How To Build A Film Set

Post did not want to do, but I expect it to dry the glaze. Randomize

It is said that the end is usually also a beginning. In some ways this
is certainly true-and this could start a list of good intentions. Not find them particularly useful. This is to make decisions that could be taken during the year, but has not had the courage or the time or the strength to do so. And if every year at the end, he always exactly the same basis, if not the same dynamics, what should change? However
. We pretend not to think so.
Resolutions for 2011.
Weight Loss. And the thing is slow or fast, just that it is functional. I have no time or way no means neither wants to join the gym-but deep enough to lose a pound a month. With a sensible diet you can think of doing. Ergo: eat less, but also eat better. Reduce the amount of sugar, coffee, even if, however, I have to do as my intolerance is getting worse ...
Finish exams. not be able to graduate in December, as I wanted, because I would not have time to write a decent argument, but at least I would like to finish his exams. I can do? There are several rather large and ... But let's head to do so.
get out more. To be honest I miss my friends, but I always end up not doing so. Their patience, however, is something cosmic.
find a way to get a room in Genoa . Here no longer want to stay in the hermitage. Crazy.
be a little better.
E. .. Write . Write. Write.

Good things in 2010.
After attaching the screen for hours without being able to find ... Some people
. By Elena Sammy Alice Sylvia. Each in its own way, but they gave me so much, in many ways and in many moments [then kiss to witch81 and sammael_belial . And many others do now. Only because you're not here does not mean that you will not send.]
The world has widened a little.
Having discovered the music, really. Not that the first did not know it and not loved, but love is different now. A different understanding-and I am grateful to prof. Raffaele Mellace for this. Really, thank you.
OT, orpherica_tetra . What has occupied every corner of my time and my mind by the end of December last year, and that taught me so much, very much. About me, about my ability to express myself, but above all to hear. He made a creature of the senses, and I will not be grateful enough. For ulcers and tears and laughter. The sweat and blood. The obligation to give more. And love.
have found my platonic soul mate in this life when we are both heterosexual and gay men, and we want to be [but not to be together XD] but, in fact. I love you. My Lupetta. And here we salute antichrist_010 because we are. Apart from the rest.

There are certainly others, but ...

Things are not good, rather bad, very bad indeed, in 2010.
In fact, everything that does not fall into the category above. As the year began on average looked good, really, but ... things began to collapse. For me, summer is always a time of crisis, and it has not improved. Fall and winter have been atrocious. And I'm tired, really tired of being sick. And I'm tired of me, because so often disappoint people I care and show my worst side without a reason. Or that there are no sides, sides that are gone and there are a mess-I. But really.
I might add that this year will close with my health is definitely going to hell. In 2010 there are two hernias, ten pounds heavier, the recovery of my endocrinological problems, three of those pretty tough influences, and an endless series of headaches. As well as a breakdown runaway. Wonderful.
And then there are disappointments. There the ones that we all constantly, eh. But sometimes they are so unexpected to do even more harm. Why could not you just expect that some people that you've made four, so you gave without delay and time secrets and precious thoughts in your life, behave in certain ways. To force that then goes to the end. However

. No, end of useless post.
Happy New Year to all.

Watch Los Hombres De Paco From The Start

lost time.



STEP ONE - Write a post (the public, friend-Lokki, filtered ... as you please!) to your LJ. In the post, make a list of 10 wishes for the holidays. The wishes can be of any type: from simple things about the fandom (eg.: "I'd like a fic Dobby / Hagrid") to the most challenging things ("I want the DVD of BSG") until you want really meaningful ("I'd like a new car / computer / tv / home / Damon naked in my bed") The important thing is that these wishes are 10 things you want very, very much.
- If you want things to "real life" (ie not ff or icons etc), remember to add a post your account, whether your own or an email address with which Santa Claus (or one of his elves) could get in touch with you.
- Also, post these instructions in your LJ, so you can spread the Christmas joy.

PHASE TWO

- More LJ (friends, friends of friends or random) to see who has posted the list.
And now comes the important part:
- If you see a wish you can grant, and you enjoy it, realize the desire for someone. Sometimes our trash is a treasure for someone else, and if you do not want something or do not use or even know-how and where someone could realize his desire- do it.
- You do not have to spend money, unless you want it. The purpose of this meme is not to create problems for people ("ommioddio, as I do, I soldiii!") But to be the "elf" to someone, to spread the Christmas cheer. Gifts can be anonymous or not, the decision is yours.
- There are no rules in this meme, there are no guarantees, and there are clauses ... just one wish, and it could come true. Give, and you may receive. And the joy of knowing that you have made the holidays special for someone.

-------------------

Okay, just because I do not really to study * cries *....

