White Discharge Week Before Period

Trauma

is over. seemed eternal, immense, endless. I wake up this morning and no more. and who expected it? I no longer feel her scent, which once gave meaning to my days. lead into a deep despair This Sunday will mark indelibly sad sad as my boxer shorts in bright colors. I Went down into the bed of melancholy, and worth a look volubly box useless. the shutter down half-lets in the warm rays of a morning adult, I am invited, but declined every courtship. I sink my face in the pillow and almost bit into it, almost crying, shaking hands with the head of the bed. from the bone comes out of not thinking a thought, I set out to write a Bash against the table, with the result, nevertheless bloody tones, to pass on his back a day Mezzomorto unconscious. mathematically can not predict whether that means, in the sense of symmetric part of one, can become the unit, all, so logic suggests to me that at least the game is not worth the candle. light a candle, vanilla, only for poetic creativity. abandon the supine position and the thalamus and the audience complicit triumphs, tragedies giustappunto and dream journeys. after a brief scuffle with the force of gravity is perfectly upright on two legs. in a manly impulse, do a little scratching to the Netherlands, who promptly sent me an ambassador who does not carry penalties. I got up, I'm not awake. inspected the unmade face in the glass of the cupboard, but I do not trust. too unrealistic reflections that come to my eyes still on the danger list. vague for the kitchen, which does not seem the same. this is too cumbersome new absence. I had to prepare, one day, such a miserable event. how could I be so careless, so blind, superficial?! is a sun damage and the bells did not help me to provide any solutions. I'm lost, desperate, practically in their underwear. I dress. I stumble in my and her clothes. the curse. but I say ... what? back in the kitchen with his hands in his hair pseudo-traumatic feline daughter of awakenings. stagger, but not wet. I am going to open the fridge for a last desperate attempt, when she surrounds me from behind and kisses me back. a voice that only I can tell from that when it is drunk, turns me candidly, 'Honey, expecting me for breakfast ?....' Then I turned and found the despair that darkly painted my face, he continues, 'Hey, what's the matter? Do not tell me who died Flappy! '. 'No, quiet, the cat is ok, but not kill me if I tell you that it's over the supply of coffee ... ... ...'

Snowboarding Cinquain

If

Jean Michel Basquiat Self Portrait

If only I were talking more.

Or at least if I did not speak at all.

missing something, right? The information on the structure we Campania 'IF / THEN / ELSE'. But I am not able to close the loop. If

if

itself.

If only I could avoid ever using the word if . It would be nice to live without being slaves to the hypothetical periods. It would be nice?

Your canvas again.

Have you photographed with your digital camera and, as always, you have sent me into a high-resolution files. This time it's really huge. I used the computer to download the study, it would take me a life using my slow connection. Slow as the white clouds that run on the buildings on this day after all sunny. I'm listening to an Elvis concert when I look at it, but I have a lot of music to play and a deluge of urgent work to complete. I made a request that does not enter anyone in my office, so everyone will think I'm concentrating to complete the draft of the new advertising campaign for the region of Puglia. When I was a student I never imagined that my study could look like so much to my room. As for disorder, that is. My secretary is bigger than me and reminds me of my mother when she scolds me for the chaos that through water while working. Now also allows you to say that this is unprofessional, because it is right.

note carefully the last your creation, and surely I empty a packet of cigarettes. Turn down the volume on your stereo.

been months since we've seen. Apart from the cafe 'hello how are you well and good hello'. For months we produce paintings and I send pictures. Then call me in the middle of the night asking for an opinion. For months we'll send you the haiku I write, but do not ever give me some advice. For months we talk about the perverted taste to savor the memories associated with those and those harmonic frequencies hour mix from the phone line. And while so that mannequin resembling yourself sipping a macchiato, playing a pre-recorded message about the new expressive techniques that were experiencing I stared at the perfect copy of your eyes, concentrating on the lip-read and interpret properly to what I was saying. I admit I have failed miserably. They spoke too fast your eyes, and when they saw that I was one step away from following the thread, go down embarrassed. So I tried to break that my silence, which lasted who knows how long, to say something that would go well in any situation, not the dummy suspicious ...

And now I have put aside the role of the musician, even before those of the advertiser, to enter the part of scientific investigation. I look at the copies of your pictures and take notes. Then I read the reports previous works on trying to build a network of links inexorable, forecasts of possible logical explanations. No. 'madness. Neither logic nor the most modern technological resources available to the forensic science could lead to resolution of this case. Want to talk to me through the marks on your canvas through the colors, always too icy, too sad. And then that red sign . There is always a red mark. There was never a red in your pictures before you knew me. When I have my own aesthetics theorized red. I can feel guilty / responsible. So I find myself stroking the PC screen, in those hot spots where you have decided to place where you left a clue hunt torment. I feel stupid and presumptuous to draw any emotional signs so strong, so linked to the image of me that lives in you. But I just have to cling to other, linked by a rope-tampered-that is about to give the scent of your hair, which is sometimes a shake to wake up in bed at night, then running away like a coward in a sidecar with the warmth of your body cold.

