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I finally closed that door.
me there It took three years but finally came home Zenigata. I swear that I tried many times to really close the door, but it was so heavy ... other times I pretended to try, to make you believe that I had not surrendered. Two days ago I closed and it was a relief. Last night I dreamed of the past, but not mine. Gave me a headache and feel like crying because I realized that pretty much what I was missing with the door still open and my whims. And this great thing I'm afraid to lose it now that I have it ... and the fact that a dream so much influence on my daily life is a bad sign. " But I go further, because I closed the door with a nice bolt, leaving behind a box with all memories, pictures, songs, stations near the sea, the stupid, the movie with the lights off, chips and cosmic pessimism. From that point of view, I finally feel good.
you close to me at that moment was crucial. Until a few hours before I would have preferred it had not, because I did not know how I would react a certain way and retracing did not want to ruin everything. But in the end you were there and I was reassured to see you from afar. Even for a moment when I looked toward the window, imagining that no longer see a face so familiar behind the white curtain, you were and you did not say anything. You're changing so many things and I did not expect. The changes have always scared me. There is a phobia like this? If there is no up myself, because I have it. I'm afraid of spiders, clowns, the dark and changes. But now I'm quiet. I think, of course ... because I can not help but think about it, you know it I broke his head in thought and even when I sleep I do not ever relax. And even now explode ... but look how things change, do not explode because of you. And 'I do not understand what is happening and where they are. I am a crumpled doll placed in the trunk in the attic. Why can not I move ever, because they are messed up, because it happens that I have to struggle with the inevitable questions of responsibility. But in a letter replying worried and I see no answer. I am a bit 'wrong, I would go the emergency room.

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Pratolini Vasco said that ideas are not afraid of those who have.
Pratolini spoke for himself, I suppose.
I have a closet full of ideas. They are all stacked, messy, messy.
I tried to arrange them according to their colors. I tried to arrange them according to the seasons. I tried to fix them thinking about what I liked most and that I would use it more willingly.
There are successful, a green resting on my couch at a time, being careful not to bend the corners. Then I stowed in the closet, under the shorter dreams. To put them in the upper doors I even got a red chair, and there are rising on back first the left foot and carrying all the stress on the knee, while a small grimace of pain on my face painted. Then I drank a cup of coffee.
One day I needed a bit of an idea 'hidden. I realized that my attempt to order them was not going well. I pulled to a corner, with painstaking care, and I felt like collapsing coffee seeing all the other ideas on my shoes. I had no desire to put them back in their place and started to throw them in the closet, letting you mix and mingle and disappear and hide and fold and accumulate in the dream longer.
If I open the closet are still there. There are many, are my own and I am afraid.
Vasco Pratolini talking about himself, I'm sure.

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bombed the influence of aspirin effervescent and then spacciamola for a peacekeeping mission.
And just say the film mentally, then I feel too Sophie Marceau in "Boum" and it's fun all you want but until a certain point.

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go to a festival of the book without money is like having a bottle of wine but no corkscrew.
In three hours of walking through the stands I noted, almost in vain, all the books that I wanted buy. Cinema through the mirror. At least the bread, Fidel. The prejudices against Gypsies explained to my dog. With almond-shaped eyes. I wanted to Ringo Starr. The archetypes of the cinema of fear. Saxophone Street Blues. The city of oblivion. April is the cruelest month. The man without a past. And many, very many, perhaps too many others.
Yesterday the smell of printed paper as strong as I felt when I was a kid and I had my words. Probably my mom I already imagined writer or journalist, who knows. Maybe I imagined it as well and I was all visionary was certainly better than now, I am unable to imagine any role, profession, city.
E Speaking of "visionary", I thought of the film shot with the camera dad. Stuff that I hope has disappeared into thin air during some move. What then if I were absurd to find the tape, no doubt end up in the annals of the history of Italian cinema to be the first feature film actors in the flesh without bones, with a single voice actor (which was also the director, cameraman, director of photography etc.. then .. that was me), with two extras, with the fake blood that tastes like blueberry and a location inaccessible to most.
I have to try that tape. And 'the testimony of one of the many crafts that I wanted to shoot a child. Director, writer, journalist, stage actress, dancer, astronaut, selling sweets, salami, herbalists, criminal psychologist, drummer, singer, guitarist, bassist, bass, piano ....

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"You need not be communist to oppose Berlusconi. E 'enough to be honest."