1. A fanfiction OT. What then would die to read it, but I'd like to see it. Or something like test, fanart or something like that. To see how they are viewed, here. Sure, I wish it were done by someone that the people understood them enough ... ^ ^ "
2. A box with the DVDs of performances of works. Possibly Verdi, Monteverdi, Gluck, Rossini, Bellini, Donizetti, Bizet and Mozart.
3. So many things written by witch81 and we both know what topics.
4. Understand something about "The Gates" because I saw it once and I did not understand a damn dry O__O
5. ........... Someone to pay me the books, because I do not know how.
6. Laurealaurealaurealaurealaurealaurealaurealaurealaurealaurealaurealaurealaurea.
7. A room in Genoa. Even small and ugly,
8. The end of this period asocial and segregated.
9. Twenty pounds less.
10. A touch of serenity. So

Feeling Of Bruised Brain

Happy Birthday ^ __ ^ Volpino

.
E 'quite difficult question. Because today is the birthday of Chris, at least in my head and in my head my birthday that day, and is necessarily a Sagittarius, that adorable little fox. For the sake of plot, however, the suo compleanno è dovuto cadere ai primi di gennaio -e del capricorno non ha niente, il mio batuffolo biondo, però gli ho appioppato un ascendente sagittario con i fiocchi.
Comunque. Sì, cioè, chi se ne frega, immagino XD
Ma io gli auguri al mio piccolo voglio farli lo stesso. Voglio fare gli auguri alla sua forza incredibile in OT, e alla sua immensa fragilità in OA. Alla sua infinità capacità di amare, ed amare molto più di quanto chiunque altro sia capace di fare. Dando anche più di quello che ha, e con tutto il cuore e tutta la fedeltà del mondo.

BEST WISHES TO MY VOLPINO CHRIS.
PERCENT OF THESE CHAPTERS, BUT ONLY ONE OF LOVE.

And as his stomach, everything for him

You may not know, but it's pretty much like jumping in the dance of love Snoopy * roll * Oh, the I love it!
do not have much time today, but tomorrow I'll make a post [of no use] on the party who are organizing the boys I \u0026lt;3

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When you have too much time to waste.

This is something profoundly useless that I wrote a few days ago.
This is the character of the OT, of course.

What do you want to be?
[question about six years].

Chris.
-grow up I want to do that job photos.
-The photographer?
No, no, I want to take pictures. Those who always smiles in photos, you know.
-Type?
-type ones on television. Then there are the newspapers. On the milk carton.
Ah, but those commercials are actors!
-Model?
Yes. Act.
-Ah. So grow up I want to play. Want to
- the actor.
Yes. Always smile. If you smile it means that you are happy. And I grow up I want to be happy! Oh, that's what I want to be great! The happy person!

Jerome.
-great? Mh. I want to do a job that others do what I say. As the military-
?
-No! The military is dirty!
-There are many professions where you can give orders.
-Well, but I want you to be a force in which they must obey. And I can treat them badly.
"If you treat them too bad you can go to jail.
-I do not want to go to jail. Why should I go to jail?
-Because if you treat someone so bad it's against the law.
Ah, then I make the laws myself. How do you call those who make the laws?
-Politicians. If I
-politician, I can make a law that does not make me go to jail if someone treated you badly?
-Well, more or less ...
-Okay. So I'm a politician.

Victor.
-great? I do not know.
-There 's something you like?
-Music. And the white walls.
-Do you like white walls?
-I do not like that blue. Grow up I want to remove the blue from the walls. Who does it?
-Anyone can do it. But
-working, who does?
-painters.
grow up I want to do-the painter.

Louis.
-Boh. I do not want to stay here, grow up.
-Here, in the sense of Paris?
-Here, in the sense of the world. Of land. The earth is stupid. It's cool. And there are the dead below.
-Under the earth?
-Eh. Non-
are everywhere, you know. They're only in cemeteries. This
-you say so.
-So you do not want to stay on earth?
-No. I want to be in heaven. Want to
-astronaut?
-What 's an astronaut?
-are men who are in heaven, far away. E-
we going to do?
-walk on the moon. Among the stars.
-What a strange idea.
-Does it seem good?
-No. I do not want the astronaut.
-What?
-I want to do the star.

Ophèlys.
-grow up I want to be a painter.
-Why?
-Why I like it. There is a reason in the things that you like.
-Usually, yes.
-Normally, therefore, not always.
-You do not have it?
-No. It's boring to have a reason for everything. It takes away the fun things.
-Do you like good, then. The beauty
-like at all.

François.
-I want to do something where you use your head.
-In what sense?
-In the sense of the brain. Intelligence.
-Why?
-Why everyone says I'm beautiful. I'll be nice and I have to make the model.
-You do not want to make the model?
-No. Good ones are stupid. I'm not stupid. Not all beautiful-
are stupid, you know.
"But if you see a beautiful you think it's stupid. I do not want people to think it.
-You should not care what people think.
-I do not care.
-So what's the problem?
-What if they think you're stupid, do not listen.
-You want to make you listen?
Yes. I want people to listen to me. Although I have nothing to say.

Message Looks Like Spam Or Phish To Me (op) ##

19 things completely random and depressing to know about me. But no.

