strange that only in this overdose of the past, no longer use the time passed away.

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worth more than the practical - premiss

be true, as you hear it said that Italian is barbaric, that pollute the uneducated, that English bribed him, which newspapers and mortify him that television humiliates him, but not is the world's most ferocious and warlike army than that every day - from teaching school, located on the sections of newspapers and magazines, and lately from the blog - guarding the border that separates the language "good" the language "bad" . A legion of teachers, and veteropuristi neocruscanti committed in various capacities in many daily battles against the insidious enemies that could endanger the integrity of the language of Dante: this versatile, he and she used as subjects, "dislocations," he anacolouth, the disappearance of the subjunctive, punctuation approximate , excess anglicisms, repetitions, and much more. To inspire and support these devoted sentinels of a language "good", the blind and absolute faith in the virtues of saving Grammar, almost metaphysical entity that explains everything, all charts are all available.
In fact, the grammar - the miniscule - explains a lot but not everything, so classification is not always satisfactory, and as to have, is not that people always give so straight. Linguists in some way if they are made a right and working hard to make it less imperfect their theories and their descriptions, they are ordinary people not to give in and rely on the intervention of someone or something that puts the clamps on those so determined to insult the language. This book, which seeks to redefine the concept of error, to update the nomenclature and teaching grammar and more obsolete, and especially to rehabilitate, through examples, some alleged deviations from the norm, it is primarily directed to them. In the hope that they learn to take less seriously the grammar, and especially themselves.

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Why this blog?

Someone - I forget who and under what circumstances - told me once that the grammar is a bit 'as a leash of language: it is not escape, to regulate, to curb the irreducibly anarchic temperament. Beautiful image, I thought, imagining a woman in the act of forceful and authoritarian resist pulling a dog over-excited when it tries to drag it - she and her heels - in the mud.
Now, though personally I do not like to dirty my hands, I know the call of the mud, for dogs and language, is irresistible. We can educate them, bind them, maybe even punish them, but the day we leave them alone (The language and the dogs) is very likely going to roll in mud happy and carefree. Not only is part of their nature, but demonstrates their viability. A dog that does not stink is not a real dog. A language that does not get dirty is not a real language.

What is it then the leash? Throw it away? Do not exaggerate. Let's say that you should use it only when needed, when it brings the language for a walk in the most exclusive or between the pages of a book written. For the rest, just make sure that does not bark too much, and especially not bite.

This long preamble to introduce the blog, which is a bit 'the extension of the book where you see the cover on the side. A book which tells of a grammar and without heels, without a leash. A book that explains that those who barks really are the purists of Sunday, the "neo-bran lash out because they would like to see that the language always candid and disinfected. A book in which dozens of topics are addressed but are left out hundreds. This blog serves to fill this gap. And to trigger debate.

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L 'human existence is all the less comprehensible the more it grows every day the evidence of his utter inconclusiveness

ON AIR: How leaves, Malika Ayane
keep thinking that mankind is embarrassing. It 's more powerful than me, but I just can not help it. This does not make me an unfit asocial hopeless [at least not completely]: I can smile at people, I am kind, I speak with people, even go to the gym and I do not think there is a place most promiscuous talking about social relations and human contacts. Nevertheless, in secret, in my underwear, I fight against humanity: I can not even unconsciously of sided with him. And I know who is thinking suicide, self harm, even not very intelligent: I am part of mankind, by God. I also have a birth certificate: I can try. But I must essermene pulled out a some point in my life. And maybe go back to be part of it is not possible, perhaps - as some might say - who has seen the truth [and I've seen distinctly] can not be saved. Salvation is to feel part of everything. And I hate to feel part of everything. Although, in most cases, it would be much more comfortable: the sense of belonging inevitably makes life easier. Even if you are part of a minority of the people or the 'controtuttoetutti', however it is aware of belonging to a group, a group of people who have common characteristics or at least common goals. I'm not part of anything, in spite of myself I belong to the human race and live a strange one - existential chronic disease - a sense of inadequacy. Or estrangement, I do not know. And do not even know why I'm saying this now: it might be a little 'pathetic and - I swear - is absolutely not my intent. I'm fine with myself and with my superiority complex . But I happen to feel uncomfortable. Here in the world, among people who do not understand a shit [why is this: people just do not understand a shit], I feel uncomfortable. More for the world and for people that for me, I must say. But sometimes for me, for the person that I find myself having to manage: it is not easy to deal with me.

