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Today I have nothing to do, fortunately.

He says it's late and the volume is too high. One twenty-five is not too late. In certain situations has never been too late. I swear. In this kitchen there is a table, two bottles of wine, fruit and sadness at will in crumbs. Once upon a caregiver who beat an elderly man on the other side of the wall and we did not do anything. I do not know why but we have not really done anything to stop it.
He is in the other room and leave me in the kitchen to come to terms with myself with music that I wish everyone would listen. In fact, I tell you, listen. This is 'Welcome home' of Radical face. Feel
. There are things that I would tell you. There are some people who I really good and I'd do anything to see you happy.

I want you to have the best in life and continues to pursue the dream world that is more beautiful than to know wonderful people and fuck her on the phone and live all my life, I want her to be calm and not think too much the future, which thinks he has found a more stable balance of any swing. I want you to be deceived that he cooked the best dish in the world, I want you to look at her life well and with a background like this, I want you to let go as it has done so does not deserve to sadden our talks with the government or on the event or Marcegaglia or equal opportunities. We are much more sad for her but we must not let them weigh and Monday we'll take it from Massimo that he graduated and we'll get drunk and have fun and we feel a joy that he felt for some time. We will be a representative of Casa Mazzola and laugh with this background and his eyes will fill with 'gross water', is true, and no one will resist her laugh.
cycle. Waiting for the cycle. But it does not matter.
I stayed at home and I'm thinking of her. She works her smiles to customers, Sapienza rejoices when the company pays and offers an evening that costs a hundred euro to a brother who is much more fragile, smiles and greets everyone talks with everyone, is an example for all, is almost everything. The last time
. I swear. This is the last time I think of her as the most important person in my life, wounded by a rock that has harmless 'sminchiato' foot. She is so, because he hates the rocks cut his feet and loves the mountains where they can breathe clean air and then we smoke in and then spits his venom on the property that has a tree that can not say anything but that day he was and repents and does it again because it is made so that she hates him and his way of being and thus inappropriate to expect things to get them with strength and with strength. Yet I can not say anything because I've learned to take it so, not that I have due. Here is the merit of allowing me to have me trained, dear Daniel.
Then I remember another person who has revolutionized the way I see things and think. One that seemed a remote, quiet one who says nothing and does not have the answers before the questions. One who says the right things at the right time and then makes you the right questions and you would love him and you brake and then go back to ask him something and you brakes because you just do not know the questions to do and they told you that he is peaceful, serene and suffered but it is sweet but nobody thinks that you may love him now because I would like to be treated as is any woman and you do not know how but it is beautiful and you had studied in grade school and had read something in a book of readings in the anthology and the teacher had found one you liked and that he was good and he was like you and so are remembered only now that you've known but the time you had thought you liked and you wanted one like that guy there to talk to, to share the days and make them more beautiful, with a meaning. I him I remember from elementary school when the teacher explained to me the French Revolution, but I thought that while taking the Bastille was the one there with our arms folded watching the girls went by and always chose me, in whatever dream he chose me. Him so that he seems quiet but insightful he tells me a lot of things and made me ashamed to be so exaggerated as they are. Him that when I crises always helps me and gives me back years of joy as they have done a thousand people and I look around and find that I have found paradise.
I hear my friend telling me that she would like someone to say 'see you tomorrow' and I would like you to kill those who do not because she is beautiful and would know why revive them in a moment, she is full of love and beautiful things and sorry if they are childish but it makes me angry because I respect and I know that those of Fanfulla also depress me and make me 'eyes but do not really know what it means to love someone. They tell you that the interest to music and basically, they make their dicks and they laugh and shall consult and choose and not ashamed and yet she is one of the best people I know is ashamed and regrets everything and then, however, cries and does not even know why. He says he would like for someone to say 'see you tomorrow' and I'm really a romantic thing.
I am nostalgic and think of the Child with underwear on his head on the desk of Frank and to launch a pack of Camels on the ground, I think of Anna and Ida what is important in my life, as it is essential to understand the world around me. I think of Anna and her sporadic output only for 'special occasions'. I am thinking of Remedios as a second mother to you recite the CCCP instead of Our Father. I think Frank I do not think more time. I think of Alex I know that there will always be. A Massimo, who was also his older brother. Flaviano who errs and gets up and has a heart of gold, which sells sunglasses best to go any day with us. I think of Gabriel, who just wants to be with me and I would not know what I think of my brother who has not yet figured out which road to take. Billy is lost every day in search of stimulation and would like to tie to a bed and forced to look for at least a week. I think that Flavia has been lost in Bologna, between the Communists and false hopes to find a good reason. To Andrew, I think he's fine where it is. I think of Gabriel, who I have never told the truth, and Gabriel, who always told me the truth. I think of how small that Claudio still not aware of the distortions resulting from living too far away. For Anna pursuing goals with confidence as if the world was better. It's always easy to achieve. A Marco makes me think that the distance was never a problem and that the estimate for someone is the most important thing regardless of kilometers. Sara looking the sea where the air is not there and Daniel is looking for where there is only the sea. Valeria
that the sea has it in your pocket.
Then, small, and as a matter of time, I think Irene and Stephanie, who crossed the border, invaded another continent and invaded something. Something just for me and for them.
I thank you. Thank you first of all I you breathe.
The rest comes later.

