is a periodaccio.
Not that much actually happens, but always a periodaccio remains. It is some solace to the idea of day that I have invented one of those phobias that are (or were perhaps boh) fashionable among Boccalon in America.
me some solace in that seem to match the "symptoms", and so justify my stupid behavior when it is necessary to use the tool that would cause my phobia: the telephone.
telefonofobia This is almost certainly a bullshit non-existent, but it is clear that with this means of communication I have always had big problems. As a child, for whatever reason, when I heard the phone ringing immediately thought of a disaster, family deaths, car accidents, things so. (Yes, I was a child dark and I believe I was an emo in power for a long time)
The ringing of the phone caused me tachycardia and usually when I felt I holed up in the bathroom to read old books as I melted into the Mickey Mouse crap. That is, until adolescence, with a progressive decrease in intestinal spasms, but this thing has never disappeared entirely say. A slight increase in heart rate reflected the still, although I think it's just a reflex action due to the memory of childhood fears, which sometimes could be seen (of necessity) implemented. Obviously, a relative dies, and somewhere with a great misfortune that is communicated by telephone. What the fuck. Fortunately
this age of amazing technology, you can see from their phones even the caller's telephone number! OMG! This marvel of technology greatly helps the fools like me paranoid, frightened by the effect surprise that those bitches bric-gray with the receiver and the word SIP reserved. Dark times.
The problem, however, shows no sign of disappearing when you dial the number and call me. Leaving the field pussies, they can always be flattered by SMS (if it fits), but I certainly can not arrange a meeting with a prospective employer with a messaggino. The e-mail ok, as long as the laws, but with the curriculum vitae that I find ridiculous (there are almost scored a few months of odd jobs here and there Black, 3 days in the country and little else) I can not impress a guy who releases his precious money in return for my miserable time. So, I say, it is best to call and speak to us. Ah well, so yes that impressed him.
I am a piece of Marcantonio of one meter and eighty-five, weighing 85 kg and overall they are not even bad to see me, unless I wear the shirt of the worm that attempts to make love to a crisp. But when I call on the phone, the speaker imagines me as Woody Allen who masturbates sitting on his stool. I stutter, I disappear, I create awkward silences, I let him talk as if I had written him WELCOME. One with a little common sense not to rely upon voice heard by leaving your phone even the collection of dry leaves from the courtyard.
But then I got the job. Not that it showed off a particular speaking skills or who have been terribly sympathetic and engaging, but at least I broke silence by fucking retarded and, more importantly, I re called. It was the second time after a terrible call, maybe you have the courage to try again after the pathetic attempt at a week before he did think the boss that they are in fact interested in the place. That is a serious little person no time wasters. Whatever the reason, the work I do. If I am doing well and do not make a fool I have money too, and from there to London will be the step short. But better to think of one thing at a time.
type, for one thing, that I will have occupied 13 hours a day, though not continuous. Or probably I will have little time to play if I did not calculate the thousandth time. But also strive to stay on these things is useless.
I have not written here for a while but started doing it every day, then stop. I myself am bored to read this shit.
There is much interesting to say.
except perhaps the history of money with that other group of Feb. 29, actually a story to be assholes to me to be funny that would end with a good fight, stabbing and even a death, but unfortunately we are a generation of pappemolli and then it's over as the classic story by assholes rosichini unworthy even of a short film on QOOB. Nobody did anything, nobody said anything. Life begins and ends in the street on msn. And the blog will describe the dynamics when the phenomena are now ancient history and do not give a fuck no more. The
write just as liberating catharsis on.
The facts: Some time ago
K organizes a guy, Tony, an evening. Pure routine for a group. But for us it is already a great achievement to be able to speak civilly to someone and to agree to play together. So we are particularly pleased with this opportunity.
Only a few days before something goes wrong, Tony tells us that his drummer has run caught the one and from that moment, feeling guilty, decides to organize his replacement. It goes well, you do. After several holes in the water gives someone the go, and I say to them "ok, however, bring the bass amp, which we need." Who does not bring anything not even pick cash. Only benza and a little more, no fifty fifty. We have done so for years, even without the Benz. It's obvious. For some reason, however, remarked not, because I feel bad about money still uncertain. Or because inside me is a piece of dried shit on purpose and wanted to unleash all this drama lolloso, who knows. The fact is that after the ok initial, 2 days of the show, the guys tell me that the bass player is gone and they do not know what to do, and so no amps down. But they have a replacement, and they want to play the same. Also on this occasion, although I have often wondered if maybe it was better not cancel everything, I did not mention the money. Stronzone Bello, eh? Lulz! But I did it on purpose. Another thing: you are recording, and then arrive at 9 in the past. ERGO: the equipment we carry and assemble all of us. A point I'm talking about money is pure pleonasm, and for some reason it seems so obvious.
the big day arrives, we all assemble at 5 in a couple of trips from the base to local and back, the second group as well. The others arrive without even cables with a guitar and bad, that screwdriver through the room will be restored to K. At the appointed hour play (first) and then fade away into the starry night to drink their light wine in PET bottles with their friends. During the second concert of these if the melt, but not before entrusting me with the task of recovering the money for them . Oh-oh. As soon as I say, half a syllable that have already disappeared and I am stuck, so to speak. Shit.
Then it's up to us. A good concert. The cone of a case has been shattered before (I do not know when) and the soothing sound of my voice, filtered from the body, like the raucous cawing of a flock of seagulls who gather near a barge waste directly into the sunset. Moreover it is intermittent. It is three and the bulk of the people if it is spun, and the survivors look at us as if to say "we hope that we have made so far remain bleak for the trots, porcodio. Will be satisfied. As well as the squalid trots, also begin to argue among ourselves on stage amid the songs. While I do not sing K away from the microphone to scream to fuck off, in response to his orders to stand still while singing not to stress the cord in his unsoldered (not true, then we found out). My brother laughs from behind the battery and / or in outburst. Andrea plays professionally and silent. Around three quarters of this beautiful Karim show off all without notice, because they can not even formulate a thought because of the intermittent croak out loud in his ears, in front of people terrified.
A nice shit, but luckily the owner of the restaurant is busy counting the money while fiddling with his peyote and is not aware of collapse, then an hour later, surprisingly, also releases the pay. I say tentatively, "Um, and for others?" To which I am overwhelmed with empty cans, banana peels and small furry animals. The message seems clear to me. At this point, the ending is pretty obvious. Start the "war of the 30 denier" and seems long and bloody and instead starts and ends on msn and on the phone and everything fades away soon. Boredom, balls, threats, and other crap, label of "thieves" stuck on me. My part was 25 € and more or less everyone has pulled out of 30 for dinner, drink (no beer on the house) and rode the tools and the people here and there, plus I was on site and in the immediate vicinity for 10 -11 hours. In addition there were also unpleasant and do not have any shit, and I have also taken them to the boy. I also keep a grudge as he likes, I do not want to justify myself to anyone with a dick, especially since this time I'm right. Saving for the effort when I was dead wrong.
Bah, enough, I wanted to write that "There is a country for old men "(since Monday) is a ficatona but I was the only room to think, plus I was terrified when watching from Chigurh instead of taking a liking as he deserved, or as I thought I would.
am an old man, there is no place for me in this crazy, crazy world .
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