All hail the new flesh!
As I was walking up the stair I met a
Man Who Was not There.
He Was not there again today.
I wish, I wish he'd stay away.
Obviously I'm throwing in my reckless way "the last days here." As if they were worth something regardless, I would say. As if then it is necessary to enhance them in some way, one might think.
But the truth is that all this waiting, preparing, greetings, attempts to imagine what will happen once there, is nothing but a pile of nonsense puerile, seedy stagings made up for an audience not reached. I still do not prove anything, as if all this was happening to someone else, not even someone I know or think I'm sympathetic, frankly. It is like seeing a neighbor, one in which over the years has never received more than a greeting, a smile of circumstance in the cold of the morning to pack up and go away. Enjoy your trip, as you did the last name?, Ah fuck, they just raised the plate.
I believe they are not here for a while ', now. Someone has taken my place, maybe this is the same that has a prepaid card in the name mio, ci ha messo dentro dei soldi, mi ha acquistato il biglietto e poi se l’è filata. Non che la cosa mi dia fastidio, in fondo, però poteva almeno chiedermi che ne pensavo.
Comunque sia.
Io non sono qui da un bel pezzo, ma davvero non so dire dove mi trovi ora. Se c’è qualcosa di simile al Limbo credo di esserci cascato dentro, e potrei anche essermi fracassato il bacino nella caduta, perché trascinarmi da una parte all’altra è davvero difficile, ed è uno sforzo inutile. Avete presente quando, nel pieno del sonno, vi svegliate all’improvviso ma non siete spaventati da un incubo, né vi è venuta in mente qualche idea geniale o vi siete ricordati qualche scadenza (generalmente fabbricata immediately before and justified by distant memories, which are also just born), but simply open your eyes, his brow furrowed, and you wonder "who is who called me?" or "So I was saying?" and , although there has of course no one called, stay for several hours are filled with unpleasant sense that something escapes you? To me it happens for days, sometimes even three hundred and sixty in a row. The last time it was deadly.
I woke up the oldest of whom I respect a number of years between 3 and 4, and was considerably dumber, uglier, more insignificant and boring, a real sick. Even worse, when they wake up I was not even in my bed I was in my car, stopped, and I was in the passenger seat.
For some moments I did not hear anything outside of that unpleasant feeling of incompleteness and discomfort, I looked around, then I looked at my hands. I touched his face and neck.
The girl next to me crying and repeating her voice hoarse excuse excuse excuse to avoid looking at me, her head swayed by reviewing me and the steering wheel, steering wheel and me. The car against which we came, confused eyes passed slowly by me to the girl, the girl in me. People on the street shortened and slowed down the steps, then turned defiant in our direction, waiting. The first thoughts of
I pierced my mind was, more or less: "too bad it did not hurt, such a golden opportunity would have required a scar commemorative"
So while the poor continued to chant the clumsy apology, for a moment I was losing completely, following a chain of confused thoughts and deadly. Back at the June 5, 2002, for another of those memorable days in their sumptuous sadness, mornings as swollen bellies pregnant with deformed fetuses, full of possibilities opened up and let it close, optional steps on landings unsafe collapsing while you're still there watching and assess, as the mezzeseghe who you are and you will be forever, whether it is the case of pass or not. That morning, extraordinarily rich in ideas that, like any good sediciassettenne, gathered in real time for writing phony mythology of my two-bit, it seemed so worthy of eternal memory, I decided to make permanent, if not pain, at least his memory. So, with an excuse, defied my Compagnucci of raids to shut down on a lit cigarette, and their obvious refusal I did the same, own. Procrastinai long in order to obtain from their disbelief and ridicule, so I could first feel morally obliged to honor my commitments (under penalty of loss of face), and secondly to make him angry enough with expression charged with contempt and can print on the face. I lifted the sleeve on the butt and calcai 10 cm further down on my wrist, to burn all the skin and you get to the flesh. The moment was a nice feeling, the pain was so strong (so I remember it, or so they told me they are, who knows) to cause the brain to shed copious amounts of endorphins to calm him down, and then for a minute or two was a real party to my senses and my ego, gratified by the gaping mouths of my boyfriends and girlfriends. Okay then, the free ride ended quickly, certainly well before the end of my moral obligation to maintain the same victorious expression on his face. That day, incidentally, I met very a person who later turned out to be a key figure in my development (interrupting, in effect, and making me a teenager VND), and I mean after my self-inflicted torture. What a terrific insight.