However, twenty I graduate in April. 'S official, definitive and very, very close. I hope that everything goes well, it's a beautiful day, that the Board is human, that the shoes do not hurt me, that I happen to stumble in, that my ass does not look like a bulky foreign body, that My hair is not at the mercy of my hormones, that my diction is not bad as usual, that the prof. both friendly and accommodating, that my be incredibly nice, he's perfect [and I know that it will be, because he - in his own way - it is] that there is too many people, that my legs did not tremble, that all the world will stop being the useless jumble of shit and to obey the laws of physics which is entirely to my every wish and magically make that day a perfect day.

And then he took me to Barcelona. And I - just - I'm happy. Because that saying before, that the sense of strangeness, that is always but with one exception. And that exception, as they have not fully conscious, is making me a better person. A smiling with your eyes, for example. A sleeping peacefully [and does not wake up even with an earthquake, unless the exception is not the intimate getting out of bed]. And that does not have to wait for the next wave of pain to feel real.

I hope that God does not exist. But, if any, really wrong job.


This damn nostalgia.

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... I love my details, trying to find vaguely quiet [and I can, at times] ...

ON AIR: Times They Are A Changing, Bob Dylan
whole world must know: you have to spread the word. And when I say I mean the verb: q HIS .

If all goes well, I graduate in April. The thesis proceeds. Sounds like The advent of center-left weekly in the pages of Today . That, perhaps, that it does not say anything. And, perhaps, also called coli. But I think it's important to understand as reasons, and - above all - how he reasoned the moderate people, what they buy, "the weekly magazine of the Italian family, in an Italy upside down, lying, sleeping, destroyed, hungry, angry [no, not about Masini], placid , ugly to see and live. I'm trying not to be trivial. One time I found it natural. Do not be, I mean. Now I do not know.
Sometimes, my grandmother seems to me much younger than me. I mean, you always want to leave. Not me. Almost never, I guess.

I want a beautiful pair of shoes. And they are very high. Also because otherwise, in addition to graduate, with that I'll wear the robe I'll end up making even cleaning around the corridors of Luiss. It'll be well topple moderate: they are willing to take the risk. So I'd like a beautiful pair of shoes that gives me a little 'sense of omnipotence.
Yes, some shoes can do. It 's a thing that men can not understand. But - I swear - that's right. It is to say, although I'm not the biggest fan of the female gender on the square. Indeed, we can say that I am the most bitter enemies. Indeed, let us say that it sucks. Indeed, let us say that I hate as a woman.

I sleep. Very sleepy. And I disconnected thoughts.

Please. Let's go. Enthusiasm - at least a little - And we're off. And then give me permission to feel happy. Please.

And the present now will soon be the past.

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The acquisition of firm boundaries does not make it back to reality: the reality does not exist, the reality is a mental construct ...

ON AIR: Blue Smoke, Mina
I want to be great. I want desperately to grow up.



a deep breath. And that's it. Just think, no, you do not want me, I want you, you more, I do less, you do not, I always you that voice, I those tears, you're doing that, I m'affogo in the city but so much the rest are pathetic, pathetic. It does not work that way. Not everything revolves around the insecurities that I have built a mo 'of crutches for my insecurity. We bow at the altar of Euripides nothing. Not after a clear choice. Why you have chosen, my beauty, your choice. So stop [stop] not to seek confirmation of the perhaps not: the horizon I was profiled clear, under the eyes. You said yes, baby [you said yes, you cried and you have repeated yes]. Just pretend that there is still the possibility of a choice. It is esistinta. Gone, dissolved. Or perhaps never existed, except in your little ego [stupid ego] in fossilized hint of farewell. A deep breath. And that's it.