1. They are the things I love and obsessive compulsive in everything else.

2. Constantly ask excuse for everything. Even the most insignificant.

3. If you do not apologize, it's because I feel too guilty.

4. Not hardly greet people on the street.

5. I have a whim to disturb any form of life with my life. Ergo, [point 4].

6. I might one day make me a tattoo on his forehead "I've Been There."

7. I hate deep bureaucracy. But on certain days I like standing in line.

8. I love taking the train.

9. Writing is the only reason I get out of bed.

10. During periods when I do not write, for lack of inspiration or time, are intractable and depressed.

11. In fact, I * always * depressed.

12. I do not see my father for eight years.

13. I have confidence in myself that could have crushed an insect on the windscreen of a motor.

14. I'm too lazy to do even the things that I love.

15. I have some cyclical crises violent and frightening that I suck out of this world.

16. Since I started letters, I almost stopped reading books.

17. Even as a child, I was convinced I would die of nervous exhaustion within 40 years.

18. As a child I was afraid of the crocodile from Peter Pan.

19. As a child I was an idiot. But they are not improved.

Walimainvitation Greetings

The bell jar.

'm not dead, if someone is asking.
'm not dead, but I put under the glass.
I can not say from what I'm protecting.
Perhaps only by yet, stupid failure of my life.
further proof that they are not sufficient. That are not good enough, smart or prepared.
The prospect of yet another empty.
So here.
I know some are waiting for me. Wait
comments and reviews I've promised, and I do not know when they arrive.
coming, and I'm sorry.
Especially for you, bufr . They will come, I promise.
You saw me head down and shut in the glass case so many times. You know then they go out.
Sooner or later.
And you, my little one, sammael_belial .
I love you and I'm sorry. Many times I thought I'd send you a mail. Every time I tell myself that the mandate would not I'm going to go, and every time you do not send her, and every time, however, did not return. So here. I adore you forever. \u0026lt;333
And no, I'm not dead.
But sometimes need to protect themselves.
also and above all by themselves.

How To Identify Model Of Burton Snowboard?

Little Fox.

In fact I have nothing to say.
Sometimes things if they are holed up in the fractures of you, and get them out seems impossible. That is those pretty ugly ones. And, boh. It will be the nostalgia already too strong, or concern. It will be the anxiety of the exam. It will be the feeling of leaving too many things-awareness, to the truth. It does not have the mental strength to deal with None. Maybe because they are always the same, I will.
But I'm tired. And there were very few positive notes from Friday morning when I came back.
I want a share. So, why I want to.

I found this photo last night, and I can not stop looking. Because here the model of my Chris is a natural and beautiful, with that nose a little sleepy and fever, and a little sensual, and somewhat innocent, and some other things. I turn in my head, tied to the character. And Chris has * exactly * this' expression, I would say very often. It 's so, my foxy. And I love him.
I love this picture because it reminds me of Chris and how he should be back.
Sooner or later. Now the result of OT is more or less killing me. OA is a continuous pain.
And perhaps rightly so.

Tattoos Of Bam Bam From Flintstones

Theory of Literature. That?

Some days are so heavy that it seems endless. Come home and wonder what to do to win back-you wonder how to even return to school, but you're too tired. And then? So, if you can afford it, go to bed and shower and caffettino. Maybe. Wanting.
Oh well.
In reality they are just satisfied. E unsatisfied. Why
Literary Theory is a course that I vaguely horrible-my partner and we have called Office Business Simple Complications, however, here. I'm fine. I'm fine with making a preposterous effort to connect the concepts to each other, and try to analyze out loud when asked. I'm fine with leave with the feeling of being an ignorant one day and a genius the next day.
serves me right that the teacher remember two names, and that one is mine.
Because I was lacking, those subjects on which to bang his head furiously to understand, and really understand. A Literature there are many things to understand, there is more to be stored Which is enough-I on the boxes. A bit for the memory-sieve that I find myself, and because some things memorized me forget in a short time. But those on which I tossed, I remember them.
And then, it is useful. It 's a whole new dimension of the narrative, and some tricks for writing. Or at least * understand * what I'm writing ^ ^ "So
. Although not really matter how exciting, I have no time to be bored, because I understand, I have to interact and analyze. Which is fine by me. Very very good.

Dolce And Gabbana Swot Analysis

What the Hell ...?

talking to myself.
I am shocked. From a whole series of things-and I was especially the desire nor the time to list or discuss them all. A little bit anyway because no one cares. And a little bit because, well. In the end, only affects me. And I came to the conclusion that, however, all that's just me. I think I have reached a level of indifference that upsets me. Just towards the opinion of mankind. There I came suddenly, and there are even slipped slowly inside, this state of apathy. Why is apathy rather than anger tablet. In a package, lumps of anger pressed as polystyrene beads. And it's there. Sooner or later it explodes. I hope that there is too many people [or the wrong people] around me there. I make a killing. I hope to be alone at that time. And potermela take only with myself, because then much of the anger I went to look for. But many more do not. A lot, I did not have its deserved.
It should be used, but in the end who cares. Exactly. I'm tired, but at levels so exponentially that I could say that I'm sick HIGH TO "N", but not the idea. So, let's say I do not care. Although it is not true.
We see the positives. Imponiamoci to search.
adoratissimo and I saw my revered teacher History of Music. That man is love, is a god and is able to make beautiful the most horrendous of days. He can put me at ease, as if watching only my passion, then, must be a reflection of his. But, in fact. It makes me smile like un'ebete. And I am overjoyed to be able to give the exam with him, even if I change the program [having already given]. But it's beautiful to die, just the thought.
Today, then, I spoke with professor of Italian literature, which would be extremely available to be my supervisor. And now. I would love to make the argument with the man, the myth of the history of music, which is not only available, but also happy to do it with me. But we'll see.
And then? I fear that the positives are terminated. I could say that Silvia is a positive side-in fact, I say.
It 's my personal enthusiasm generatole university-it was not for her, maybe even go to class.
No, I would go out of the house. But, here. Maybe I would go elsewhere for college because I have a distrust and rejection that are comparable only to my level of mental fatigue.
End of the positive sides.
Even after having started the OT serves. OA is a tragedy.
sucks. Really sucks.
So basically.
The breakdown is not so far away.