A fool may ask then: I would have never met if I had not burned his arm?; The I burned my arm just before meeting her, has perhaps helped to create in me a series of unrealistic expectations, which have post filled with predestination our meeting?; The eternal burning could have made a "key figure in my development" any other girl I had been presented that day?; Moccia But I saw how I do it?
And so on.
So, here you go back to the car. After all this I'm still sitting there, unable to take matters in hand, looking around like an idiot and wondering what the hell am I doing there, almost 24 year old, without a penny or something in my hand, without an idea, without any conceived to design and then put in place (or at least well underway) and, most importantly, in my mother's car, smashed, while a person who barely know is in the driving seat with my permission.
The last part is tolerable after all, once you admit you have been, at the moment, just a reckless jerk. But if it adds to the first, well, becomes a sensation pretty shocking. Thus softened
idea of death has found its way inside my head. Whatever this might seem more bearable at the moment, so I tried to imagine how it would feel to know that he must die soon, say after a month. Close your outstanding bills, address conflicts, you shameless outbursts with those who made you angry, and who knows what else. Die so it seemed a very good idea, especially the hassle of physical pain that cancer brings with it along with the countdown. Just think 'what would your emotional past few days, so full of revelry, blowjob obtained mercy of people who want to share time with you.
And yet, here I am, completely indifferent to everything, it seems, is happening to me. No one has a great desire to celebrate, among other things, because it is a periodaccio for all. The arguments are there and I vent, yes, but in general they think, rightly, that I am a psychopath in a fist fight with some dragon in your head. And no women, nor pity, nor anger, nor for love. The girl in the car, perhaps foolishly hoped to ingratiate himself with the granting of a ride, now it rose by guilt, and this makes every day more miserable, rude, impatient. The worst thing that can happen to a person is suffering and not be wrong the heart to punish him severely: he lost his only chance to get some revenge and with respect for the offender. The one with which he has maintained a decent relationship, and that mysteriously I have avoided for months, does not want to meet me. Can not see me before leaving, he says, because the upset the precarious peace of mind, if I stayed here because we do not think twice but now that it is not logical and we also ferirebbe just because of that other do not care but it is a nice guy and does not deserve a double game, not a fleeting encounter which does not follow anything except nostalgia, regret, and who knows what else. And that, right? It has, has. If you do not even think None of this, it would be so full of common sense and determination to really convince me. Never have I wanted so much deliberately break your heart to someone, introduce myself on purpose to see the tears streak her face. It would be nice.
But I will not, as I will not do many other things, and I'll be here just to waste time until Tuesday like a damn fool, to call "death" a fucking trip, to pick up anything that human I planted in these years of social torpor in appearing confident and groped all solar so as not to alarm apprehensive relatives, who from time to time grant for a quiet life to give me some junk essential for a trip, as suitcases, pajamas, slippers, toothbrush, money, valuable advice, recommendations sincere, wool scarves, when in the end, despite appearances, everything you need to take a trip is the icy consciousness of having failed, a dry thud of the ceramic process, the will to burn the flesh of the new reform allowing old around the scar.
