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deplorable.

are eaten by a deep concern.
To pass the time I do the tar on the roof of the garage and I identify with the flame torch.
Then I read the Torah and I identify with in YHWH, I read and I identify with the Ice Nine Ice Nine. Curious.
So I think: "By now after all this time I learned to recognize granfalloon, and the one I found has the air of being really my karass. However, the designs of God are mysterious. "Busy, busy, busy.

Now that we spread out and looking for work, repeat the last song recorded in a hurry before closing (for business-not mine) the rehearsal room. The piece is not bad, has potential in my opinion, but I sense they are not even billionaire and loved by the crowds though a fucking genius. How can a young man in good health, enjoy a song called "Masada" about a guy who's hobby is to slay the elderly living alone who let in the house?

Yes: I am a depressing person, and I do not mean to give me a tone. I mean, it's one o'clock on a Saturday night in late June, Sardinia, and I find myself on the beach to dance barefoot to the beat of reggae music, with so many beautiful girls.
You hear the music of such a person?

If you are a woman and your answer is "Yes all right, and we'd love too!" you know where to find me. When I think

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Fotomodelle a bit 'poor.

Gomorrah be assailed (va be ', not exaggerated) by a number of questions remain unanswered.

Is it really so that place?

Well, then I say yes, just because there's no reason to doubt the place is the Campania region (200 km) and Caracas (several thousand km). Even a few miles from me there are people who, for example, it reeks of hunger magnificence while I'm burping a steak, and who cares.

But how is it that "gangsters", as they are by definition the huge dickhead, do not even have the slightest respect for self, of where they live, their people?

Apparently, they do not have enough and, without being bothered.

there a way to bring all this to normal (if it ever existed to normal I mean)?

Boh. Even in my part many things are not normal nor solvable.

Now that the book is in many libraries worldwide, and that if anyone even read it, it will change anything?

So instinctively, I will open her mouth in a subdued et cynical "who cares" (comma) "Fuck them", then I feel guilty, picture, I melt, but the result is the same: I'm sitting here me questions and give me the fucking answers. Embee?

I feel more pity or hatred for this humanity as a whole? (So hard)

I have no idea, really. The first impulse is internal, "but we should help these people!" (How I do not know as yet, of course) (curiously, some questions make me instinctively think "who cares, mustache," and others bring the good man in turmoil that is in me) that Al is associated with the question:

Ok, but what should we help people? Good guess, but there is a policy that defines them as such, a clear line of demarcation that separates them from the bad? You good people who do not commit crimes? Who does not kill? Who does not ignore it when someone is killed?

Oggesù.
short, it becomes a mess, especially when someone like me, nervous and flighty, tries to give himself a quick and logical answers to real questions and complicated. Therefore, reading and rereading of the various parts of the book make me rather angry, angry, not so much against cruelty and contempt for life demonstration of the "men of the system," the irrationality of the whole, a ' high-nonsense system to which it is impossible to determine the boundaries and the actual sphere of influence. Malls put up here, with funding from the Camorra, in which I bought four cases of beer money, four roses, festoons and balloons funny to make the assholes over at a party (also completely irrational and yet inevitably) bad years ago. To this I think, next magnificence all'abat metal-jour, the concave bottom of which lie hundreds of dead flies. The cleaned every day and every night is the usual slaughter. 2 dead flies on average for each page read, and I read many, in these days of nerve-wracking waiting . In incandescent bulbs, only 5% of the energy that feeds them is converted into light, the remaining 95% is wasted as heat. Are well aware of gnats in my house. Yet the lamp was bought there, now that I think.
This is not to say that I feel guilty for having given money to the Camorra , I do not think this more than I believe that "everyone stop to fill up at Shell will force oil companies to bring down the price of oil "or that" if anyone go to vote then, yes, things would change. " Only that if even a simple daily action is in some way related to torture, killings and harassment of any kind, whether already define who is good for simple exclusion of certain attributes unequivocally associated to an evil way (ie murder) is not easy, as we can define the much more elusive evil, and ever-changing update mode of expression? I groped for other examples in mind to better express this thought, but I give the theme wrapping miserably. So I went to the final solution of the riddle:

"fucking-nuclear process and let the fallout or hold the remains for centuries to come,"

which is the only thing I think is when all the crap foregoing begins to multiply and expand.

