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.
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.
