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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.

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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.