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Chanteclair, degreaser. In these cases a better

The room has become a bazaar. There are clothes strewn all over shoes to fill each tile never read books on my desk things gifts ever delivered in mid-read magazines, dusty and smelly blankets tangled mountains of cigarette butts in the ashtray and the smell of entire generations who have spent their lives in here , generations that evaporate from this dirty wallpaper.
I do not want at all to adjust, to clean up. I'm not going to even get out of bed.
I have a feeling that even if I did not change their order a cock in my head. I would stay still too confusing.
The same confusion in the room and head. A confusion that today we can not solve.
I think I lost.

I lost because you told me you do not know what I could do 'grow up' and instead I've told you. I know what you can do. You you've got a chance. And do not think it's just a matter of goodwill. I'm talking about ambitions. You sure you're ambitious.
I think I lost because I was told it would be better to return to Palermo.

I return from Berlin, where you told me you want to live. Beautiful Berlin. Bella lives in Berlin. But the sky is too gray and your feet will freeze in the cold, the rain gets inside you shoes and four is already dark. You could live there anyway, maybe in a small room near a train station east two hundred euro a month. You could eat the salad and kebabs, you could also drink their coffee. You might pay attention to that bum who becomes a heroin right there where you take the subway every day. It could improve the English and wearing earmuffs, to live on hamburgers and hot water bottle, bear a sad and unhealthy in meters on Sunday for a tour of the stalls used to Mauerpark, Tacheles go when you want to make a barrel with some debauched, always Mauerpark to hear what your grandfather is from that generation, to speak with your friend Enna stoned to understand that art is not exactly art. One might go so, and live of tricks to Zoologischer Garten, or maybe in a coffee shop and in his spare time eating donuts and Sacher. Why not?
But first help me understand what I can do and what I can do. Can I stay here in Rome, but only if I win the Lotto. Any chore I did not pay me enough to allow the autonomy the rent of this room. Do not mess with Rome, and yesterday the pizza that I bought cost me a lot of money, ask really cost much and get to the Coliseum is more tiring than you might imagine. Here you get tired while walking. You get tired looking at the people running and you do not even worthy of a glance. You get tired because they call you 'flesh' or 'star' with hypocrisy that gives nausea, why do you smile when they want something in return, these Romans without friends. And sorry if we generalize.
And put me take to the mall or the office's sales 'Muoriroma' I always take the bus or train in the movie as we've never seen in full, what with Favino, the actor who was a bit 'you like. That the film was' sti long journeys by train in the fog that obscured the ankles and eyes always sad, but I'd like to go there to work only on sunny days, and always have an eye to the blue sea. What about love? Maybe I live in the world of fairy tales? We now believe that I'm not quite ripe? Now we believe that bears no resemblance to your mother? Now that you know All my ambitions are made only of 'words' and not facts?
Should I take a shower and go out looking for a job. And I'm not doing. Wasted hours of rent so, without being useful. Tomorrow I try, I promise.
The real trauma of those of our age is that they feel useless because nobody needs them. The lack of work makes us perfectly useless, and who knows how to just write, instead of working for the newspaper in his country and receive payment later this month, goes to work as a cashier at a motorway.
The only thing that satisfies is to write his verses on the toilet tiles of the same restaurants where her colleague, however, greater than two years - that 'grow up' wanted teaching - is the daily cleaning, deleting those lines for shots Chanteclair.

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together they read the article published in 'International', an article by Stephan Faris, published in 'Time', American weekly current affairs.
you read the article that was titled in Italian Goodbye Italy.
And the lead was this:
"It's not exactly the kind of advice you would expect from the director of a university elite. In November of 2009, Pier Luigi Celli, director of the University Luiss University of Rome, wrote an open letter to his son: 'This country, your country is no longer a place where we can stand with pride (...) For this reason, his heart is suffering more than ever, my advice is that you, your studies finished, take the road from abroad. Choose where to go have a value loyalty, respect, recognition of merit and performance.