[I graduate? Dunno, I have not written a word. But the way I do. the Christian family in memory of the resistance (1958-1963). no, nothing to do with popes and nuns. are not Catholic, I do. But so it is useless to say it. no point in talking about the exploitation of a civil war to justify the opening to the left of surviving men do not know whether to themselves, fascism or your hypocrisy.]





And [then] if a man knows how to smoke
but yes [but you] is really a man.

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nausea or how we should always come to terms with themselves ...

ON AIR: silence, only silence
I want to tell a story, a beautiful story.
The other day I broke something in here. Inside me, I mean. No, not that you have disappointed me. I can not be disappointed. I have been disappointed so many times, and how much bigger I own: my life, or perhaps life in general. Therefore it can not happen: no one and nothing can surpass the horror, not even equate to arrive. Not even you. So no, you did not disappoint. But I broke something inside, and now I find the pieces around the body pieces are sharp, my body is desperately trying to put back together. Or maybe just somatization, somatization for what they are: coconut, exactly. But it is not easy. They move inside me, roam freely: when should I eat my stomach tightening, when I think m'incanalano mind in one direction when I need to sleep kept me close my eyes. But they are the pieces of my love, the love I have for you. Love does not wear out and not even scratch: those are crap, crap for people who can not universalize your own mediocrity. Therefore I do not even think to do without you. Why do not eliminate the problem that is definitely true: you are not a tooth and you're not a gangrenous limb. Can not delete: it would be as if I had a bad heart and decide to let me grub. To deprive of the heart. We can not and you know it: I can not breathe in your absence and you can not breathe. The silence, yes, but not absence. Your absence, I do not even come to think. So I can not do anything but fight every day for several days: fighting furiously to save us. I
. I wish you called me tomorrow and tell me: "I'm coming to you."
I could not believe it: "What do you mean?".
"It means I'm here. What I came to you. Because I've been too afraid to lose you," you would say with that half smile drew clear in his voice.
"Are you kidding?" I replied. You
you laugh, "No".
"Oh my god" biaschicherei and then he asks: "Where are you?".
"At the station, which by the way is a horrible place." I
broken voice: "I come to get away. And then you lick the wounds."

An eternal embrace.

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An ocean of silence ...

rare in the lives of two
made slight gestures of affection and
day
substantial or not must move


as guests filled with caring and sensitive

not Disturb.



And it is certain that looks
you see infinity.



clash
cars as the roads are
angry bison prairie skyscrapers next to
sunny. How can we keep hidden


our understanding.



And it is certain that looks
you see infinity.



whole universe obeys love.
How can you keep a secret love.
And so it is that holds us in its chains.
whole universe obeys love.



How can we keep hidden

our understanding.



And it is in certain looks
that hides the infinite.



whole universe obeys love. How
you can keep a secret love.
And so it is that holds us in its chains.
whole universe obeys
love [love obeys].

whole universe obeys the love , Franco Battiato feat. Carmen Consoli

will protect you from the fears of hypochondria
from disturbances that will meet today for your street.
injustices and deceptions of your time,
from the failures that will attract your nature.
will relieve you from pain and your mood swings,
the obsessions of your delusions.
overcome the gravitational currents,

space and light so you do not grow old.
And heal all diseases.
because you're a special
and I will take care of you.



I was wandering the fields of Tennessee
[how I got there, who knows?].
not have white flowers for me?
Faster than eagles

my dreams across the sea.




'll take you above the silence and patience.
walk together through the streets that lead to the essence.
I love scents intoxicate our bodies,
the calm of August will not calm our senses.
weave your hair like the plot of a song.

know the laws of the world and I'll offer them.
overcome the gravitational currents,

space and light so you do not grow old.

I'll save you from any melancholy.
because you're a special
and I will take care of you.
I will take care of you.

care , Franco Battiato

This is love.

I feel so small.