Silent Treatment Counter

power of multiplication, come to me. For

I hate my faculties. As if we did not know.
I hate to be in bed, leaving aside the * reasons * that I have brought us. I hate to just the place itself. I hate the inhuman
disorganization [yeah, I had used speech therapy too well, I know].
I spent the last three hours to put together my curriculum. Also why do the curriculum free, and then, essentially, do what I want. Following the guidelines, okay. But anyway, choosing the courses that I like to attend. More or less.
because yesterday morning I went to the manager of the courses, which is then a lovely woman and super-inclusive, but they are happy not to have to give even a consideration. Perhaps then it is wonderful as examiner, eh. But, in fact. However
. She last year I had predicted a bright future without examination of Geography. Yesterday I did exactly what the contest, making note that * I * do the same. I'm contemplating suicide since then.
And then, here. Courses begin Monday and I will hurt just thinking about it. Please zero. Maybe not. More than not having desire, I have the anxiety of exams that I will find myself having to write, whereas I have to finish those in the first year. And the fact of having to type another ten, I slam a lot.
Vorrei solo finirla. Non ci riesco a prenderla con calma.
Sto cercando di condensare 3 anni+un tot in 2 anni+ un tot, ed è un'impresa che, beh. Eviterei un pò a tutti.
Peraltro, bramo il dono dell'ubiquità.
Perchè, per esempio: lunedì mattina,
- tra le dieci e le undici: Religioni del mondo classico e Letteratura latina;
-tra le undici e mezzogiorno: Letteratura latina e Storia dell'arte contemporanea.
Ma il meglio: martedì mattina:
-tra le undici e mezzogiorno: Storia dell'arte contemporanea, Teoria della letteratura e Glottologia.
Ma anche: giovedì mattina:
-tra nine and ten: Religions of the classical world, Latin literature and contemporary Italian literature.
And: Tuesday afternoon:
among the seventeen-and eighteen History and criticism of cinema, comparative literature and aesthetic philosophy.
Just a few examples. Uninteresting.
But anyway.
Shoot.

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Victor. Note

On the threshold of noise
[Victor]

In many ways the night
has no name,
has only one color .
In many meaning
the world has no size,
but only directions.
know, men,
that there are cracks
in which the voice of the sea seeps
-cracks dream
the cracks in his sleep.
When the fog
salt water
-spark.
grasp lost horizons
not enough winds
- their hands
watch for the sun.
not enough moon
- with halos and corners
draped in blue.
the streets never traced
not enough to silence
-even if it's the only thing left
; wedged between the lines.
Among fractures s'inciampa
and nell'ululato the dark
no going back.
are veils and gauzes
-razors are
words, on the wounds.
Atmospheres and balsamic are poisons.
Take me with you on the shore
oceans devastated without ports,
there with you on the sand
brittle of my broken dreams.
with you, cries when innocence
-when he screams louder.
When yesterday's uproar
a blow-bullet here,
here in my chest, and today
is a path to be condemned.
There, in your maze so beautiful.
The daily reality is so fragile
-dust, to sweeten hot water.
Take me with you
langue where the darkness.
Where comes the dawn
-with its winds, which then
I graze without scratching
the fuzzy skin of the heart.
Light,
take me where the angels breathe.
But do not touch on the way
these wings are too heavy-
and close and bleed
shadows on the asphalt and sink
and my keys .
; Io che sono il nero
portami a vedere il sole.
                    Coprimi le orecchie
quando le mura strillano
e stonano e rombano echi.
Il suono, lo creo per il silenzio.
Portami dove passeggiano
  whispers
and everything is and only barely perceptible.
Where the winds are
breezes and mists are dim lights.
There, the entrance hatch of the world,
there, my angel, love me and sighs.
not drop from the clouds
-breathing winds and chills.
And the hem of lace the night
that I may turn to your aurora
-your hopes.
Falle mine, let's crystal
-the doorway of the winds.

regard to OT, is the only poem that has been able to write.
Perhaps because there is already in the history of all the poetry I am capable of, or maybe because it's really him.
Victor is poetry, it is more than anyone else, each other.
not a question of love more or less than all the others. There are characters of which I speak is still difficult. But he
. I do not know. It 's like the white rose. Would you say that it is a black rose, Victor. But it is not.
He is white.
More than any other.