And the words evaporate in the sunshine of a summer ever lived. Superfluous as a trick that might spoil your face so fascinating. Lengthy and unnecessary addition of water in a risotto that cooks ever. Water that evaporates in the sun to the remoteness and silence only to be replaced at a new conversation clinging to the mirrors 'I do not know' and 'you know'.

Words that do solidify in the cold winter that never ends, in order to obtain perfect cubes with which to build robust, elegant symphonies of nothing. Haiku, poetry, short stories paradoxical. I just have to play with words. And play with my image reflected in a bottle of the past, sweet surrender to the night my days too dopate caffeine and incomprehensible laziness. I make a mold in the cork and enjoy it in series in my accomplishments. Every once in a different sauce. Sdogati my Binge image in a thousand forms which stirs the beast in me. To feed on demonstrations of esteem, pleasure, sexual attraction. But it's just a beast that I defend, but making me unapproachable. It 'a dog barking. Bites too, but has no teeth. It does not hurt. It does much more harm his indifference. He just needs to be approached with courage and confidence, even that he should stop barking. But then someone comes to climb over the fence of my heart, without permission. Then the beast before devastate the victim, is to tear me.

And then I would start to swim forever in silence in a low key. The silence of two dumb that they see the words flowing from the objects and the eyes of people who feel the emotions through the wrong notes in a solo jazz, breaks through the cacophony, the notes collected at the foot of a God who does not exist but that comes from transport, those notes that make you stop the beat heart for a few seconds and then you push it at an accelerating pace, those notes that you are sure you have not chosen voluntarily and that make you be so proud at that moment by the illusion of being the creator of all this huge whirling asylum.

If I were God, at this point I realize I'm a bit 'sadist. Ask someone to send me to that country and that country would begin to think of a more honest life.

XXXVI

If I 'do not return the hatred of Love,

that he will not' for Heaven

the 'ho' n the woman that I 'heart seated,

that, who said: - We fo' emperor,

and is 'who do not see indeed du' hours -

them so I would say - 'Go, thou art slain! -

and seeing her, "They parted

of all that is called pain.

Inasmuch ch'i 'of what I n'ho mixed

to see what that agony I tolla:

which is more that makes me frat'Angioliere,

for one thousand hours to be 'n on the glue;

already ten years that rupp'un glass:

even maladìciarmi not spring.

LXXXVI

If I 'was fire, arderéi' the world;

s' i 'was wind, storms;

if I' were water, the 'drowning;

if I' were God, mandereil'en deep

if I 'had Pope,' then joyful,

because all Christians Imbrighi;

if I 'had' mperator, you know 'what to do?

All mozzarei the head in a circle.

If I had died, my father andarei;

if I 'was life, flee from him:

faria similarly to me 'mother.

If I 'were Cecco, is' I am and I was,

torreo young women and gracious:

and old and ugly Lassere others.

[Cecco Angiolieri - Rime]

IF x;

THEN y;

ELSE z.

Another canvas

another if ;

the circle closes.

In ascolto : Via con me - Paolo Conte

Seven Seas Creamy Itlain Dressing

Seen It All Before

“Go ahead baby, run away again

I’m growing tired of chasing you

I know you only have time to love me

When you got nothing better to do.

…You know that I’ve seen it all before

I ain’t gonna be your fool any more…”

Amos Lee – Seen It All Before

“..ma la mia memoria scivola

mi ricordo limpida la trasmissione dei pensieri

if the nsazione that in a moment

whatever you think might happen

And then what happened

wait or forget

see you now

after nearly five years .. "

Federico Zampaglione - The description of a moment

" She loves me and hates me when I'm strong when I'm weak "

Georg Levin - Mrs Superficial

Seen it all before.

Take a picture of me today.

Today I am pretty, today I am strong.

Make me what you want today.

Watch me, hold me, tell me.

Do it today I do not know.

today that my eyes fill you with fear, embarrassment, and safety.

Make a snapshot of me that smiles today.

Do it now because tomorrow will be different.

let years pass before this cover photo.

And maybe you'll understand that it had loved me, but for a moment.

Listening: Seen It All Before - Amos Lee
The description of a moment - Tiromancino
Mrs. Superficial - Georg Levin

Milena Velba In Lingerie

That evening we both had been drinking a little too much. Maybe even two. They had to be passed when I put the 3 in a hurry my papers and my books inside the bag, I paid the bill and walked out from the wine bar. I do not even realized he had left more than ten euro tip.