Article on 'Republic' continued:

'probably will not be all gold, not that. Also happen that often, you take the nostalgia of your country and, I hope, of your old. And you will try to come to terms, to do that for which you have prepared for years.

Listen to me, this is a country you do not deserve. We wanted it to be different and we have failed. Us too. You have the right to live differently, without asking, for example, if what you say or write can disrupt some of these mediocre that count, the risk of being placed in the viewfinder, even subtly, and are left excluded not understand why '.


We are three in the kitchen. We just finished dinner, it's cold outside, the courtyard is scary, the lights are all gone and I'm in the premenstrual phase.
He is tired and yawning every two minutes.
She smiles, but she too is tired. We read together and our laughter just before they are silenced by this cell (which he would take them there money and should be the last to speak).
I finish reading the article and silence falls. We are all three a bit 'more sad.
The backyard is even more dark and cold. For several days I have the impression that my building is unoccupied. Even the neighbors look out more.

She did not want to leave any Lecce to come to Rome, to be honest. Every now and see that the visit of his daily Puglia and law, law and subsequently moved when he dies Uccio Aloisi, singer historic Pinch. He studied political science. She loves what she does. Every time you see instead
incredulous, as she reads what's happening in the world or in Italy and is naive when he raises his voice and eyes expressed his dissent. Sterile dissent.
He says it should go from here. She works ten to twelve hours a day as an intern in a studio architecture without a salary or receive a refund or costs. He has a sense of duty spiccatissimo, is smart, curious, capable and has the potential to achieve his goal. But on the other side. Not here.
The silence after a while 'leaves room for questions and puzzled looks. Better not to think too much.
'How much you spend each month here in Rome?'
'In all, I think € 750, including rent'
'I think so'
'Yes, it is so. But you know that I pay 15 euro per night in that house? I would cost much less than a hostel. And there are no outstanding charges in hostel '
' What an absurd '
' And I do not buy clothes at least three years, with old shoes where it enters the water, and T-shirts with holes '
' But even if my professor came to class with sweaters with holes! What can you do, do not complain. For now there is a crisis'

And then

'What will you do after the internship?'
'I'd like to live in Berlin, working there. I do not know. Mando curricula everywhere. I go everywhere. Outside Italy, however. And you? '
'I do not know. I just do not know '

After a while' forget it. We want desserts. Then she gives me a yellow and cream pan orange. I put in the oven and the dough does not rise either. It turns out a bad cake to see and eat. But at least we have the fears and anxieties deposited somewhere. In a poisoned cake, which is still whole.


I am a provincial. My friends are all of the country and, without trying to generalize, people do not like big cities.
The thing I miss most since I moved to Rome is the light of my grandmother's living room in the morning and her sweet face smiling at me suggesting that it will be a good day. I miss that house near the station of Palermo, which became a prison when I needed it, Sunday morning at home with my parents who come back from the promenade, with hot bread under his arm and a jar of sea urchins bought the old Borgo and on Sundays after lunch, with the TV you listen alone and serenity in the faces of my mother, my My father and brother. I miss rest your feet on the radiator in the winter evenings, my mother and I on a chair too small to contain both, the smell of food cooked by my grandmother, square mansion, and the way of the Cape. I am a provincial
and I'm afraid to go and live abroad. I think that things will be different, and that everything will be easier to find work, I believe that my degree will be used to something and that some time between the government there will not be a jerk that goes to hell and paves the way papers and a showgirl, daily humiliates the citizens, makes laws for itself, has all the broadcast TV networks publishers football teams and the more banks so on and so forth, he spends his money on partying and bitches, that offends the people who work honestly.
I want to stay.

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CHRONICLE OF THE BLACK ME

Romania nurse in a coma, and a fistful of twenties.
After all, who cares. I really do not give a damn. I did not know 'is girl. I do not care then the record.

Did they tell you that anything can happen underground, which the central station of Palermo a fool can take a hammer, that at Mida Lido di Mondello must be careful because you tan while taking a walk or camp on a truck could overwhelm you. Did they tell you that if you go to another city to study you more likely to die than after the September 11 attacks are planned attacks on the world, it would be better not to go to Berlin for the next few months, what happens to Avetrana could happen where you live, you do not even have to trust your uncle, that the Romanians are a people from ghetto, you should pay attention to your neighbors after grass, a mother can kill her child without realizing it, we're a bit 'all but outraged at the bottom so fascinated by the likes of Erika and Omar.
A boom plays for the crime. Then I need to explain what the hell is this desire to look to study film tutte 'ste tragedies? voyeurism necrophiliac?
Of course, now the real journalist is the 'popular reporters'. That is, Simply put, it's you.