How good is this beautiful thought I understand just from the movie: it is already been done. As happens with all good ideas arrive late.
"Gomorrah" by Matteo Garrone is not a film of social work as I expected. It is not a film about the horrors of the Camorra, waste, violence and various balls. It is an apocalyptic science fiction movie, set in a world after a nuclear holocaust is very similar to that of Kenshiro, Mad Max, with a touch of Akira here and there. One sees the slum disaster Scampia, with snipers and lookouts on the corners of crumbling apartment blocks and shabby, the incinerated homes still smoldering, the indigenous people who speak an incomprehensible language, and expects at any moment just watching Mel Gibson riding a bike and ass crack of rudeness. I just do not get none, and this is the only real difference. After all, even if it came would not change much: in those movies the hero does not give the order in this world to pieces, everything remains basically the shit that is. Since the beginning we realize that is not a movie set in the reality of the guys are in a horrendous clearly of alien machinery, surrounded by blue lights, and die without much noise, and no one knows why. Besides, who cares. Then the guys appear on the scene dressed as Marty McFly in the scene where he pretends to be alien to her father's house and warns the threat of the music of Van Halen, and then the children who move straight out of Dune big cars, full of crap. People live in houses holed up terrified from the outside world, ravaged by war, as in "The penultimate truth." Two guys are unexpected visit to our reality and we see them turn to Venice by boat (a stargate OMG!) As if nothing had happened. That young man is only a novice, the old man has been training in the mysteries of time travel. Finally, the funeral of the two bullies being celebrated by an old caterpillar pitifully off the ground that their mortal remains, in a desert, and sand and dust and noise of machinery close the film. This
is the best science fiction films of the year two thousand, nasty bitch. There is a society destroyed by the conflict, surrounded by squalor, where nothing has value and all could die at any moment. But there are signs of rebirth, the nous that makes its way into chaos mechanical dell'anànke. This nous is represented by the Chinese, who secretly take possession of spare land and learn the secrets of the Orphic sew clothes from a teacher who works in the shadows and threatens life. Votes urban manners, bring order and harmony. You can not beat them.
In the economy of the Chinese film Gomorrah in the holding role that the European boats covered in Apocalypto. Now we see them, down from the boats, the indigenous Takeaway pieces of their shattered empire, an area at a time. One day, perhaps, scholars of the future empire trying to decipher the only copy of the Popol Vuh escaped the destruction of these natives, in between, the last exponents of this ancient lineage will sing their sacred songs shade of forests of twisted metal, concluding with a solemn hymns "I give thanks to Gigg."

__________
dlin dlon * *: Everything is falling apart. Perhaps part in Vienna.

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Finding the Way of the Samurai with maps.google

Hagakure, Book

" The right way to criticize others.

blame others and correct the flaws of others is important. It is, indeed, an act of charity: the first requirement of a samurai. But we must exercise such tasks as Acconci. It is easy to find faults in another's conduct, it is equally easy to criticize them. Many consider it an act of courtesy to say certain things in people's faces that they do not want to hear. And if not then the damage straight to your criticism, well, do you wash your hands, you can not do anything else. This method is far from laudable. It does not give you better result if you put Chenna, stubbornly, to insult and shame the people . It's just a way to unburden the conscience. Criticism must begin only after ascertaining that the person is willing to accept it, until be became friends, sharing his interests and have behaved in a way to gain his complete trust, so that others give credence to what I say. And then we must have tact. It has to find the right way, and the adapter time to say one thing: perhaps put it in a letter, or maybe put it together after coming home a pleasant meeting. One can perhaps begin by pointing to its failures, and then come to the point without wasting a word more than necessary. He first praised the strength of the other, you encourage, you put the proper mood, it becomes receptive and eager for advice as it is, the water, the thirsty. So, correct its defects. Critics good is extremely difficult.
I know from personal experience that the bad habits acquired over the years, we get lost easily. In my opinion, the right attitude and charity for all samurai in the service of daimyo, you star in friendship with each other, familiar, and then correcting each other's faults, to better serve the daimyo together. Shameless person to deliberately do not get anything. How could it be effective, such a tactic? "

Therefore you anything but false, old bastard.

The truth hurts, I know.

