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Dove la luce spegne il giorno

c'è un saluto che è un "a fra poco".

Dove le corolle piegano le loro braccia sul petto,

inarcano la schiena

e si avvolgono in un cerchio,

che saldo si chiude e le protegge.

E le immagini continuano a scrivere,

ciò che gli occhi in quel momento ciechi,

non riescono a vedere.

Ali nere solcano la notte,

graffiando corpi legati dal possesso.

Non capisco,

perchè chi si vanta di avere in mano verità,

le nasconde tra odori e falsi riflessi,

allargando il suo passo lontano dalla mia irreverence.

Why worry so much wind,

you would like to grab a handful,

lambisse you would like your old boundaries,

craving its energy

and then turn away,

sometimes hiding his hand behind his back,

other whistling palms stripes from the blades of the wind?

The night capture,

among the pine needles scattered on the asphalt at a bend,

similar images of emotions.

remain imprinted on the spider web,

which drip drops,

that reflect our reflection.

footsteps of the past and shake your soul

e ti ritrovi a parlare con la voce tagliente della verità.

I corpi si toccano

e ogni parte di noi si fonde nella sua bramata carnalità,

mentre l'aria si riempie di gemiti,

sospiri

e ringhi.

Raccogliamo le nostre emozioni,

hands that bind our world,

while

as we are,

we reflect in the water

and nothing can go through our reflection,

because it's true.

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I'm tired. Physically tired, always, continually. I can not stand any longer than necessary, I can not walk long distances without complaining and want to go. I can not even entertain social relations for too long, and I will sleep with exaggerated ease during the day.
The night I sleep badly . The night did not sleep at all and I wake up still sleepy. I go to bed late, as usual, and the commitments that I want to wake up early too often. Other times I do not have the forces to leave even ten minutes from home. Really, I can only press the keys on the PC, but even play - and this is doubly worrying - it makes me feel heavy eyes and a little mental clarity.
All this for a month, maybe more now.
And last week has increased, although fortunately had the good idea to give me sick for a few days and disappear. No one understood. Or maybe in a few. Not who I wanted.


If only I could, I stay at home with my music, close, coffee, computers, silence. If only I could, to stand for weeks, months, without the worry that this choice implies the abandonment.
But people get tired of waiting. People do not understand, and then get tired. E 'lawful, ed è un giusto macigno sullo stomaco, un altro .


Persino le compagnie più piacevoli non sono desiderate, e prego che arrivi presto il momento di restare sola. Con poche eccezioni. Le eccezioni che non mi fanno pensare. Che non pretendono nulla da me. Che non mi danno un ruolo da seguire, e che dunque mi lasciano libera. Forse non capiscono, ma si adattano bene. 

Che non mi danno un ruolo da seguire.

The Meaning Of Colors Of Faith

Mettiamo che...

Mettiamo che..

c'è un sentiero che si snoda nel bosco tra tappeti di foglie cadute,

si allunga all'orrizzonte vago del mare su frantumate conchiglie

e i suoni si fondono tra l'onda e il ciarlare di uccelli,

mentre il vento soffia costante fischiando tra i rami,

riempiendo vele di nuvole che navigano veloci sul pelo dell'acqua.

Say ...

the walls are black and the background is already dark,

to the stars hide their faces in the glow of the moon,

where the view stretch on reflexes,

getting lost in the bristles of brushes,

raise the nails from the crust.

Say ...

peace reigns in the game of the senses,

touching the elements of nature,

hidden from the printed side of the moon,

where the eyes are half closed contours delineating that excite,

where the sound is dipped in the waves,

carrying hints of fish silent

flowing images of feathers that cut through the air,

where emotion reigns.

Say ...

the music of nature invades us,

but the silence is only punctuated by the pounding of blood

the heartbeat

and as an orchestra that has no director,

one can distinguish the rustle of leaves,

cleave the air with the wings of seagulls,

tribal way of long lines of ants ,

the muffled sound of claws flying the wind .....

Say ...

each step is always the beginning of the path of the forest,

that stretches beyond the horizon of the sea,

in this dark fact of traces of lights,

in this silence made of scraps of sound,

naked

with their mouths slightly open in astonishment,

looking up the mountain top

and smiling at stone held in his hand,

that clings to absorb the essence,

jumping on the water surface

reflecting the furrow between the circles of his dives.