Basically there are many differences between those who have had thousands of possibilities to choose from and has wasted all, and who has never had any. The first condition may be a more subtle form of the second, after all. Maybe, without resorting to the destiny, it is so for all.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Sorry Scanner Could Not Be Initialized Hp G85
"A sweet trail of gunpowder that turns dreams into hands cut off."
beginning to realize that something really wrong with you, when you're angry at the sight of death roberto "Half of Two-Face gear multiplied by two" cota expressing his views on what is ethical to do the rubble of Eluana newscasts on 3 in a row, and when you are viewing furious camera movements, of course, from the bottom and the wick effect on fallow fields and rusty scrap metal (otherwise the mongoloid in front of the TV does not grasp that we are talking about slums and violence (*)) in each service on rapes, and when you get up from the table, close your eyes and run for home while you beat on the ears when you hear the screaming BABABABAABABA most sensational scandal of the republic , " the archive of Dr. Jenkins," we were not even talking about a USB key containing a complete backup of your subconscious Andreotti. Then instead of within ten days you smash the car, I collapsed a wall in the courtyard, meet on the street an asshole Scirocco that has waited three full years for death threats and you can get by in conversation, and it does not seem to touch at all.
just that it's not easy to see what the problem is. Addressing the bitter pricks of life with a certain detachment, after all, brings considerable benefits in terms of clarity and coldness. What I can not understand is why I become a I hate that growling beast in the face of bad faith, the vulgarity, the insolence, and indifference to the cruelty and fascist idiot that I am banging my fellow countrymen in the face on TV every fucking day, while all that the "real life" (tsk! ) is able to provoke and a moment of surprise bunt, a vague discomfort: a little puff ', swear two or three times, then just a hop and shake, the bird back into the draw. Can not be normal, I think, that coexist in the everyday apathy and anger when, for example, discussions of regional elections to be held here in ten days (**).
Then just put some thought into writing puts me in alarm. Wait, damn, I like the vague impression that he thought a huge shit, but I am not yet clear why.
After having slept on, I realize that-cock, the problem is right here! But it is not my problem, but that's a bit 'all the others were persuaded, or-who knows? - Maybe they did it all by themselves, that their privacy has some useless objective importance, the little dramas they face every day and deflect, even minimally, the routine from its natural course, are really the only things that count in the world. Because each one of us is special and unique, each has produced a list of little things in life that is to appreciate just convinced him, in that order and that particular combination, we are all full of little idiosyncrasies that make us an army of small wetlands Amélie smile maliziosetto, each with its own spoon in hand, ready to break the crust of crème brûlée our and greedily guzzling semen flavored AIDS below. The rest of the fuck, who the hell cares if something happens outside the walls of the house, hey, just a drop in the rain, of course, but I crash to the ground at an angle of my own and I just hit exactly Then the sidewalk! The questions of principle pale in comparison to the miracle of predestination, the design God brought me here and now to cry in front of the paper mark along with the eyebrows and hopes were unrealistic.
Why has this way of perceiving things, not mine, the problem myself, living in such a context, I would unconsciously out of the norm when I can not give all this shit paramount importance to the four that have occurred in these days, or if I can not morbid attachment to people (or ideas) just because time has passed, any time together, especially if I find the mere fact of belonging to the same species a compelling reason to deploy a handful " respect "and" understanding "on a bunch of ignorant bastards cowards, ready to trade the freedom and beauty in the world for the momentary rush of warmth and joy afforded by being together, all in the same place at the same time, to do the same thing, whatever it is. Applauding
. Pray. Protest. Pray in protest. Indignant. Throwing stones against rapists. Throwing money to the thieves. To soften some cases, particularly touching.
Well, go fuck off, all together enthusiastically: I do not enjoy even more of Discharge mosh at concerts because of you, do not come looking for respect and understanding myself. It is as if you have cauterized my taste buds and devastated the smell, do not try more flavor. I also
I sometimes get carried by the heat of the moment, I sometimes I speak with the penis, I often speak without thinking. Just do not do a pride of my instincts from the cave man, I do not think that any manifestation of my stupidity is still worthy of respect and worthy of other people, not proudly waving the banner of irrationality playing the emotional charge of the wave against the armies of common sense, but most do not believe that the most infamous among my feelings are, however, as mine, fucking medal to pin to his chest, just like I do not believe the shit and piss laudable expressions of the human spirit. In fact, I think that only the excess this fucking comes to us from the emotional abyss, but then, tsk, no one has listened to Silver Surfer.