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super-ultra-mega-very important.

examination of contemporary history is gone.
honestly did not think to make it, I spent over an hour this morning while I waited to say I'm leaving now . What then is I was not prepared, but I had such a confusion in my head to forget even the subject of your choice. And when I saw that there was also the assistant crowds, his face took the shape of a guillotine. ^ ^ "Let's absurd that there was a warm, now in Genoa, and that I had made just three kilometers on foot and wake up without even a coffee in the body to go to catch the train. Let the humidity is 50 percent. The coffee machine to take me sick to incredible heights. And a girl I've known for years, but I know very little anyway, I blathered ear to the above-mentioned hours. Let's get that at some point I had also a crying jag, which in minutes before an exam I had never happened.
But, in fact.
I was. And it's gone.
And no matter who is a thirty-praise. Nothing to do with either the assistant [of course I had to give it to her, imagine if I caught the super-kind and wonderful teacher] helped me abstruse questions, and that I knowingly and consciously is the other way round.
The fact is that I can not reduce me to a minimum for an exam. That is, not human.
A speech was not. In bed.
that each exam will be like a rock on this new road, and that anxiety has pathogenic out of my way to * force *. The fact that I feel that I can not afford to postpone an exam-taking but not less than thirty. I do not know.
are exhausted.
Really.

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Please, tell me what * is * a human.

Unbelievable. If this is a man, if this is the world. I refuse.

I'm not a controversial person. Not much. This does not make me honor, but I tend to diplomacy. Though. Diplomacy, in a broader context, would be the basis of parlamentarietà. That would be the basis of democracy. What would be the result of the wars of the twentieth century, the system would be better and more representative of our time. Minorities. Rights.
But today, the rights were not respected. Not only that, I'm not really recognized.
is not a new thing, of course. We all know that. The
* know * that the rights, in reality, do not give a damn no-emeritus, however, who should not. Because even at the trial of the Nazis at Nuremberg, have important things unsaid, or have gone unnoticed tragedies like the Holocaust. Because when the world applauded the Communists, for their support against fascism, hid himself in the price of their revolution. Because today, today there is a woman who could be stoned to death for adultery, and there are still places in this is allowed. It takes an international campaign because a seventeen year old is not killed. It takes signatures and petitions and protests to stir something. And
are useless. A Nothing.
Nothing, because a blonde girl in red sweatshirt can put the puppies in a bucket, take them and throw them away in a river on stones in a river, breaking his neck or drowning, one, two, three, one after the other, while whining and crying desperately, and she laughs. Ride and resumes, quest'infame sen'anima and heartless, he recovered and put on public channels. And the law. What the hell is the law?
the Law by a fine. A. FINE. What is the point, can you explain this? Five thousand euro are NOT a punishment. Why this
* what * that I would not define the person, not even the only one. It is not the only one.
The world is chock full of such events. And the silence, the silence in which they pass such crimes [yes, crime, why put an end to life, torture, and 'a crime], the silence in which all this passes, it is indecent.
INDECENT.
fact, not indecent. Indecent remember something immoral. We are not talking of attacks on public decency. We're talking about lives torn, mutilated lives we are talking about and stripped and abandoned, lives used and ignored.
What makes a man better than an animal?
Who gave the right to exploit it? Who decided that man is superior?
Man has taken the world. And he did it by deleting everything that opposed him. Always.
It 's normal, you say. It 's the law of the jungle. The end justifies the means, right? He said Machiavelli.
If you study at school, will have had something serious to say, no? This justifies it.
But Hitler also studied. Who defends Hitler? Who will defend
MPs who have said Yes to vivisection?
guess their homes, they could defend the guard dogs.
But I hope we do not have the animals themselves. I feel sorry for these creatures.
Why would they would be more worthy of living compared to stray? The
are the same.
I * screw *. And as such, should be protected, dammit, should be maintained and defended and protected.
They have no voice, but they have hearts and feelings, have nerves that discharge impulses to pain, have the ability to feel love, true love, more so than any man. Why
animal love is love without conditions.
not tell you that you will love if you're thin, if you're nice, if you're good and kind and rich. Does not tell you who will love you if you empty the garbage, that will love you if you're a good parent, if you are an integral part of society.
The love of an animal does not obey any laws of the market.
Instead, their lives to do it. Why? Why he decided the man.
But who is more humane?
A dog abandoned in the parking lot of a supermarket that takes away from the kittens as abandoned cars, or a parliamentary overpaid approving the torture and killing of innocent creatures and will sleep tonight in the shelter his bed?
Tell me what a human being.
Spiegatemelo.
There is no end and as a means to approve the removal of life and the voluntary infliction of pain.
I want to understand what humanity is.
For now, I do not see it anywhere.

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Dream on.

