Nemo Blog

© traevoli

Or me or them.
There is no other solution.
Or give them an inconclusive one of my possible future life (especially work) or rammed the door and I'm going. I am saying right now: If someone were to offer me a future away from here, I will go myself. With good peace of relatives, friends, acquaintances, a sense of belonging to my land, and various bitch. I'm going somewhere quiet, where the problems are able to deal with critical, where the solutions are always at hand (and, if fail to be, we shall strive to find them), where my work is paid for what is true (and not for what they want to subtly true), where prejudice, if any, are not the basis for violence, superiority or prevarication.
Here pulls a bad air. You want to say that it is not true, however, that this government is based on an overwhelming basis of consensus, that the Italians have decided. The Italians have decided this, this and this? So I feel more Italian, and is not a phrase so much to say. I am not paraphrasing Gaber, or I'm doing good ammantandomi with tonanti words.
I say reluctantly. I do not feel Italian. Before me was hard to recognize in my political, now I recognize even more in my people. And Excuse me, but sometimes I also do some 'penalty. So, yes, I will have it as soon as possible, stop being Italian.
Appenderò spaghetti, mandolin and nail to the mafia and become something else. Or, more realistically, remain myself in a crucible of others.

It was a beautiful toy.
Of those wooden slides in their colorful paint.
Solid, durable and extremely entertaining.
It was a beautiful toy to break. It does not matter that his owner passed hours to play, the polishing, it took in order. That toy was there ready to break. To prove something, in all likelihood. But it would be broken.
It now seems to have arrived.
I was too long away from this blog and something must have broken. Not so good either, but does not seem right (for me and obviously also for you) to let go forward the blog to inertia. Someone said recently that this place was like a deserted room, with walls and furniture scrostate in bulk. Likely. Similar effect to what I feel when we later.
So refrain from doing so for a while '.
The work of restructuring is never easy.

Here.
Reopens eyes.
The drops of water detach reasons, he confused and tumble to the ground. I still remember those twenty hours, what have meaning for me and what I've heard. But I decided to stop measuring the words, I decided that one way or another my problem now has become the opposite: not just talk. Sip phrases either. I should learn from the rain, guiding me from the case, know that every moment is good to come down. Without advance notice, without conditions, without rounds of words.
I have finally broken the taboo of a room that does not reflect me. I opened the container of enlargements of some of my pictures and I carefully pasted on wooden walls that surround three sides to my bed. I feel better now. Send a message and smile.
Maybe this rain will not really that bad.

... Birth to Crete but back in a week.
With the intention to post more often, think a little '.
See you soon.

... I wanted to keep still here.

©-Dr Feelgood

I press the button on the radio.

ON.
Gracidano tires for a while on ghiaino, then bite the earth with stubbornness and leave behind some puff of dust. One of those traces invisible is most desired by criminals, one of those tracks that you would like to leave somewhere, waiting for someone more intelligent of the other if they notice and give you the hunt. Un po 'like when you're silent but want to say things, like when the words no longer suffice and the only way to make some noise to be heard, is ammutolirsi. Lips sealed in most lockouts.
There are many things that should not be here.
Attitudes, for example. And that becomes a reason more than enough to escape to throw behind centuries of silence, bending with the butt glued to the seat temporarily and feel free. Even the roads should not be here. But the deal, make the docile, the fai soften with your reckless driving and risky.
A moment before, a peaceful lizard is insinuates among small stones from the street (divided, like all the campaign trails of Italy, by a thin strip of dry grass). A moment later, the roar of the engine follows the schiamazzo wheels on those stones. Some times lower all windows before you leave and then protruding dangerously from side guide and begin to shout at squarciagola. The sheep will go look and feel just a fast yaaooouuuuu. Then everything returned normal. The quiet campaign Sicilian swallows things worse than you do the night el'oscurità.
Then block the wheels, the car will tilt somewhat 'and everything is silent.
Come down from the car and the pubbirazzu you are sticky with sweat gentle to the skin.
Inspire and exhale.
And that smell of dried grass, mixed with that of olive trees, the lemon, wet earth somewhere farmer, the smoke of burning sterpaglie made this perfume - I said - you will not forget, even if they want. I still play Muse. Up in the car and turn off the radio. Now only cicadas and crickets are the counterpoint to this sound Sicily.

Post written for a small step

Buttiglione: "Eluana could also wake up, so, at any moment."
We would like many other miracles .. and awakening.

I am leaving.
Back in Sicily.
This will mean the immediate transfer of forced myself to the summer residence of the family (and with "summer residence" does not mean certainly looks like). This inevitably forced detention will add the absolute lack of any connection to the Internet (wireless, with wires, pedal, a hamster, a coal).
For this reason (and many others), this blog becomes vacations but will not even on vacation (except one week in late August, because travel to Crete). Will be updated from time to time. With little regularity, we say (in practice could also happen that you suddenly find your feed reader chock full of post because only in that moment I had access to the Internet). Then why I am on this little twitter, flickr, msn and so on.
What can we say? Ah, yes ... If someone comes here occasionally to visit, the key is under the doorstep, and open the refrigerator and drink something. Only one recommendation: water the plants.

© iananderson

Storm. Flood of words. Porte beaten.
Then silence.
My muscles that bend quickly ... and I was out.
My parents do not even tried to follow.
My legs became whirling wheels in motion, and my thoughts before sfibrati and weak, taking contours net, knew of certainty. The blue car rattle fast towards the goal, the palaces became sparse, and large neon signs occur one after the other. Off. Un po 'as my brain. Crisp, precise thoughts in a brain off and confused.
And speaking of the two at night, but three in the afternoon. The heat came from the sea, carrying sand and seagulls. And that sand stop being a front and pulled apart, spreads in the right lane of quell'enorme road. Like all the words that we had exchanged earlier. And, as those words seemed to wish away as possible from their place of origin.
A little touch and the slight smell of overheated brakes came to my nostrils. Some puff of dust and some tuft of grass. And then iron as the eye could see: dilapidated structures, tubes Innocenti, large scaffolding. Enviable scrap of a lost fragments of a past that paradoxically continues to live despite everything. Despite those who say that our manufactured goods are not made to last. But the iron does not disappear. The iron remains, as is this desire to escape. It does not matter that the last sentence is contradictory. Does not matter.
I sat on the ground. Among dust, sweat, dirty syringes.
And I thought that, after all, who built all this is not imagined the interest that would have exercised on me. It was money then and this is money even now, when it come to demolish, to throw down.
Contrary to what you think, ours is the era of destruction. The myths are the first target, followed closely by the ideals (in the noblest sense of the word), then they respect and meritocracy.
It 's just there, quell'angolo in the industrial area of my city, that I feel truly free. At the heart of the place where nothing is destroyed quickly. Every now come to take some beam, use it for a new building.
The day when there will also only a little grass and lots of dust ...
... I think tears.

Department. 10:00.
The door opens.
Prof. X: "Children, Professor. Y there will be today for the examinations. But quiet, you will examine Professor. Terrible. "
Panic among bystanders.