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"Sometimes I think it's normal, try a wild and healthy desire to hurt, and it is not true that you can remove, simply choose to swallow or vomit, all the excuses and tailings laments, hold strong to break you two or three teeth. Sometimes I think it's normal, loose lips no pun intended, and be with me, until me, the master of your body and your big red eyes, an accomplice of the world without many compromises. Sometimes I think it's normal, I with my River tributaries will result in that sea, if you know why, tell me why, with me crying, games, and smiles with his eyes open, the same eyes that howl to see us. "

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A pound and a half of lobotomy, thanks.
" I put a pound and 800, What shall I do? I leave? "
leaving, leaving. That makes me comfortable. What I do not know if just a pound and a half. What if I again like last night I will not infused raspberry and hours night focused on the buzzing of mosquitoes Pisa. What I do not want to hear about great visual syntagmatic the column with the stomach in an uproar. Not that I'm not going to save me from even Mastroianni. What disturbs me your interest in my emotions and your staring at me every time I walk past. My mother feels that my nausea even along a telephone cable of 870 miles ... "and make me" What are you hurt? "" I would say. I hate to feel impatient, because I realize when they are, and become just nasty. That a thousand other things.
So let, let the pound and 800 of lobotomy and if it makes me even happier is un'aggiuntina.

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walking down the road and I saw that picture. Four of them crossing the stripes, Paul without shoes and with a lit cigarette. How many urban legends about him, how many conversations between me and me on when, sooner or later, will I go there, as postponed. Today I made to postpone. He was there and I took it. I should not but I did. Now it is here, along with other records. Abbey Road. 1969.
A moment of materialism, but for me today is Christmas. And I fell sick.

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On Monday arrives with a backpack on his shoulders and a colorful umbrella.

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that there is no need to live poorly And now

Yesterday morning I woke up and I wanted to write my dreams on dell'ipercoop brochure. I wanted to write but do not forget to see them further away, that make me live bad days and I know that is not the case.
This afternoon I woke up and I almost wanted to take a train to check. But cristiddio. Go to the airport to take the girls to meet and take a shower with a bar of soap in a maze of purple brown baths. Walking barefoot on the asphalt and realize that everyone else go in the opposite direction. Meet a person who smiles while speaking and not understanding what he says. You talk about his new play, come and see me if you can because I care a lot, and not understanding what you say. See his face different quasi contract, and the hands holding the wheels of a wheelchair. No, there is no need to live it badly but it looks real nasty slut. Weep and you say, I'll definitely see you, I promise. Watching them, hardly able to move around and talk and remember when you pushed me to overcome the limitations that may force myself to myself. That there was nothing to be afraid, those hands that I would be obliged if I would be good and god up there. Continue your way and take a train on rails so steep that I can not stand, but if I fall I know that I go to the spiders and then I take refuge in a narrow bathroom, with a mantis that comes out of leaking pipes and Anna the train and I can not get it. And then get off near stage of Taranto, and drinking vodka with Russian women that give me the shoes. And yet again the image of him that I can hardly understand and when I wake up there is still strong enough to want to be sure that it is not really so. And no, it's not, but still nasty bitch. I passed the desire of lucid dreaming.

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Every time I try to change the road is your ghost that stops me. I am slow to walk, often hesitates at a crossroads, but you do not stop me and make me pass. I want to go back but I'm afraid to share my thoughts with that. That place does not allow you not to think. Gives you the illusion, you think that there is nothing more than water but not so.
Norway is melancholy. Each trip is melancholy. This house with walls that collapse is melancholy. ... All I remember thee, the sheets of paper, photographs, sheet, that are interwoven in the legs.
's all gloom, it's all I want to vomit throw out thrusting two fingers in his throat. I sweat and I feel calm only if the water splashes that I arrive on the face, while I cling to my gray jacket and I think I should have known that the North is colder.
I still want to get lost in the mountains, walking on pieces of wood, thinking only of silence and the rain and not to us that we have not for a while ', and You know what, I know that is how things should go.
Pisa, hot, tight, nasty, slutty, alcoholic ... jump into the Arno and without sucking mosquitoes and robbers with your portfolio. Then come back to me Norway, with cafes that smell of dirty water and lack of sunshine that you first and then you squeeze a baby cot.
now floating, swimming, and eventually drown in the air. I want to climb on the rocks with bare feet and I will also not your outstretched hand.

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birth.

I have not loved that much these days, without thoughts of migraine headaches by thoughts of stolen wallets, documents lost, of mornings spent in front of a door, of swearing that it is hard to count, to sprained ankle, the words that come out and misunderstand, but also for words that are so clear that it is impossible to misunderstand ... days of unseen stars of ruminations on time lost, mosquitoes and need to stop for a moment and give respite to the brain, liver and heart.

The table describing the main symptoms related to different levels of blood alcohol concentration argues that if Mr Breath began his vocals to 1.78 are:
Stunning.
Aggression.
depressive state.
Apathy.
Lethargy.
serious impairment of physical or mental condition.
aggressive and violent behavior.
marked difficulty in standing and walking.
Hypothermia.
Vomiting.
If so says the description table of the main symptoms related to different levels of blood alcohol concentration I can not replicate.

But they were also days of tents, women who speak and hair dyes, countdown, imagination, smell of fresh air even when there was no knowing that there will be soon. .. days of fires that do not light, of afternoons asleep, awakenings surrounded by cotton wool, to me that I think would be nice to finally find that you do not even know who you are, but in the end I'm so well, that is not the worst of my ills.