I do not say anything to suppress, much less the piss and shit, for charity, but is a claim too much to expect that piss and shit you leave out certain questions?
I, and I mean really, I do not know who to talk to, and as time goes by I do not have anything interesting to say about anything. Maybe it's the lack of training. Any discussion must always shit at some point, and patience so far, but this point is reached earlier and earlier in the discussion, as time goes on. Maybe it is my fault do not hide shit really as speaker, but I do not speak only of the topics that I'm involved, I like that idea is a sort of general trend, as if each ricostruisse in his daily life is typical of a clash on Ballarò and leads to door. And so goes the desire to discuss, but then what the fuck you want to talk, none of our business, we do not care a saw, why fight because of them, so you know how it goes, open another beer, sticky another leek, suck a little more 'my dick and we're all quiet. I can not even blame anyone in particular, in fact I have the impression that the people with whom I am most angry is young and naive of me. It seems to be surrounded by fifteen, actually. It's like groped snatch of an old, but it reacts and hits you. Get berlusconi, how do you put the old one? It is always tanned and speaks like a young 80 years of rampant, ignites the crowd with tones and offers a futuristic imaginary, from topical Tolkien described as the county, inhabited by a quiet but serious danger ' external invasion, indicates as a goal a popular television Sistine Chapel of good hard-working housewives and smiling, young hopeful and good industrial production, served with reverence and respect by Negretti brightness and color. Christ, how can you beat it?
The old evil must be rotten, ugly, surly, full of secrets, talking with a twisted, they must do to seduce you with their noble and devious! But these old now, which places them (excluding as a solution "to abandon a barge off the coast of the North Sea, to be given following the fire")? Leave you dumbfounded, because they are vulgar, violent, millions all around and I am furious because "they broke my dick." Foaming and completely devoid of any moral principle that is not summed up in "do not bother the balls I do on my own and you go away fuck off" when they touch certain issues are completely indistinguishable from one the other, whatever the preacher who decide to cheer. Above all, they are indistinguishable from their children and grandchildren. Speak with a Berlusconi of 70 years, with a cricket fanatic of 20, with a League of 40, and you hear them speak with the same tone, set the speech the same way, and it is also unnecessary counter, you can not reason with him or them in trouble, at best you can confuse them as you do with cats. O andargli him with the car, as you do with cats. Fuck fuck sti
moderate, were better beams and Marxist-Leninists .
honestly do not know what conclusion can have this conversation, I really can not articulate my ideas about the country, Sardinia, in recent days. Every time I try to focus my point of view I completely lose objectivity, every attempt at analysis becomes a curse, just like any attempt at dialogue leads to brawl. I
Italy is doing really bad lately. Sardinia, then, will not speak. With the air that I need to change, the idea of purchasing a few days ago The Ticket reassures me to know how to have some more 'of oxygen in the tank, as I observe the reflections of the sun dancing 20 feet above me, on the surface of 'water.
I'm going to shoot at the Cats, shouting outside my window.
_______________________________________________________
(*) is something to which I have thought several times, but clichés are born like this from where? It was devised at a desk, took him to a movie, have appointed a special study of British scientists to determine which camera movement inspired by the public from the atmosphere murky and dreary "drama of a gang rape," What ? You can manipulate just the immediate, the brain of the Italians? What if you could, you could not convince them, all 60 million, to be of lemmings?