Well, today the site of the 'Republic' I read this news and look at the video again the scene of the fist to the metro station Anagnina. And I realize that after this unfortunate handful of twenty, she falls to the ground for more than a minute and no one helps. There are people who go from there decided to fuck off and go on as if nothing had happened. So far
if I was not able to explain it well now I know what bothers me in this fucking crime. News
with the dead, with blood, seasoned with special family improbable intrigue, these stories of murder victims after being raped, of children who kill their parents and vice versa, of people that you take a hammer to the station have made us the monsters because they have rusty heart. Pathetic reflection, but I screwed up. We are a bit 'more animals than before.
Another effect, not least of the news, it is evident that to address the public debate on issues that may obscure others that affect us most directly affect us as citizens of a democratic country.

Then I remembered a kind, an American sociologist named Charles S. Clark said that the violent images on TV cause two effects. He calls them 'victim impact' and 'observer effect'. The first is the fear of falling victim to the individual of violence, the second increase of indifference to the violence suffered by others. The "banality" of the correlation between watching violent scenes and aggressive behavior later, it remains a great truth even if it is inflated.

And now you ashamed that you left on the ground.

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From Finland with Love

We often turn to this blog and not seeing anything new, I decided it was time to give you a little update from Finland. Dallaz apart (which as usual is almost part of my daily life from a distance), I have no other news.

How are you? you do? In short, write!

I am here that I move between the various studies and commitments, quite rightly supported by a lot of Tango, race (saran two weeks and a half that I'm not: Mirko even if you do not have shit to smear when you asked him how he was on FB .. I noticed yet: (

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Definitely pathetic I give a fuck ... Lomography

I'll swallow from this city that I think only made of colored sheets and socks thrown on the ground to fill the corners. These foods are used to take me to get back and then - this know this - you throw up all at once. It makes no sense. Makes absolutely no sense.

I remember the 'inadequacy that comes from years on the bench watching over the chair not to understand others and be understood and yet you, who you knew who you were, now you know better. The blankets at night fall to the ground and in the morning regularly impede the path of awakening.


Now there is a serenity that seemed impossible to reach, a fucking balance. A balance ever. I do not know how to say. Never. Even at seventeen, when I had to take three buses to get from him and looked at my watch and I should not otherwise be late to return home then you hear that story. And no one knew already that I love, and it was a secret and I did not like. And I wish they had been the most natural thing in the world love one another among the trees of a public park with voyeurs who raped you with his eyes and beat the saw, there, behind us. And we did not care. But mine did not see or maybe yes. I had always return, and return on time, with the sea of \u200b\u200bSferracavallo that whispered to me 'tomorrow' every single day and filled my mouth with salt water and dirty.
was dark and there were fishermen. There were lots of presents and a girl of seven who occasionally came in the room by mistake and it always surprised at the sight of his brother naked. Michela. This I remember. The sugar in milk, the guitar and tickets written in pencil. There were train journeys that lasted two or three weeks and nice friends. I was there waiting at home and at the airport and there was love the world's strongest. Something really naive, elementary, laughable. And above all anxious to go home, and return forever.

These eyes 'spirdati' you throw them on me and you present them.

The dream of dying in bed with their bodies entwined and pasted off the light in and out, pull down the shutters to stop time and the feeling it would be nice if that was your parents' house was ours alone. Li
I left your parents die, and you would have done it too. I would have kept alive the cat John, and only for the name. I eliminated all sources of noise, anything could have devolved and keep you from noticing what I was beautiful. And above all would be really nice to get married just to see your tiny eyes in the morning upon waking. Then it would have been nice. And for you too.
You were seventeen years old and wanted a ska band and play the guitar and I loved watching the people go to the English garden and imagine their lives, planned in minute detail. At one point you forgot to design our own and I've thrown away like you do with a fly.



I had never spoken. I had never even tried to remember. I was forcibly removed everything. Deleted because it was too painful. Now I'm almost free.
Now I remember, and I think half of my trauma resulting from the phone you said that you just 'do not love you more '. Then I have not seen him since.
It took nine years to understand and remember. That abandonment
syndrome that ruins young bodies and brains and makes them unfit for life and ready to spirits. These eyes

gift them to you. I have a couple spare.

balance of fruit flavors memory unfolds know that Snow White's coffin inside the crystal.
Only now I understood the meaning of the scene of Un Chien Andalou .