Say ...

his eyes sinking into his eyes,

I can see me,

I can see you,

supports that if the fingers on my lips Can you hear my words,

clenching your wrists I feel pulsing through your veins

and the air is full of the smell our

and as I bite you can feel your taste.

Say ...

this is the Our world

and floats like a nucleus in the midst of other

and moving like wild beasts,

hungry every Noi.

And where the nails are ready for branding,

claws are ready to protect,

as steel blades reflect our serenity ,

on the cutting edge of the harsh reality.

Crudo is not cruel ...

Pure scary ..

Say ...

we are always at the beginning of the path of the forest,

that winds over the horizon of the sea

and silence the roots cling to land,

wet from the wind,

heated water,

on which blows the heat of the fire.

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. ElreP et id

. EUnet ecul Ellada osselfir them odnaiffarg and odnalovicis ,

ehgeip el art is amlaps ehc,

IOM loc odnedirtni out Herod,

ellep arpos onograps is,

oiredised ortson li onottelfir ehc,

eccog elocciP

.erevecir a itnorp omais iop ehc,

òic erad id enoizome'l odnetoucs,

ioN id us onagnulla is e

erolac li onodividnoc ehc,

emal id isselfir e

itneilgat eihgnu art onaliffa inam ertson el ehc,

erecaip li onaiffarg ehc,

adifs id ihcco,

eropas led edno el onapsercni ehc,

idivirB

.ioN id etrap ingo onacrec ehc,

isnes ius odnerrocs,

enrac artson al onarolpse ehc,

idraugs id icorcni art etagel inam id ihcoiG

.ioN id aznesse'l,

ongup nu ni olodnegnirts arreffa ehc,

oiccarbba nu,

otnitsi etrof id ipmal ni etnem to atnemrot ehc,

odnom id etterts iterap el art alovicS

. no es ion,

issets ion us onarvos è'c not Evodia,

anigeR eR them to omais Evodia Ongero itlovva len,

aznenetrappa id ihccot eracrec a onaunitnoc ehc,

itnemivom itnel id ossap li ioN id us ednets is ,

etton aiub id olev nu emoC

.ecaP

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Lo scrigno di Daniel!

I am convinced that you can buy games for children the most beautiful dolls, puppets, music boxes and carousels so on and so forth ... and they play with what?? Shoelaces, spoons (my seems the magician Otelma .. look at them, fixes them, turning them .. try to bend with only the imposition of the gums. ...

and so .. I decided to wrap up the cabin and puppets (in true sense of the word ..) to keep some aficionados as they say ... Cyril (the Woe is missing), some beard papa, the pans donated by her grandmother ... and so to experience them to me ... some are made advice from the physiotherapist Godzillina teacher and a friend of the nest .. The most popular are wooden rings (pack of 25 pcs. A € 2.50) of these type Brico ..

paper Easter egg like this (those that make crichcroch for instance)

and the legendary cushion mile We did the physiotherapist (just 1kg of millet, a bit 'of cloth and a sewing machine!)

Also I want to mention a "virtual girlfriend" .. Silvia Lonardo "owner" of the facebook page

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Cose-da-Mamme/158075184209559

That allowed me to use the picture of Daniel in the small box of wonders!

casket contains ....


a blue scoop

of wooden buttons sewn together,

a piece of wool infeltito,

the slots of these buttons before even sewn together,

a bottle full of noodles,

a plastic bag silver folded and held in place by Scotch,

a plastic cup full of lentils closed with plastic wrap above (stop with tape around the edge) so that the content you see him out without

a glass jar with lentils and noodles in a star-shaped

a red wooden clothespin

colored straws together at the center with tape

a red lace folded several times and stopped in the middle with Scotch

strips of wool fabric sewn together

a box of red paper

a wooden ladle

a cylinder of wood

a wooden brush

a sock full of noodles, closed with a knot around which I put duct tape yellow to be sure that you can not open

Cuki a bag with ice in water (again, made a knot around the top and then scotch)

sponge

fun moms and .... Godzillini!

Silvia And thanks again !!!!!

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disease

Spegniamo le vibranti note

melancholy smell of old

memories and memories

away.