(**) I've also tried to write a post on ugo hats and its horrible, ridiculous, disgraceful campaign, but each When I block. It is a miserable and squalid affair so that I can hardly even focus on my point of view. Every time I think that that useless dick (which until a few days ago was accompanied by the silent rallies godfather) becomes ruler of this island sucks, well, it breaks my heart. I do not hate this place so much.
beginning to realize that something really wrong with you, when you're angry at the sight of death roberto "Half of Two-Face gear multiplied by two" cota expressing his views on what is ethical to do the rubble of Eluana newscasts on 3 in a row, and when you are viewing furious camera movements, of course, from the bottom and the wick effect on fallow fields and rusty scrap metal (otherwise the mongoloid in front of the TV does not grasp that we are talking about slums and violence (*)) in each service on rapes, and when you get up from the table, close your eyes and run for home while you beat on the ears when you hear the screaming BABABABAABABA most sensational scandal of the republic , " the archive of Dr. Jenkins," we were not even talking about a USB key containing a complete backup of your subconscious Andreotti. Then instead of within ten days you smash the car, I collapsed a wall in the courtyard, meet on the street an asshole Scirocco that has waited three full years for death threats and you can get by in conversation, and it does not seem to touch at all.
just that it's not easy to see what the problem is. Addressing the bitter pricks of life with a certain detachment, after all, brings considerable benefits in terms of clarity and coldness. What I can not understand is why I become a I hate that growling beast in the face of bad faith, the vulgarity, the insolence, and indifference to the cruelty and fascist idiot that I am banging my fellow countrymen in the face on TV every fucking day, while all that the "real life" (tsk! ) is able to provoke and a moment of surprise bunt, a vague discomfort: a little puff ', swear two or three times, then just a hop and shake, the bird back into the draw. Can not be normal, I think, that coexist in the everyday apathy and anger when, for example, discussions of regional elections to be held here in ten days (**).
Then just put some thought into writing puts me in alarm. Wait, damn, I like the vague impression that he thought a huge shit, but I am not yet clear why.
After having slept on, I realize that-cock, the problem is right here! But it is not my problem, but that's a bit 'all the others were persuaded, or-who knows? - Maybe they did it all by themselves, that their privacy has some useless objective importance, the little dramas they face every day and deflect, even minimally, the routine from its natural course, are really the only things that count in the world. Because each one of us is special and unique, each has produced a list of little things in life that is to appreciate just convinced him, in that order and that particular combination, we are all full of little idiosyncrasies that make us an army of small wetlands Amélie smile maliziosetto, each with its own spoon in hand, ready to break the crust of crème brûlée our and greedily guzzling semen flavored AIDS below. The rest of the fuck, who the hell cares if something happens outside the walls of the house, hey, just a drop in the rain, of course, but I crash to the ground at an angle of my own and I just hit exactly Then the sidewalk! The questions of principle pale in comparison to the miracle of predestination, the design God brought me here and now to cry in front of the paper mark along with the eyebrows and hopes were unrealistic.
Why has this way of perceiving things, not mine, the problem myself, living in such a context, I would unconsciously out of the norm when I can not give all this shit paramount importance to the four that have occurred in these days, or if I can not morbid attachment to people (or ideas) just because time has passed, any time together, especially if I find the mere fact of belonging to the same species a compelling reason to deploy a handful " respect "and" understanding "on a bunch of ignorant bastards cowards, ready to trade the freedom and beauty in the world for the momentary rush of warmth and joy afforded by being together, all in the same place at the same time, to do the same thing, whatever it is. Applauding
. Pray. Protest. Pray in protest. Indignant. Throwing stones against rapists. Throwing money to the thieves. To soften some cases, particularly touching.
Well, go fuck off, all together enthusiastically: I do not enjoy even more of Discharge mosh at concerts because of you, do not come looking for respect and understanding myself. It is as if you have cauterized my taste buds and devastated the smell, do not try more flavor. I also
I sometimes get carried by the heat of the moment, I sometimes I speak with the penis, I often speak without thinking. Just do not do a pride of my instincts from the cave man, I do not think that any manifestation of my stupidity is still worthy of respect and worthy of other people, not proudly waving the banner of irrationality playing the emotional charge of the wave against the armies of common sense, but most do not believe that the most infamous among my feelings are, however, as mine, fucking medal to pin to his chest, just like I do not believe the shit and piss laudable expressions of the human spirit. In fact, I think that only the excess this fucking comes to us from the emotional abyss, but then, tsk, no one has listened to Silver Surfer.
