Дениз МИлани

Why not call it. and so on. and so on.

high sun
head down
looks average.


stopped in the afternoon on climate and cigarettes as well.


love for the streets and bicycle wheels.

I'm in a cafe.
I found myself.

between the voices among the flowers.

expecting rain.
and instead.
I only found me.

the language of lollipops
dirty dirty life of the wind.
hands. clean.

no one can grab.
hours.

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You try to recognize faults in others which are verifiable within.

I do not feel alone, one could say with a touch of irony. Perhaps for the sake of evil, could be said with any other intention. Or for an intimate pleasure to a perversion. But even for a failure to see, of being, feeling really feel like a man.

A man is flesh and blood and feelings, before thought and ideals. Ideals must be said on all occasions, not just when convenient. Not when you need them to save themselves against the salvation of someone else.

A man puts others before himself. A man does not speak evil behind of others. A man lies to himself nor to others. But above all a man does not lie to God truth is that this elevation in the depths of the mind clearer, many of which are forgotten. Remember it only in case of troubles, when it is too late to turn to Him

A man can offer to the world, for the sake of what is outside is the same right that gives clarity to what belongs to the inside.

A man is flesh and blood. And laying his eyes on what is lawful and beauty: the beauty is in the purity of the pleasure.

The beauty is in the balance, where everyone finds the privilege to be without shortcomings. The beauty is ethereal, and spirit, and imagination. The nice thing is freedom. Free is the man, not the animals enslaved to a master.

conscience is clear. The one thing that pricked the unjust.

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emotions, headaches. united in the same color green.

high humidity and heat.
human.
copyright in a half-sleeve evening
with the turmoil on the stool beside him.
chills.

cigarettes , Volume up.
the thoughts locked in the car.
in the parking lot.

life in the palms of hands
oozing emotion.
nuclear
smiles in the ass to sleepless nights.

nothing is by chance.
anything or anyone.
money in your pocket and speeches.

'd live forever on the night?
life which has a good day of awakening.
nights are more 'nights. when you take away the wool.
and show skin.

black spots.
puliremo.

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In this blog asked me to contribute an illustration unit of Italy, it seemed a good idea to put a rifettere on the current situation and feel more involved, even if in Catalan lands ..
Thanks for inviting me! A video of
crozza to laugh a little!

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that is evident


does not mean you sleep without dreaming
piensieri
without photo
steady gaze and sly


quiet morning where the rain is gone
pause and wait for the whole wind.

the rest is paper ass.
soft.

now I'm staying here.
address and do not need to find me.

little light and lots of coins.

I do not tremble anymore.
and you?

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the nights that I've ever said.

hear you rain.
a wall of water on the asphalt.
heaven does not want to stop
as the days are quiet
the smell of the new season is behind the door
women smile. is laid bare.
rays of a sun that I can not wait for days
began to collapse.
the wool blankets they cry, they will die.
while the nights, those.
you do not expect them ever.
red lipstick. dirty glasses.
sheets.

uncombed hair and skin to smell.
spring is in the stomach.
and not in the thermometer.

high heels and bare feet.
I continue to smoke.

bruises.

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is invulnerable in the morning will come a time when the

bright colors almost
sheets still warm

to smell while the hour of tea and something approaching


fuses will have warm hands and eyes crinkled

need to go play the
life out there.

out of the glass is all too firm.

is not a cage but it feels good.
today I want to stay here.

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. while I sleep.

not find the lighter but I
cigarettes filled
tobacco is not yet out of the package
my mood too, remained in his pocket
perhaps undecided, or will not get cold.
Smiling.

the shoes make noise when they walk
but maybe it's just to keep me awake keep me attentive

while spring gets
and smell the night to let the ice still covered.

women are put lipstick.
and stockings carefully.

and me. I have not stopped smoking.
my head as a step
booming elephant adult
safe, steady, heavy.

for annoiasi takes time. here.

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to walk with freedom.

the past in an ashtray
now gone, emptied
also knew the tears of disgust
palpitations remained above that
seat of that car that I have already changed
and I'm so good at this place.

meet
is a smile with a firm hand to fill glasses
escape. not to hurt. live.

soul bleached by the sun of spring.
was my last love. and I already knew.

the rest I have always smoked too much.
the rest have always been myself.

death for women is not permissible.
die for a war is just stupid.
so I just stayed under the sun. that day.

no drama.

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Tomorrow

Hope is faith and culture. These are times in which to express content, not to get by without being tempted to look. The temptation is to call a deranged minds. Hardly perverted are tempted by the colors of the morning. Everything depends on the case, if you lose consideration and respect for the lives of others. The case is not the chaos that held together the opposites of the first differentiation according to weight, quality and spirit.