Days that end tonight to make room for others ... I'm already there, I can not imagine where good but I feel the fresh air and the desire to see him and feel up to being sick, until reach the North Cape.

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My mother was right when he says that in life you never stop learning.
I said to myself today: "You see?" In life you never stop learning. ".
The problem is I seem to never learn ... and do not I ever learn that in life you never stop learning.
E 'need, it is essential that I learn to learn.

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I hate the 29th of each month and also 30. And I know that today is neither 29 nor 30 but I'm thinking back now and I need to write to remind me to throw up twice in the dates.
E 'bad thought to be the only one with the guts to go round and round and round and shake and shake and shake so as to create braids as if they were on my head as a child are almost touching but now it's just illogical.
braids illogical, illogical, the sick, illogical hatred for 29 and even 30. We have everything in a box and sotterriamola the park, between the sea and the gas station.
Help me bury this box because it weighs too much and my arms are weak.

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I doubt we can continue to bite his lip for much longer.

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The black man is hiding under the bed and in the closets of the children's room full of dolls with eyes stained whitebait.

But if you look good is also between your sheets and moves up and no noise. It 'a worm.

Strip, then hisses and bites you. E ' a snake.

Grab your legs and you pit with the nails and then a deduction of 7 vials seems a stroll on the promenade of Livorno. It 's a cat.

clings to your hips and you drooling on her, grunts and your skin gets hot and wet under the weight of his breath. And 'Black Man

Ti plate, crushes you, you do not breathe. Feeling in his bed as related in a room covered with foam.

Meanwhile, there is snow outside, where you wake up in his underwear without understanding why. The light is far away on the porch, the smell of gas is strong and wet hair there's red dust. Them in the dark there are dangerous things. Push out the front door is a losing battle. You wake up and vomit, like when you realize that you could have to vote for Batman and stir the vodka to beer, smoke and start screaming in the street taken by a fit-fascist, and you hear the voice of Eddie Cochran muffled coming from the room with the portrait of Lenin .

all'incontenibile should remain defenseless in front of tobacco and caffeine, which I take as much as the black man, you do not know but you are always close and you sniff his neck. A coffee, a cigarette, talk to doctors with an anachronistic monarchy faith. Falling chunks of ice and cold reminds you snow, that snow. Retching.

wiring, coaxial cable, broadband and multimedia convergence. A cigarette every 50 rows.

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A mild remedy, but he is stronger. I'll end up under the sheets, if you're not careful.

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That made me hurt

Do you remember when I told you that you make me sick? When I prayed and I took care not to scream with your knuckles cracked lips?
When we went in the countryside near the prison and I was afraid of everything ... the noise of the fireflies, clothes falling? When
vomited for hours and my stomach acid was love, there was sex, there was amazement and awareness, you were there? What if you had asked me what I wanted to do is sleep and the light of your basement blinded me and I murmured something like a child when I woke up at my aunt's house to take me to bed.
Do you remember when I said that everything was fine, and I understand that you expected? It was not true because I wanted to swim a fucking hive and fill wounds, disfiguring your face with poison and destroy my room that I had never heard me.
Do you remember how you said that did not respect your decisions? I gotta be like a dog in the back, eating the flowers you gave me for birthdays and that you were falling from the pockets of pants while kneeling in front of you made me go to the American bases with a smile. And my servility that made me suck him slapped with wet hands of active ingredient: alprazolam and beer on offer, while you on the phone you said that no one forced me to do it but if you do not get excited I called and ended that I was leaving and I was not good, because you had to leave you be.
Do you remember when we fight in without telling me ended and that I was not to be like and I will say straight away that I had to drink so we went instead to go with the car between those bushes? What time do not have them cut and you can no longer hide and smoke and fuck are not going well, but to bring the dog to pee is the joy of the citizens. And the cops will be happy, which will no longer stand in the parking lot and knocked out the windows steamed up and to
pretend to count the syringes and used condoms fantasize about.
Do you remember when in the room seemed to be on different planets? When there was a wall between your bed, where I spent the day pretending to read, and your desk, where you would sit her back to me and forget to me? That would have destroyed the wall with your head if only I had not been afraid to piss blood, not so much as to bring out those little truth from the rubble, then I would be forced to do it once broke through the wall and seeing you once again from behind , again without me. And I should probably already tell from the silences and absences, but when I look out a window I refuse to see only buildings and streets and you have always known.
Do you remember when we went months without making love? I looked at him and seeking an explanation, I also searched in my bowels, removing skin and flesh little by little with a spoon. And I would not find anything. Because you said you were and I was really a bitch to think it was me but maybe it makes you think that when I try with my hand to bring a wild cat he is afraid of me and walks away. And while you spit sentences I lost
syrup to drink from his eyes and let you know that I understood, but you did not understand.
Remember him? Why me years later I still remember well preserved and throw these pictures in my bathtub with the cables of our computers.

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Monday, July 27, 2009, at 02:48

How deflowered space inconsistent.
E nauseate even though there is still the sun.