I do not say anything to suppress, much less the piss and shit, for charity, but is a claim too much to expect that piss and shit you leave out certain questions?
I, and I mean really, I do not know who to talk to, and as time goes by I do not have anything interesting to say about anything. Maybe it's the lack of training. Any discussion must always shit at some point, and patience so far, but this point is reached earlier and earlier in the discussion, as time goes on. Maybe it is my fault do not hide shit really as speaker, but I do not speak only of the topics that I'm involved, I like that idea is a sort of general trend, as if each ricostruisse in his daily life is typical of a clash on Ballarò and leads to door. And so goes the desire to discuss, but then what the fuck you want to talk, none of our business, we do not care a saw, why fight because of them, so you know how it goes, open another beer, sticky another leek, suck a little more 'my dick and we're all quiet. I can not even blame anyone in particular, in fact I have the impression that the people with whom I am most angry is young and naive of me. It seems to be surrounded by fifteen, actually. It's like groped snatch of an old, but it reacts and hits you. Get berlusconi, how do you put the old one? It is always tanned and speaks like a young 80 years of rampant, ignites the crowd with tones and offers a futuristic imaginary, from topical Tolkien described as the county, inhabited by a quiet but serious danger ' external invasion, indicates as a goal a popular television Sistine Chapel of good hard-working housewives and smiling, young hopeful and good industrial production, served with reverence and respect by Negretti brightness and color. Christ, how can you beat it?
The old evil must be rotten, ugly, surly, full of secrets, talking with a twisted, they must do to seduce you with their noble and devious! But these old now, which places them (excluding as a solution "to abandon a barge off the coast of the North Sea, to be given following the fire")? Leave you dumbfounded, because they are vulgar, violent, millions all around and I am furious because "they broke my dick." Foaming and completely devoid of any moral principle that is not summed up in "do not bother the balls I do on my own and you go away fuck off" when they touch certain issues are completely indistinguishable from one the other, whatever the preacher who decide to cheer. Above all, they are indistinguishable from their children and grandchildren. Speak with a Berlusconi of 70 years, with a cricket fanatic of 20, with a League of 40, and you hear them speak with the same tone, set the speech the same way, and it is also unnecessary counter, you can not reason with him or them in trouble, at best you can confuse them as you do with cats. O andargli him with the car, as you do with cats. Fuck fuck sti
moderate, were better beams and Marxist-Leninists .
honestly do not know what conclusion can have this conversation, I really can not articulate my ideas about the country, Sardinia, in recent days. Every time I try to focus my point of view I completely lose objectivity, every attempt at analysis becomes a curse, just like any attempt at dialogue leads to brawl. I
Italy is doing really bad lately. Sardinia, then, will not speak. With the air that I need to change, the idea of purchasing a few days ago The Ticket reassures me to know how to have some more 'of oxygen in the tank, as I observe the reflections of the sun dancing 20 feet above me, on the surface of 'water.
I'm going to shoot at the Cats, shouting outside my window.
_______________________________________________________
(*) is something to which I have thought several times, but clichés are born like this from where? It was devised at a desk, took him to a movie, have appointed a special study of British scientists to determine which camera movement inspired by the public from the atmosphere murky and dreary "drama of a gang rape," What ? You can manipulate just the immediate, the brain of the Italians? What if you could, you could not convince them, all 60 million, to be of lemmings?
(**) I've also tried to write a post on ugo hats and its horrible, ridiculous, disgraceful campaign, but each When I block. It is a miserable and squalid affair so that I can hardly even focus on my point of view. Every time I think that that useless dick (which until a few days ago was accompanied by the silent rallies godfather) becomes ruler of this island sucks, well, it breaks my heart. I do not hate this place so much.
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