I always returns to mind the sky of the hill the men who gave direction and guidance to the dreams of children. Those children who are now men, in lands of the plains, where humanity is mirage and blasphemy and offense are the way to the end of all actions. But those children grew up on cold slabs of stone, reared on goat's milk, drawn up for the bumps of the green hill, which received the heat of words and gestures, have not extinguished the desire and the dreams that kept them awake nights under that starry sky, universal image of God, never forget having to be the image of those that were. Memories are a breath of time to come, despite has been announced in one of those nights when the moon and star trails.

never forget their mothers, those children, those mothers who watch them from afar, who join them in their dreams while awake, suggesting their love and virtue. On
womb you the nights of crying and consoling delusion. It is important to look for meaning and truth, it is important to accommodate the flights of swallows over the roofs of dyed blue of a sky that opens up wonderful glimpses of destiny. And each one finds the road. Sooner or later they'll all get in the way of having fragile trails of clouds and rainbows. We must proceed gently, with care and curiosity.

is Necessary know who I am and not try to find faults in others. What others are not is not weight and lightness.

If you look carefully, you realize that you are away even from the start of each journey.

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even sleep, is a luxury.

beard is long of those who can not wait

of those who decided not care

everywhere, in every such.
jeans in the wind, the cold air.

Gypsies are born, we become pilgrims
the sun was too low to see us.

thirst, light, and then the night.
coins and scattered light to open a soft pack.

between the pear liqueur, and tales of rags to wash
everything seems to lose shape.
my pillow smells the same.

red liquid. and dry hands.
love machine.
life in your pocket.

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The delicacy of an eye

are still waiting, maybe I will find some travel companion. It does not count the money, no! Not even counting the big car and even women, if they are a good shop at the market to give themselves an air of being sexual with a well characterized. There are angels who did not have to prove anything, because their beauty is more radiant than any other vile rise scandalous intimacy of species of men wanting to prove that they are revealed in all their vileness. There are men and women who are lost in the complications of feelings that can only make them unhappy. They are seeking love, even in this market, as you do with lemons, when supply is convenient. But love can not buy! Not asked or give in to the insistence of those who sell. Love is being itself. You can not love those who have no soul and body, delicate and fair, who does not have emotions and intimacy where the beauty ideal and comprehensive showing absolute good, before all other desires, before any other pleasure. The pleasure is stolen sorrow and regret. E 'blackmail has bad intentions. E 'discord and decay.
are still waiting, who knows, you return the delicacy of an eye.

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at a slow pace.

late

walk quietly into the night smiling
and solar

even look tired
only the sound of rubber and asphalt


while he buried himself in
away inside me.
looked like the end.
could be
not.
rather shit.

what I want, how much you loose.
hear the scream of the world.

did not know what to look
then I saw something.
and I heard the sound of machinery.

night. is always wonderful.

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Pansa. but that's normal. with the head I have.


pale lips biting taste of saliva.
something soft.
under the sheet is better
life runs the same

walking in the center between the afternoon coffee and cigarettes
abundant.

fresh air and comfortable shoes
behind a pair of glasses

afternoons always seem better.

but I'm still thirsty.

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leave a message. will call you back. thanks.

'm not looking for you.
and even me.
search for life in the palm of the hand between the voices of
CRT
pages yellowed and tobacco cloth.

no bad time
even the silence of the rain takes away
rooted thoughts.

does not hurt to think big.
just think maybe it helps.

change everything.
also present.

save ourselves the butt. before the soul.
we will be sitting.
have to wait.

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what I say. tell me.

windows opened
table. glasses.
overflowing ashtray.
the whole, wrapped in purple.

laughter, screams, cries.
TV intermittently and white walls.

not so tragic.
nothing.

cats have people resting energy

no scratches.

the evening is here.

between ancient beliefs and barefoot on the couch.

hours.

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Saturday will inaugurate the exhibition with more than 300 drawings of children, more than 60 penguins made by so many talented illustrators.
Sábado 12, at 12:30 en Abracadabra (c / General Alvarez de Castro, 5).

Below my penguin (I know, seems like a sparrow pregnant ..) plus the poster of the event.

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I ended up having sore lips


of stars not to pay even the shadow of the moon that night I light

and lighters scarce

"want the light of this kiss?"

thank you but I continue with the butt
dim light. orange full.
my way I know.
is made of a continuous junction.

So here I go. I'm ok.

I forgot my heart.
you bring it to me.
if you find it.
is black. and outside it is night.

my running shoes. I smile.
my sheets are no longer cold.
without you.

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autumn and red tempera. dreamless.

the smell of the last day of life
tired running around the room.
no pain, no mercy.
only white teeth, tired eyes.

night burning in my glass
clean, neat. now dry.

nothing has changed.

may change but want a big gamble.

nothing has changed.
I just picked up a cigarette. when they are in the dark.

still laugh out loud.
continues.
the anxiety is always nice.

want a strong shudder.
dry.