I want to win the Lotto.
would be more correct to say that I need it. Because when you find yourself at the dinner for the birthday of the husband of your mother, and say out loud without realizing it, I want to go to the Greenland and stay there forever, away from everything and everyone , maybe discomfort begins to be a bit too strong. Maybe you are in the same psychological condition of the same time a year earlier. And think again, and think that has gone under the bridge an ocean, but you're still stuck on the shore. This Side. And just to arrive there, there seems to be so.
So, I need so many pennies. That does not make happiness, but, in fact. Meanwhile, let me look, then I will tell you.
Of course, I would disconnect for a while. But the only way to afford it, would not have to graduate at very short notice for the damned, are absurdly simple fact that back. As if I had the brain of a degree that if it deserves it.
And as if I had not already done everything the deck needed.
There are so many things I would do. Beginning with the charity-children, the sick, for the animals.
and gifts, I have a list of gifts that never ends. Apartments, houses, cars, motorcycles, travel. Travel.
thousand places I would like to see. Each with a particular person.
With the money I could change the lives of many people. People who have always fought, but has not yet seen the results so that life can not make the minimum effort to be fucking beautiful. Decent. Fair, at least.
not ask me for a while.
A studio in Paris, when I want to go.
moved to Florence.
Open coffee arts dream of a lifetime.
founded a magazine that goes by the scientific literature, the artistic to the doctor.
Then there are the most delirious dreams ^ ^ Type gather all models of OA and OT and host a dinner
^ ^ And do the same for the RDV, and give this dinner at R & F. In return for everything they have given and give me here.
make so many trips to Ireland. We helped many people.
A house for my mother. A fund for my brother, for all his future.
I can think of anything extraordinary, in fact.
dream is always nice. Pity then that the dreams you wake up.
With highlighter in hand, and a book on European civil war from '14-'45 end.

Jenna Jameson Pierced Nipple

"The possibilities of the use of speech in the heart of terror."

I've never been a very patriotic person. Indeed. Even as a child I hoped to get out of my city, even as a teenager I had great hopes about to leave Italy. For purely political reasons, more intimate that that policy-I have never understood anything, or almost. I remember in elementary school made us write an essay on how to spend the evenings before going to sleep, and design at the bottom I had represented my grandfather sitting in an armchair with a newspaper in his hand, and headlines "Scalfaro in prison" ;. Poor guy, even knew who he was, Scalfaro. Well. It is said practically non-political person. Never really found a party that reflects my ideas-also not too clear. I understand that it is not only far-right here. It is not linked to Catholic parties, as an atheist.
So I never discussed politics, or at least not often, unless you know what I said and to be certain.
And then, I am the examination of Contemporary History.
Needless to say I'm going crazy on economic policies and policies blunt.
But the point is another, the point is the book about Aldo Moro. His letters from prison, those family members who have saddened me indefinitely. And I know that every word would be weighed, because revised by the Red Brigades, in their complaint, and perhaps ridettatura the prisoner to obtain a text appropriate to their strategy. The "strategy of terror",
And it is 55 days so complex, made of layers and nuances and things said and not said, which makes it impossible to have a real opinion, why should I document myself much more. And as I said, politics is not my forte.
In any case, I left a bad taste in my mouth. The
Br, the choice of hiding in the name of an ideal right-wrong that was. In the end, no one can say that they have the right, in things like this. The error in the methods that are more in the ideas [except in exceptional circumstances here. Ideas such as the superior race are still to be condemned, already have them]. I could not even say that the Red Brigades were the first in the history of the world to fight a tragic and sometimes inhuman their battle. He did the Church. They did such states civil, and less civilized. But I digress.
It seems that I am giving them right, but I do not think at all that we had none.
What really saddens me, was the behavior of the ruling class, that they have to depreciate at all costs Moro-Moro, the same for thirty years worked alongside them, who had to know and understand and interpret. Yes, there are been cases of politicians who have tried opening-the "channel". Double, at State and even the Vatican. The imperative to save Moro
still there.
But I do not know. I am left with the feeling that you could do something more. And the murder of Moro, that on May 9 '78, is a wound that Italy still has to lug around. A wound that often avoids recall much, but it's like a cut in the mouth that remains open because the language [and then the words and the memory] avoids heal.
That was a defeat for the Italian State.
It also shows that empty coffin, in the Mass attended by politicians, after Moro, in his letters, he asked not to have a state funeral, because the State did not want to learn more. Neither of his beloved DC, from where he resigned from his "prison".
I can not imagine the fear, anguish, disappointment and sparse flashes of light of a man who wrote and fought for himself until the end. Who engaged in the written words, because they were the only thing that remained in those 55 days. In that hole, three meters by one where he was confined. It does not matter, it was not a perfect man. It does not matter whether, with all its moderation and its tendency to compromise, failed to give a new look and better for the country-a country that some have turned their backs.
She struggled and Italy believe it. They believed.
E, boh. Maybe I just wrote a bunch of crap-I am just that hot.
The bitter taste remains for me. And I still have those words thrown down at the moment:

long wave of absent memory, this is an Italy

of desolate heritage.