Shut bright colors,

sacrificing our eyes

to breathe the dying heart

offended.

Shut the nostalgic

first person plural,

reducing it to just a singular

lonely.

Just me, now, between your fingers,

hold the power of the stars,

and closing the hands,

eclipsed their lives

without help.

extinguished .

Us. Together. Once upon a time.

KILL .

I. Alone.

Now.

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Possesso remoto

steps sull'assito produce a sound family

different steps weighed by the same foot.

From the stage I look at the empty chairs, the torn edges of the tent

remains in the air and the buzz of low voices.

pull the strings from the cloth carefully dusted and I look at that theater, voices hidden in theatrical clothes that sit supported by time,

worn on textiles which lack the studs that attach to the wood .

It 'nice to weigh the small steps and leave the wood that grows to fill the air with its sound.

Fragments break under my feet, go down like blades of grass in a crisp lawn.

I look at the chair in the middle of the stage.

smile.

What was the pulpit of my monologue,

that he never saw the sign as a confessional of my knees, stretching his straw stained with the time on foot worm-eaten

and now that I sit down with hugs me back.

smile again ..

on that seat where my words come out.

My soul produces them, has no filters,

but now an image is reflected in "complete".

And just a word to silence those costumes that occupy the seats in the stalls, faces to hide behind the drapes of the gallery, to conceal the truth behind the acid of the words that have fallen on the stage, slipping on the wood.

Just a word .... We ....

and runs like a slide show pictures of my talk,

slip nooses su corde che afferrano il dolore,

fendono l'aria col loro tagliare ,come lazos di gauchos che catturano la preda.

Frammenti di oggetti riflettenti che illuminano di bagliore il pensiero che il danno accomuna i dannati.

Bagliori come fiammelle di candele nella tormenta del vento.

Deboli legami che si spezzano nel ledersi del tempo,senso di possesso remoto, di rivendicazioni di monarchie che hanno perso la loro nobiltà.

Immagini di spugne che assorbono il dolore altrui, sotto il peso del lancio di meteore ai confini di un mondo per entrare in un altro.

Ma essere pietrificati non produce movimento.La pietra, se non la lanci, è staticità pura e il vento che fischia tra i suoi spigoli la erode,scivola e se ne va.

E col vento se ne vanno le emozioni e già è difficile afferrare quel soffio,

impossibile prenderlo per la coda.

acid is attempting to corrode slides hidden intrigues and attempts to even hear the possession of break in its purity.

And purity is only a transparent veil, which does not hide it good, nor evil.

And cries that rise up seeking his illness to live in compassion.

Black is still below the waterfall, is rinsing your sponge.

not know compassion, I know pity, I love the challenge, face to face and not hidden behind masks of smiles weeping.

Call me whatever you want, believe what you want, so it's always been.

Why does not reflect anything but a mirror image of themselves or of what we believe to be.

why I loved and I was amazed the mirror clear water of a stream through the trees of the forest.

Because I saw my reflection U.S..

E...Nothingh else matter....

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Taking over me

So che il vento si getta nel fuoco ,

lo abbraccia,

ne spalma il calore,

spargendolo nei contorni di un cerchio.

So che il fuoco si tuffa nel vento,

stringendo le sue hands on breast

and extends its languages \u200b\u200bfilling every space.

And in the circle of dark colored

the sound of silence,

of fire and wind.

While on the window dripping raindrops,

slipping as pure water on the mirrors to which there clings,

the accompanying sound and does not cover the noise of our bodies,

that slide on each other,

drops of exchanging fire,

blasts of rain

and hot wind.

"Taking Over Me",

eyes while exchanging messages,

licking the edges of our desires

slip into the folds and the muscles,

like rustling silk draperies sharp.

leather lace sussultan meat

and the eyes of challenge run by touching the skin,

wonder how the details a lawn

and capturing the reflections of dew drops

that reflect the world,

with your knees wet,

while the cola brand essence

sharp edges of nails,

dripping up to the end along the wrists

lines of points of possession.