Pink U N B L O C K E R

Nostalgia, nostalgia rogue: the Cripple Bastards


To '! I had almost forgotten this picture: the girl hidden (hello B) has passed me a few nights ago, two months after taking it.
Giulio The Bastard (left) is a very good guy, despite everything, to me at least it was nice despite the two exchanged words. You could see he had no desire to talk to anyone, but he also was polite and smile on. But I understand perfectly the way she do it between grumpy and resigned in short I do not grindcore, I did as a kid with my friends stupid idiots and we never played live (their "yes, sadly), but I realize what kind of incredible anal play can be in front of your audience . Indeed, before any public here (I say this not to generalize, but in my heart I'm pretty sure that does not change much elsewhere). In particular it is when, after years and years of career, you realize that your audience is generally composed of a mass of coglionazzi, and is a mass of coglionazzi because it is selected in this way, behaving in a certain way, offering over the years a certain image of themselves and so on. In short, does a nihilist with a blend of sarcasm, anger + (assumed, and h) and then is found as a result people are very unimaginative, boorish, loyal, all equal and equally lacking sense of humor that goes there to see the Cripple Bastards to collectively express their nihilism with their buddies, but in all cases, returns home does homework writes bulletins on myspace and out with friends to drink a beer, only making speeches and says porcamadonna nihilists instead of talking about science fiction films. Indeed, even this: we say that everyone is talking about a bit 'of nihilism and a bit' of porcamadonna and a little 'science fiction (detective or, more realistically), or 70 years of shit, all in the sauce and slavishly tarantinoide . I say this not to belittle the fauna average titty twister or the room itself, because it would give a vision of things absolutely unrealistic: in fact, every room is painfully leveled in this manner, the titty twister the various humanities . The way of behaving and communicating is exactly the same everywhere, the culture of reference and the images used exactly the same, and each subgroup of young people is outwardly indistinguishable from each other if not because of some subtle difference in dress and language used. The bulk of the differences, those that make a unique and distinguishable from the other group, they're all on a psychological level, the mere grounds and guru of reference that give meaning to the words and actions of those who are part of this or that environment, actions and words across the same. Today as never before the Italian people, especially the younger part of this cluster of old battered and paranoid, it was so perfectly represented by its own parliament, from the formal point of view (the only one that matters, in my opinion). I expect, from time to time, to discover that our politicians read this piece of shit invertebrates vulgar and ignorant just to be behind us, let us feel too poor, because they are merciful to us as the end of the robot THX-1138 and do not want us to be bad. There are no serious opposition from a group (or individual) to another as from one party to another, excluding the trivial material issues. Only occasionally someone wakes up from slumber, dazed and shaken like a drunk who has just reminded us of impending work commitments, and you say "but hey fuck it, I protest, I almost forget I think so." The thinking is now a matter of choice between two options, not the culmination of a logical chain of thoughts arising from questions. Let alone real passions. For example, I do not have almost any movie, book, record or a comic book together. And if I have a reading or listening in common with someone, I feel rain on words that I know of pre-cooked, I look a bit '(just google on ) and to'!, Had in fact been written by some guru.
's all this I, for one of the Cripple as Julius, I see it as a real defeat invincible, because the choice between him and Baustelle is only a matter of choice almost random, which is at the source of what he says sings and does. And he that, so I guess because I am a novelist and I invent bullshit LOL, you know very well. Surely you know the bass player who, while his partner sings of rape and everyone thinks "no but he still is ironic," he spits in the face repeatedly with a girl excited in the front row, and laughs of justice. In my opinion if he had raped her in front of everyone with a sledgehammer would have been the same: no one is scandalized more, hey, it's a game!
So what good is it to deny a picture of two fools like me and my brother, even if you see perfectly well we're taking the piss?

And here just the photo, the last of a (sadly brief, due to many opportunities for distraction escaped ^[1] ) series in which we are in the company of celebrities that lie in the balls. To tell the truth then to me like the good Giulio, will also be the fault of rogue nostalgia of bad high school, the adolescent friendships horrible it is associated, it will be its ability to irl-trolling, so far as living a little ' Annuity on past glories well known, but I like it. In my brother no, as you can tell by the grin on that asshole cagacazzo sports, and also has easy game to dominate the image from its meters and eighty-seven. It seems he and not the poor Julie, Il Divo.

But that night the Serber especially remember a great moment: the highly anticipated concert of the Belgian Agathocles, the fathers of the Mince-Core!
What the fuck is the mince-core? I have no idea, but whatever it was they were their fathers, and in fact they are the headliner, grindcore for over 20 years. Acciderbolona.
I go talk to them at the banquet and guitarist, toothless and upset as any good old alcoholic heroin addict Punkabbestia should, other can not say that "onli Faiva YUROOS." It's ok, soaking Faiva yuroos me and look what they tell me their best record ( this, not too bad). After the attack Cripple
to play them, but they are so drunk that you do not stand up, missed a piece of continuous and refer again three times. Every now and curse in Italian struggled, prompting the joy of mass berciante coglionazzi of the above, then the toothless guy gets back to the audience and makes the guitar whistle at random until the end, not knowing how to make it stop. Move a few inches from the amplifier would be a good start, I think without knowing how to read or write. After a few minutes of agony I'm also coglionazzi understand that the concert is actually a shameless shit (I was laughing with my friends from the beginning), but dare not say so until the final confirmation. This confirmation comes in the most simple, direct and traditional as possible: very red orange supersonic flows through the smoky room space from the back of the stage, going on the nape of spetasciarsi foley Belgium. He did not notice I know, but so was enough to make everyone understand that the king was naked. And all down to rider like crazy.
What I wonder is: how did the orange go to titty twister? To get in I had to climb over two bodies inanimate face, avoiding a guy who threw up and around a group that he assisted a poverocristo with convulsions. Yet out of context so that object
resolved the evening as a magical object in a good moral tale, which makes people laugh but also invites reflection.


_____________________________________________

^[1] : I still bite my balls for having missed an opportunity to take pictures Sgarbi shade of the cloister of the monastery in Verona (I think), but was busy insulting his collaborators and I doubt that I would be granted. Not to mention when in a group of donkeys on the top of the tower in Bologna, not recognizing Maynard James Keenan of Tool on the day after the concert.
We had also the wife of his group.
was well dressed the same as the night before.
He also asked us guidance and we said no cagarlo much. If the well is
giggle, asshole.
And yes, I am being a pain, but before good-naturedly, not now, even if it's all my fault.

... but with Soru has not escaped me! I made an April 25, with long hair and nail Burzum t-shirt. It is hanging on the section of the Communists ^[2] of my country.
Ironically, I have also made them for the exact same reasons.

^[2] now section of PD. So to speak.