Wart Or Cyst On Thumb

anyver_deb @ 2010-08-19T20: 02:00

E 'became official on August 18, at fifteen hours and twelve hours in which time I looked at the window, then.
Officially, OT is over. Concluded. I wrote my classical sentence, what I write in all the works in prose terms, and that makes me tremble every time your heart. Even a little breath, and this time was different again.
Why can not I ever cried at the end of a story before OT.
was with me from the beginning of January when I started to write [or the last days of December, when I started the project] and has been with me forever. Especially the first few months, but also during the detachment who were in May and June, and now in July I thought incurable. As it happened, that in a few days, has written quell'irrecuperabile final, I can not explain.
And I think a lot of things, thinking about the drafting of OT.
kilometer walks in my room, and he flashes that catches me almost everywhere I-I learned to shoot with notebook and pen only since I started this job.
I think of the dozens of train travel-commute-with headphones in his ears, listening to its soundtrack.
And so I think of many songs and melodies that have accompanied all this, and you will be bound forever.
In particular, "The Kill" -30 Seconds to Mars song as the carrier. But even some classical pieces, especially related to 'Orphee et Eurydice Gluck. Paganini E, Then Liszt. How can we not remember and his Schubert Rosamunde for strings. Then, the song of my character as an atmosphere that does not go so well, so dark and sad, but that's perfect words for him. And those pieces [horrible]-pop, I can not not bind.
Then there are images that will never be the same meaning. The sea, for example, the color of the sea.
A white rose on a piano. The red hair. The black velvet. The sun and the moon, the sand.
The profiles of Paris. OT
I started when I was writing the third novel of a mythological fantasy series, and should not be just a joke. One way to explore and experiment, to train some sections of writing that does not satisfy me. And then
.
E 'became my life-my breath. Myself. Reading it, it holds 70% of me as a person.
There is a bit of me in characters, atmosphere, history itself. Reflections and distortions and discomfort and salvation.
And I was really saved me from myself, OT.
He saved my love for writing, gave me back a little bit of confidence, probably.
not love him enough, I think. And I'll never stop loving him. It 's a novel because it opens and closes, because it has a theme, around which a pivot turn, has a more or less nominal protagonist, and the road takes the beaten paths and leads to a conclusion. It 's a novel, yes. But it is not finished.
It will not end until they end their lives. And mine with them.
The following is in the works, the side also.
I will start it very soon. I fear that without them, now, for me, it is impossible to stay.

"It 's much less indecent sleeping together, that look in his eyes."
Boris Vian. Last night I dreamed

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anyver_deb @ 2010-08-17T18: 00:00

Victor.
What then could very well be the model.
And nothing, stood there and stared at me. She stared at me. She stared at me.
With those eyes that have nothing to regular-land.
was sitting in the middle of a room with white walls and a blue [why I say that Victor was] cross-legged on the floor. E Boh, I just stared. Maybe every so often spoke, because he opened his mouth. Just as soon as he does. But I did not feel.
I do not know, Victor always leaves me feeling this strange.
a weight that is heavy but not light. Block in some way. As a
Magone that is not in the throat, but in the middle of the chest. In the center, not the heart.
E 'completely absurd the effect it has on me.
I think it's because they have almost finished the OT.
A bit like if I was missing the ground under their feet, or something essential in the air.
's probably just a delusion, that.
do not even know why I'm writing.

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Someday.

Days
Days tired.
Days infinitesimal suppliers.
Days.
Days of mirrors blind.
Days all equal and endless
when everything seems to be glass,
when life crumbles between your fingers.
Days trembling.
Days when the whole world
sand is shining hour.
Days which is exceeded,
continually bypassed.
Days when the soul is oil.
Days of tremors.
Now that your sad song
no longer able to pay.
Days when cats cry.
And days when we cry.
any day.
Days of paper.
Days that no knife
size or emotion.
Days of nothing.
Days like me.

This poem goes back about four years ago. More or
less. But it is always present, is one of the few that I have never ceased to feel. Will be speaking of something vague and obvious and predictable, is that maybe the days are always the same. Background. And nobody cares.
I remember writing it in a moment of apathy. Complete vacuum, as if I and the reality we had become two-dimensional, and all slip. A bit, I was going through. It's not that I mind a few things that do not smile or other.
's just that everything seems a little flutter on a screen hyaline.
I do not know. Maybe I just feel alone.
The only good thing is that I picked OT. And who knows where it came from, where the inspiration is back. But perhaps it had always been here, and I just had to put seriously to the keyboard. I had to find something.
I think I'm lost.
And maybe I missed really. But
... boh. I have a feeling, for once, I find myself.
Sooner or later.
After all, today was sunny. Even if it was hot.
Above all, why was not hot.
And I got some direction.
E 'something.
Maybe.

The Notorious Jewel De'nyle

People & Love.

Non scrivo qui da un pezzo.
Forse non ho niente da dire -o forse, come sempre mi capita, ho troppo da dire e la congenita incapacità di farlo. Non mi riferisco ai mezzi. Mi riferisco proprio al fatto che i miei pensieri sono spesso del genere che potrebbe spaventare/adirare qualcuno. Forse il mio modo di vedere le cose è davvero troppo strano. Forse la vera voce fuori dal coro non sono io, ma è la mia testa.
Forse non dovrei usare questa pagina come un diario del cazzo.
Di recente ho pianto. A singhiozzi, proprio, su un mezzo pubblico, con una famigliola felice che mi guardava come se trovasse riprovevole il mio spezzare il loro idillio da Mulino Bianco. Ho pianto perchè gone someone who has become a part of me, or maybe it always has been. When I went to pick her up at the airport, I was anxious. I was wondering what the hell we talked about, and how many there would have been embarrassing silences in 5 days. Not one. Not that there were no silences. But those silences were comfortable only with people you know have a life, and often not with them. Strange. Five days with him the feeling that you were here forever. Having already met and lived. It 'was the strangest find myself without her, we find her sleeping in my bed.
In sheets with cats and Labrador ^ ^
Shoot shit dignity and healthy with a white handkerchief every time he touched me. I hugged and I melt like an idiot, maybe because nobody hold me over for the simple desire to do so, for too long.
I believe in the walls. I believe in human need to have all too human.
And I think there are people who can knock them down.
Just as I think there are other people, you'll read here, can do it with me. And they will. This time it happened to her, with that nose by wren and fingers icy, and that beautiful smile. E 'come to the airport and hugged me, and that's it. Ditto me. And I brought
everywhere, and I cried when shared. Away from her, let me see. In
Volabus, and then home, in the empty room and messy XD-
Recalling the tide of crap shoot, the moments maniacs. Endless discussions about characters-my, his, ours, of others.
dreams and aspirations.
The pillow-as my XD Sometimes he deserved UU
The three hundred and twelve coffee a day-coffee = magic word.
and the need to load it stupid of gifts and presents semi-serious.
The plush wolf and the squirrel looking at me from the shelf, as if to say, and what happened to her?
you are in Sardinia. At his home. Although I wish it was here ^ ^ "