We went to that place because I needed a meeting, a clarification and understanding. She had agreed, as always, and had followed me like a shadow up to the little known but very popular tavern. I had not even need to ask for confirmation and I ordered two glasses of Falanghina. A group of twentysomethings from the air snob obviously prepared to take a round of absinthe, with small glasses ready on the counter after the quick combustion. A guy on my right quaff a stout, alternating with short sips of Polish vodka cherry and cursing in a language that I recognized to be Portuguese. I should not seem too strange, then crossing the room with two glasses of white wine between his fingers. Always choose a small table near the entrance, so as to facilitate the numerous outputs to smoke cigarettes. Or maybe he chose her, I do not remember. The particular element of that place was the music. Predictable and non-classical jazz, which by the way I loved how my life, but electronic music very well selected. In this place the ancient and modern meet in a way that I can not explain without becoming verbose.

She had not expressed until then, too focused on jazz-quell'electro so refined as blasphemous to the ears of some purists. I also listened and sipped wine. I looked around. I looked around. Watered my narcissism curarmene but without much, as I was so taken by some personal obsessions. We went outside to smoke their first cigarette, because I was hoping that a little 'of nicotine to help me with concentration. On the narrow stairs, other people talking and smoking near the door. I smoked without talking about setting three-quarters of a clouded moon. She seemed quiet waiting to see where I wanted to end up, I put forward. Back below, taken from my bag that I used to work in a notebook of sketches and notes, a wallet with some prints of documents beaten the computer and some hand-written letters with red ink. It was a collection of material written by me and a woman who had loved in a happy time in my life. Letters, notes on interesting conversations, drawings made at the time, listened to records and recommended and even messages sent by mobile phone. I thought it would be like with the sequences of a movie with quiet concern after it was shot, being able to linger with a point of view more 'objective' about things escaped the previous visions. I had to relate the movie to see if I could girarne a new or burn the film and I had to start all over again the same script. It 'obvious that she was demanding whether they regarded the film as an unedifying, not to forget, but rather to pass it without delay. He began to talk to me like a raging torrent; of a Suddenly I was surprised at how far the silence before his monologue. After I read each sentence and as new parts were added to the memories then flown over, you make matters worse. I was already on his second glass of white and we were fourth in practice. I could hardly hold back my tears, realizing how much the situation had gone out of my control, and the same as all the glory had not been removed by me after all this time, but had continued to flow under the skin, enriching the fantasies created by ' failing that, by distance, by doubt. You would have to help me in all this chaos within. I think they want his opinion, of being able to accept the objectivity that I have always recognized, but those tears Falanghina deleted and the third made me realize that I could not hear it. I did not want, even if I could. And this marvel to see me upset, convinced he wants to put to rest, I made my blood boil and plunge in a chronic state of catatonia. Now his 'Shoot out' and his 'forget' the mingled sound of glasses, cutlery, laughter. I knew it was because he loved me, why he was there to save me, but my reasons, I feel stronger, even though, paradoxically, much less stable. I had always learned to trust my instincts when I was convinced, and I had always gone well.

Contemplating neon on the sign of a brand of beer, I jumped up and placed all my things in the bag. I waved to one of the barmen and left the money in the account on the table, without waiting to rest and receive the ticket. She followed me like a cloud of words around the head. I started to shout at him, climbing the stairs, and ask her to leave me alone and go away. People who saw me out on the street looked with puzzled looks. 'Please, stop, shut up'. the repeated whining like a hysterical. 'Where were you when I needed you? Eh? Reply! ' Add after each claim or request for silence. She screamed words that seemed to insult, but not lost, as was I was doing, the calm. I was exhausted, tired, disappointed, I ran away to pee, I had a headache and the world around me had decided to rotate around me. Spectacular manifestation of my ego. I lay down next to a fountain with a large bath and large illuminated statues now scroll left hours squirt water from their perfect shapes of the Hellenes. So was my body that I seemed to start spinning in the background property of a plaza paved with stone and visceral fears. She was going to attack me again, when I got up on his legs and began to chase it around the edge of the tub. He was able, or perhaps imagined to succeed, and to grasp began a violent confrontation. For each shot infertole I felt more tired and I could see less, I felt terrible pangs of body and my mouth was dripping with blood and saliva alcohol.

I pushed her into the water. Only a few tens of centimeters deep, but they were enough to fill his mortal body of water and resentment.

Thus ammazzai my conscience.

And so I took off my life that night I had drunk a glass too. Maybe even two.

Listening: That Night (Wahoo Mix) - Jazzanova