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Was ambled.

For me, the feeling of being particularly stupid is the norm. This feeling about the academic year had already facing in the first half, when I had convinced myself that certain matters could not be followed. Four courses that were sufficient, given that I still had arrears of examinations [trying not to think of the two sessions that I had gone to hell thanks to the Latin]. All right. Of those four tests, two I have given them, so I gave it to you if I had third notes and books. But alas. So.
And then, I could not condemn myself to death even following four courses this semester? But certainly
NO.
And certainly not because I'm crazy, basically. Because in my head, I have to finish. And I keep on telling me, dying and selling my soul to some demon to some crossroads, I can finish my exams in September, and so to graduate in December. With an advance ... Well, almost a year. However. It is not a feasible thing. And I say and I repeat to see what I can do in April, tell me before defeat.
also keep telling myself that I must send to the professor SdMusica the mail because I write from what is holy, the letter of recommendation to the Erasmus-which I would automatically slide the graduation in March. But since I graduate in March while However, in December because it is impossible, at least it would be for a good cause. And the positive sides of Erasmus are endless.
do not know why I do not. Maybe I'm afraid to fail once again. Who knows. However
.
After a first half in which I attended, yes and no Modern and Contemporary Italian Literature and a monograph on the beam of SdMusica [and I can only reiterate a matter for the simple fact that I loved her to madness] ... here we are. Becoming embroiled in:
-Geography.
We want to talk about? The staff is wonderful. In the sense that the passion he has for his subject is beautiful, the love that makes you beautiful, the photographs that there are splendid exhibition of his explorations, MA. Ie. E 'geography. Geography . And the geography of the world, the series * What is the capital of Paraguay? *. No no. Geography of the Alps. ALPS. Of ski resorts, I swear I'm not making it up. Six books, one of * names *. And examination blank maps indicate where the fuck I know, the reservoir area of the mountain range Vattelappesca. And so, I'll die. Also because it takes the signatures ...
-History of Modern Art.
The fault is two events: the flood October and my inability to make predictions. The day of the flood in Genoa in October, I followed the first lesson of contemporary art. I did not like. And I convinced myself that the flood was a sign from God that I ammonisse NOT to continue. Just like that I had to do an art. If I had barely been able to do some calculations, I would have said: I do not need nine credits. I am just six. Can I make art history and Eastern Europe. Instead ... And the man is great, eh. But really-if not taking the signatures would be even better, of course. If we do not do a lesson in the classroom cold in the basement and the other one in which the light has only one internal circuit, so we must take notes in the dark because the lights do not see the pictures ...
-Philosophy of History.
Because of masochism did not get enough-and even to spend one million euro in books, too. Of course, if the books they were. If all do not go back three decades ago. And if I reminds me a bit of philosophy in high school, damn my memory-Emmental. I become hysterical for the examination, I already know ... Also because, after all. Letters are the only one. The others are all the Philosophy ... I'll figure indecent, I know. Essay and examination and all. No. At least I like the teacher-is How do you explain a little difficult to follow, beyond what he says, but anyway. I wonder if Kierkegaard's three books take me to suicide.
-Philosophy of Language.
Ok, this is easy. In every sense. There are only six credits. I have already given the same test to speech therapy, and unknown to me because I did not have before. The sore point would be times I make it impossible to follow, while this man is crazy and I love it.
But still. You can not have everything ...

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feel the pain

I want to be equipped with a switch, which spengesse what hurts me inside to order.
I want to find a cure that flows in the veins of the purified.
And I would find a place to go away, so far as not even remember my name.
There is a place so far that makes me escape from myself, there is no place far enough.
I'm just hoping that the time gates soon.
A new wound, a new path.
Now I just want to eclipse, not to think, to drive them away.
What hurts, what hurts, what hurts.

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illusions ...

Where does the phase of the misunderstanding? We do not know, because sometimes things can seem like a thing rather than another? What turns does our brain?
We know only that in these cases Blinda everything, and try to make it more subtle as possible, even if you do not know if it was misunderstood illusion, or more.
say I am strong, I'm strong I can do, and I just want to cry, but tears are pushed back inside.
I'm strong, I can do.
Check the beats, check out the reactions, while inside your senses go to hell, in a swirl of something even know.
And would you cry, you want to know if it was only your illusion, and you do not have the courage, perhaps for fear of the evil that you would know.
If I could have another you in front of you to slap the same, with all the anger you have toward yourself.
I'm strong, I'm strong, I I can do.

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i am alone in this hall of dreams ....

I do not know what the roads will take from now on, but I'm sure will be different from the path of common people.
I want to be myself, to the end, find my place and my role under the sky, let things go without forcing them, to let things happen if they have to happen.
And do not cry, I kill the soul if things do not go in the direction I want.
Eventually, life, the case is only a river, and you can not swim against the current, especially if strong and overwhelming.
I never want to wonder why my life is not as it should, because it is a continuous chaos, why not port to any port, and goes well enough.
So I do not want the feelings that I feel I destroy, but to help me understand myself better, I feel like in a chrysalis.
I'm just trying my wings, I'm just trying to get out of this cocoon and fly away!
often feel that my place is not here and not now, but there's something inside me tells me that sooner or later I will find my journey in the place where I can finally say "here, is here now .. I can not stop. "
Sometimes I wonder why fate has wanted me to go through all these streets, sometimes I wonder how long will take me away.
I wonder why I should always be the backbone for the other, why can not I just be once in a while, weak, to say I too once in a lifetime "I need someone to help me bear the burden."
I never dreamed of Prince Charming, I've always been a "princess charming" for myself, and I will continue not to dream about it.
my heart every time you lose, sometimes someone would tell him "I hear you, I understand what you feel, I'm here now and everything will be fine."
But I'm just childhood dreams.
And I'm alone with my dreams .... alone with my thoughts ... alone with my feelings.
like I'm on a cliff and I tried to scream, but nobody can hear me because the wind blows too strong.
So I have to decide whether to fall down or just wait for my wings are formed.
Sometimes I would just disappear.

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Come inside me, do it like a poison which destroys everything, like a liquid that burns the veins.
Take me, without thinking, stuck under my skin.
One moment, suspended, away from the time when the chaos subsides and lights.
As if everything did not exist.
Come inside me.

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Night Shift, Iris. And Calliope.

not write poetry for a while. I think the last dates back to at least six months ago, so, here.
I'm glad you're back in some way. Not much of a girlfriend-and inspiration Montalian is all too obvious. However
.

On my shoulder.

Reflections and ice
sott'anche
up the bay of my lights was uninhabited desert

;
water and no chalk on the mud
flushed sky blue. Now where

bring these years oblivious
-between their fingers,
gold between the eyebrows - if not thin out


mists that still knows how to get dark
a waste of auroras rippled?
never returns to the sun. And if my tomorrows

are still behind me
-inflammatory ridicule, and curls - How much hard
redefine the fox.
I have my own now.
If there is a de-ice
now that now that she's me, but I'm not her.