Sometimes people talk to you. We are confident. They tell you things that would upset me, but do not. They do not change for you, but perhaps you change them for a while. Do you know more. Too much, perhaps. Yet somehow everything remains the same.
love them the same way. Increases the desire to protect them from this evil world, knowing that I will not let him. Why are stubborn animals UU
So you find a book of "The Little Prince", with illustrations and quotations, and think I'll take it. The like.
But you know you can not send him to never-never let them have.
But then, so it's good enough. Are not oggetti, certe volte.
Basta che le persone continuino a rotolare. E sappiano che alla fine della rotolata -e della fuga, qualche volta- tu sarai lì.
Comunque.

Poi, ci sono le persone che hai ferito.
Inconsciamente, e senza nessuna intenzione di farlo. Persone che perdono fiducia in te -che si sentono tradite.
Ne sto pensando due. Persone infinitamente preziose, che sento allontanarsi.
E ho paura di dire o fare qualcosa, perchè non so quali tasti toccare.
Perchè si sono sentiti messi da parte, forse, anche se io non l'ho fatto per niente.
Sono solo la solita idiota terribilmente distratta. Impulsiva. Casinista, che non pensa abbastanza prima di agire thinks too much and then having acted. I would say to these people-to S. and D. - I'm still the same, that my love has not changed, nor my dedication. I'm just hurt, and D. should know better than anyone else. But he will probably never read this post. And I would so willingly embrace
S. But so much.

Yes, I have become saccharine.
The post is long.
Forgive me ^ ^ "
\u0026lt;333333333333333333

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Nothing. "Things blue", maybe.

I do not have a clear idea for why I'm writing here.
Maybe because I write elsewhere, but for some reason are blocked.
Too much fear of that final.
Me take him back for months, and do not seem to exist. Precisely, in the head.
everything moves slowly. The characters seem to bubble in a sea of lava-swell on the surface for the time to look at them, they explode, you lose. Return. If they go, yet. I do not know.
may simply not have never been able, from the beginning.
And so I lose time making pointless video, but my days of going on vacation without my having arranged a worthy anything.
On 2 August is not so far away.
It is the day that I, * I * start again. Decide how to organize the schedule of tests from September to November.
Trying to leave no in January, but do not really know how I never do.
go mad. I'll die.
And oh well.
always said that I would die of a nervous breakdown before 40.
I did not think first of the 24 ^ ^ "
And then ...
anchors.
Forecasts. Thoughts
ch are built on memories.
on misperceptions.
Things not to say and such, and things to say unsaid.
I think I will not let him finish 2010 without having been to Paris, at the cost of going alone to New Year.
I have to go back, I feel that I called. I have to see. Breathe.
reflected in its ambiguous forms and beautiful.
I think I want to embrace a person who has recently been with me so sincere and open to being moved. You're an amazing guy and I love you. This could never change. Never, however.
you. And just enough for me.
I think the sky is too blue, even at this time. Makes me melancholy, blue, always. I do not know why. But push me to look further afield-even small things make me blue this effect. Even a rubber band for hair.
know something more. In addition
.
Yes, for me, blue is the color of ' well.
I think I do not ever seem to I write poetry.
And what worries me seriously is the fact that I miss.

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anyver_deb @ 2010-07-14T15: 07:00

To all the people who commented on previous post.
To all the people who have not done, but I have still supported.
The question is not gone.
I have written to the cut and I could not even give the hearing.
Obvious.
never been able to translate Seneca, I.

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love at the time of social networks

my love but because people do not understand why I'm not going to make public our love story?
What we're together for life and who knows us knows I do not need to lay down half myspace or facebook.
I do not need to see the world through our trips, all our private moments to the world.
those moments are immortalized in our behind the goal! were made for us those photos to see each other again in the future. For Us.
Few pictures are few but I think there are two just to see your face every now and then in the public square.
That I love you and I have chosen tell you in person and only you! I do not want unauthorized persons to read our feelings. My feelings you will communicate with the silent language of the eyes!
I came to think that those couples who live their love continues as a public demonstration did not really know the meaning of love and sentiment. Confuse it with a mental condition in which one must show "that we couple pussy" and are not able to say I love looking into his eyes but fail to love each other only if they read that you love.
As if they were a novel. How

I find this degrading thing!

Fortunately we are on another level ...