Thank You For Sharing Your Special Day With Me

a promise is a promise

http://pensieriminimi.tumblr.com

Sì, lo so, il blog era un'altra cosa.

What Should My Cm Look Like Before My Period

that's all folks

Quando l’essenziale è nato era rosa. 

Un orribile template rosa shocking fornito dalla piattaforma blogger (che spero non si offenda).

Poi è diventato a pallini crayon.

And so I think it was for most of the time in the past four years.

When the main thing is I was born from suzie home, nondiario my high school then at university I had once seemed a skin is not mine.

We had pondered long before closing, or better leave it in the waves of the web as a wreck without crew or helm.

Every time I go back to look at it, I find that someone leaves also his comments.

Scroll down the column of links and I think of the people I lost contact, to those who have closed their blog to those that we feel about each messenger so aware that life is elsewhere.

I recall the feeling of having to close the parentheses.

What had delayed and pushed back for a few months.

And then one day I realized I could no longer write like that light-hearted, fun, light, because I had changed, grown, and things seemed more important. It seemed important to talk really me.

essenzialeinvisibileagliocchi Thus was born the name that seemed perfect, the 'invisible to all before that time, maybe even mine.

Four years seem to reread all four centuries.

With half a degree, France, people who go away forever, people who come back, a house of cards collapsing and being rebuilt in a few months, the school with my donkeys, Italy that becomes tight as a glove.

There is so much of me here.

I know that this attitude seems little consistency.

some posts ago, I appeal for everyone to continue to write on their blog and now I'm here to close this ad.

Sure it is.

inconsistent.

But sincere.

I do not want to write out of obligation or guilt for the sheer neglect of a project that goes on for years.

I want to write with passion and this is and always will be the only reason why I attempt more in 25 years with tales, poems, drafts of books more or less done, conscious of borders on the ridiculous but proud of myself, I can say that it left on paper or on the web a few words with a certain scale.

I'm not good with goodbyes, I'm not even sure that we can never really say goodbye to someone about something for the little that we are masters of the imponderable threads of our lives.

certainly continue to write and when this will happen again when I know what I mean and why, and be first / the first that will let you know.

For the rest I thank all those who have dabbled in these pages.

Who has a comment to those who merely read simply, who became a friend, a friend, who told me his, who has made his life and despite this blog ended up in there.

Brother

Old Indian Actress In Bra

glimmers

are the ones I see in these opening days.

Light, bright, fragile glimpses of a cascade of thoughts and the next.

After being rushed to reconstruct the ground floor, con calma, i miei confini, i miei desideri, la mia rabbia.

Domani c'è sciopero dei mezzi e immagino che in molti siano incazzati.

Tranne me. Il pensiero di restare a casa mi riempie tutta di uno strano calore, come la possibilità di qualche ora in più senza correre da una parte all'altra, rimanendo esattamente dove sono.

Andai nei boschi perché desidervao vivere con saggezza, per affrontare solo i fatti essenziali della vita, e per vedere se non fossi capace di imparare quanto essa aveva da insgenarmi, e per non scoprire, in punto di morte, che non ero vissuto. Non volevo vivere quella che non era una vita, a meno che non fosse assolutamente necessario. Volevo vivere profondamente, e succhiare tutto il midollo di essa, vivere da gagliardo spartano, tanto da distruggere tutto ciò che non fosse vita, falciare ampio e raso terra e mettere poi la vita in un angolo, ridotta ai suoi termini più semplici; se si fosse rivelata meschina, volevo trarne tutta la genuina meschinità, e mostrarne al mondo la bassezza; se invece fosse apparsa sublime, volevo conoscerla con l’esperienza, e poterne dare un vero ragguaglio nella mia prossima digressione” 

(sì, è sempre Thoreau)

Uses Of Wax On Genitalia

semaineprochaine

On Monday I'm tired, I dress with the wrong clothes and I feel out of place all day, raining and people had hits with umbrellas, sheets of newspaper soaked in water lining the steps of the subway. The station is as rushed as ever, full of a collective desire to depart or arrive as quickly as possible.

On Tuesday it is still raining, I have billions of copies to make, I try to hide behind the pashmina indigo and not think about anything, not to miss the train beat the Olympic record for Bolt, I get on the regional need of an oxygen mask, in is so hot that some passengers had fainted and lay clearly pour on the chairs.

On Wednesday I wake up without knowing it, are not aware of anything that happens before eight and a half when I find myself in a noisy class to suggest to people how to spell or Poitiers Orleans and not feel absolutely proud of what is happening around me. I eat the salad of farro in the shop where all are named with the diminutive and I do not know anybody, I eat standing up because two tizie blonde shades do not move their huge bags signed by the table even when I beg with his eyes. I curse my education, more and more.

Thursday is back so soon that the world is, or rather there is only rain, the only noise heard throughout the city, a pouring monsoon rain reassuring that rocks me while I sleep on the train listening to the latest playlist of sociology with the book on his lap.

Through the usual swarm of electronic toy airplane and I cabinet in ten cubic centimeters in meters, but as the world goes to Cadorna as usual and just one stop to raise the inflation of the umbrella from € 3 to 5.

On Friday I should be studying and instead spend most of the day pretending to regain your strength. I try to defibrillate with a cold shower, I lie on the sofa, promising myself that I'll be there only five minutes and instead I wake up after a couple of hours. In the evening I go out and before ten and a half are a zombie devoid of any energy, I feel tares hung on the eyelids, I get the red capillaries as the willy coyote. On Saturday

study something, I go out with friends, I play a guitar without me, I drink the chocolate with the cream, taste the chianti, and I think this winter is too hot, I want the cold truth, the feeling of driving off the face in the coat collar against the wind, gloves, skin that stings.

Sunday then it is almost Monday.