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I was thinking so much about who these friends are not imaginary. That Billy with his lomo that has become his daughter and called Diana. The hot sandwiches el'antipasto to three after eighteen beers and wine and warm with buffalo mozzarella and ham. Ale empty eyes lost in international football and women and the hand counts the minutes that bypasses them and takes too long. Sara
piece of iron. Clear idea that I miss and do not clarify anything, you find refuge in the woman for the first time the other night was wearing a miniskirt.
The costume slips revealing her breasts, legs, groin rough hair or wool, a tent that I'll never learn to mount and pharmacies night so not to burn a vagina unaccustomed to orgasms of love. The pampering that disdain, the phrases, the face-how are you stupid, just that some thong I do not understand. The sea dirtier but more happy, the enamel on the nails of the feet, mismatched shoes in your backpack, the 'young gentleman' that as soon as you wake up making a meal from his father, the runny mascara that I face, homeopathic pills and Penstapho bites. The laughter
non-alcoholic, except for the last days. And a character that keeps me by the hand. The cases that split the eardrums, the Beirutmania, Blonde Redhead that bitch that fucks the brain, In Particular. And a whistle inside machines and showers interspersed with nananananana stations and so on. Stimuli coming from all sides, stray dogs, which are woven bracelets luck alone, the sun darkened a Moroccan who holds out his hand. Fried aubergine
a go go, markets with watermelons split in two to make scenery, fish and seaweed algae that appear to fish that seem, jealousy of the sisters, the camera that I can not use, pacchianissimo a country full of architectural abominations that put good humor, streets and people remained on foot waterfall on the road, sausages and misunderstandings, and important stories moleskine, airports and police, outward for a few moments that seem like years. A light that shines more than ever, a woman who is almost my whole life and that gives me a trip to Berlin, a child who walks away with tears in his eyes after twenty-seven euro fish expired, a galley that has returned from Corsica today and I breathed using a cell phone that I can still hear her, a Mimmo that I could not healthy for good and that is our pride, 'father instinct and duty' for all. A woman to head down for fear of being blinded by the sun and a little girl who smiles at me and my soul. Flavia who is always watching the horizon is also a bathroom with no windows and an angel named One of his wings that he did two covers for a single person. Max Massimino said massimone and seas and Annalisa and Ezio and pepper and all names that I have the book and I call little. Emerge from time to time in the good dreams and make me from the shell.

Maybe I'm ready for Rome, with or without you.
The lump in my throat will melt takeoff.

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Pibe

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Alia

My innocence almost makes me cry.
A. Rimbaud


Vomiting should be the only way I can rework the pain in the stomach and knead gently eject the street.
dirty sidewalks of sorts, and with tears in his eyes past the burping and spitting on long hair on blacks and fake beard, fake balls, fake kids always laugh, but they never tell the truth. And I have a rage that they would explode one by one and I will not chicken out and let me slip on some things. The streets come
rocks do not go out and do not you venture does not want to see.


The blond guy the other night. Only physical attraction. He smart, he sensitive. But it is a friend of one of the juveniles in question. You see, say hello, you are dubious because you've been drinking, then you'll be sorry, you do not know what to do. The attraction is stronger then you think you'd just fuck and forget it the next day. You do not. Do not bet a dime on you nor nor on him.
Some say I speak like a man. And maybe it's true. They are not as sensitive as you think D. I am not at all. Maybe overrated or maybe just tired of too many turns of phrase and delicacy not reciprocated. Bored with your usual routine and with nothing to say.

you imagine an auditorium and below them there, helpless worms that crawl and laugh, laugh always, and never strays from the usual place and the usual people do not know how to interact more with the outside and are polite but do not know then look into your eyes, do not hold the gaze even a moment. Take a position they do not like and you never understand what they think.
useless people who remained there, speckled, sprinkled on the sidewalk in a beautiful dripping vomit and saliva.

now is better.
And there are still things I want to say but I'm afraid. And there are another pair of eyes that fixed a few hours and I do not know if it is good or bad. Two eyes that make me good, for the moment. Today I would like to be

Alia, country and metaphor. Alia, where you see the fireflies and the stars will light the path, in the cold darkness of a night enlivened only the music of crickets and white mice, and day by cicadas. Alia
where you feel better taste and smell, and where there are no tonsillitis and even antibiotics. Alia
where you can travel 'by other means' and 'differently'.

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