Now the earth warm breath of fire,

drops of rain bearing wind.

and lips unfold with astonishment,

dancing on the wailing notes of sighs,

slow steps that trample on the expanses of petals,

that the smell of Us

while your lips are filled

of what his hands ripping

and my fingers crushed shells,

to spread droplets of silicon between the grooves of your land.

smell the flavor,

lick looks,

listen to the touch,

look like odor spread drops that have fallen in Us,

touch with our fingers that everything belongs to us.

And water

and land

and fire in the wind.

"Taking Over Me"

In a time that does not have time.

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Onora il padre (sopratutto!!) & la madre

4 hours of the morning of a working day (one of the first for me) ... Godzillina since I went back to work mode "lazy forever" mode "after hour "This means that the fun activities start at 4 am the type .. lego duplo, raiyoyo, songs, lullabies, dance, choral singing courses tarantella ... and so on and so forth ... that stuff more than family disaster seem unlucky cousins \u200b\u200bof the miloCotogno Melevisione ... so we have reduced ...

latest affront to the father figure .......... Dr.Male tonight ...... .. got momentum from psychopath and probably fed up about an hour lego duplo, grind it, classical ballet and IMPROVISATION drawn from pure gold (yes .. we do not know the words to almost none of the songs) that Peppino di Capri is the chip only na .... Belphegor takes ... that while they had ingested several tablets nag and a hearty dose of goccine Satanic .... especially annoyed by the fact that the father did not know to perfection all the text version of the Dancing quaqua puts it in the bed .. and this is the conversation that he could hear Mammadisastro (Grin ... and I admit it ..) made the doghouse with blankets ... between the two -

Dr.Male --- "BELPHEGOR NOW YOU SLEEP ... .. Do you understand? ? FAI the Nanne! NANNA!

puppy Belfagor ...* 5 seconds of silence in which I imagine to fix the so-called "father figure" *

- NA-NA - * you have to imagine the voice of small and delicate a creature of 7 months that he looks completely calm! *

Dr.Male---- YES! NANNA! YOU GOT IT!? FA THE NA-NE! "

Belphegor * 5 seconds of silence * - NA-NA! -

.. Here in while this was more or less the face of Dr.Male (I know why does it always on these occasions !!!!)

.. And so the two daredevils have gone on for another good five minutes playing the "game of exhaustion" ... (With mom disaster that he laughed merrily under the warm duvet .... because I knew exactly who would win ....) MORAL THE NIGHT??

THE EVENING LIONS IN THE MORNING .. .....

EHMMMM ........

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hopping around in my path happens

though it seems,

slowing down.

I do not watch for sure the only stop certain,

also because I have "quite a lot more" to do.

Usually I talk a lot,

part di me,

del farmi conoscere,

nel non nascondere le mie migliaia di difetti,

che continuo a portarmi dietro.

Valigia non pesante,

facente parte del soggetto se medesimo in questione.

Mi ritrovo nel mio aspetto di dannato,

non l'ho dovuto sposare,

are only entered in the choices that I decided

and I'm not sorry for anything,

do not regret anything.

My tongue is like bristles of the brush, I like to describe the emotions and feelings,

try to do it, though continues to remain difficult color images

with words that are often not quite sufficient, or at least do not come to satisfy what I want to express.

But my talk,

not part of a prearranged plan,

as in everything I suddenly

letting the reflection of the particular experiences at particular points,

give voice to my silence.

this enchantment.

That damn black plate that reflects light.

And my path does not stop,

my path has goals,

but to know,

continue to amaze me.

just that I realize that the words which I call the silence

at the end are nothing more than that.

Who stops along the way,

I paint with acid colors,

reflects only black on me.

dress that does not deny,

dress that suits me,

still wearing only myself.

Unfortunately there are those who lose in the path my words and would like to make my own its.

This is not I mean it does not make mistakes.

Li commit indeed.

But a fist to stop the wind seems impossible ..

actually standing still is impossible.

And when that happens you break up those castles that were built,

not care to be of sand or brick

erosion static,

of the discount

do nothing but erode over time what seemed certain.

Adrenaline And all those thoughts about the future,

I do not have it and not because I shun,

but why do not want to miss this thinking something that does not exist.

And from my non-stop from start to do all those phrases tried to accuse a past that was present,

on a life that was growing.

Only I do not deny the past.

Sometimes I wonder if I was alone in that past without noticing.

You breathe fresh air down here.

I love it when you send me to hell.