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your injury will not keep you warm tonight.

light moments in the heavy words
the sun out, the fog
inside the ice, only in the glasses.

take everything calmly
in the package still soft in the middle
night kisses might be many
any inappropriate

the coffee is always bitter. thanks.
while I recover from the consciousness of an ordinary day. I
unshaven
and ideas for sale here.

prejudices are cold.
warm blankets.
hot women.

know how sometimes you just think about it.
in solitude.

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Kiss my dark glasses. I will have my eyes wide open.

the fire burns. orange full.
while the warmth rises
between drafts of a closed door
and bad memories of trips on a couch.

the quiet calm. cold water from tempered glass.
not feel any cold.

even in deserted streets at night.
language and dried by a night too long.

the car in gear and blues stride.
to make you think your stomach.

life on the asphalt. is wrong. returns.
perfect car.

forgotten songs.
forget memories.
forget myself.
the skin and the smell of what ever.

am aware of my hands.
them speak for me.

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looks low and long beard
here.
in the thin sound of a morning to late to move

wakes up slowly, as time does not forgive
and I still have those things on my mind
too many things on my mind I
new cigarettes and a heart that does not stink while
glasses are there waiting.
there I hope, I've got to believe
bubbles are released from the mouth as words like smoke
truth.

murmurs and some people would like hello with hugs them true.
no coffee.
expressions of serenity.
look forward to the valley of tears.
is just around the corner.

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esteem

I put aside any further consideration about the wonder and contemplation of this wonderful time that we are all experiencing. Even if someone does not live properly, but also as the living man is alive. Some people die, but death is part of life, therefore, is alive even those no longer living. It is a play on words, not of prestige, even disrespect the dead. E 'disrespect for the living, who died while being alive, and mischief and disaster, with their ways, their gestures, their rudeness, their selfishness, their self-esteem, total disrespect for our neighbor, the suggestion that he would need the same divine love that is directed to the self.

buried the dead, at least those are alive in our memories, and support us with their whispers, they invite us to become men to be men, to overcome life and death with the grace and the gift of the soul. They do not ask anything for himself these heavenly souls, but calling for an eternal rest for the world because they do not die suffocated by those who screams and calls for self-esteem, calls itself the self-esteem that can never find who did not find the estimate of each thing, at least something or someone who is different from oneself. An eternal rest, rest in peace because those who have left the earth, is the simplest gesture of one who is looking for self-esteem. Self-esteem is looking through the actions, thoughts, virtues to devote to life in all its forms. Who asks and seeks for itself is definitely dead, and nobody can suggest anything that has value for oneself and for others.

Everything is self-denial is. Not Autovie, not autopista, not automangia. Simply: we live, talk, eat. We love without autoamarsi. It breathes. We dream. You choose. You watch. You think. If opponessimo Self-operated in these actions would be the end of the world. Being is the goal, the end is autoessere.

You try and call for its consideration, because it is worthy of the world, which receives and feeds of our estimate: our thoughts, our beauty, our humanity.

A clean world without cars, is a world of living men, including the dead, and also live in the houses of those who worship in the heart and soul

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walked avoid potholes. I avoided people.

no clouds.
sun and cold

those words on the screen of a phone.

my voice is back but the silence sometimes

announces concepts


I smell the sea and a night without salt in the stomach moves



the need for speed and hands continue to seek
that contact and

arrives. arrives.
you just know how to wait.

the moment when you look closely.
I were you.
I'd laugh.
be sad and so ' simple.
be sad and all too human.

I have a few cigarettes and
long way to go.

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Cornell Woolrich, the cynical author of the Angel black

About Woolrich is written all over and from many sides, giving different explanations about his story. Someone called him anxious, and in fact this is the anxiety in his eyes, the look of one of the most essential of the narrators. The word is subterfuge, in fact, support action of all characters within, which show only the appearance, hiding much more severe obsessions and remote areas. The tension builds insidious and powerless, while life goes on tormenting doubts of gestures just spoken, never revealed to delusions, which are a combination of errors and deceptions, precipitating events to the fate of a death that takes relentless behind , where deceit too often affects the author and not the victim. The comparison runs between cynicism and naivete, between ambition and ostentatious acceptance of an incomprehensible order, which is disorder, which is ruined and sometimes unexpected salvation. Woolrich opens his characters by giving them a glimpse of the world which is contrary their inner feelings, as if to throw off, or put them on alert: the simplicity is sometimes too obvious not to arouse suspicion, as well as the certainty of one who is arrogant does not glimpse the possibility of danger that is inherent in their certainties.
not lost in unnecessary hyperbole Woolrich, in meticulous descriptions. Not portrays the figures with particular meticulousness: Just a hint, a sign. Not even uses the metaphor does not seem to be attracted. Each description is only an excuse to give development to mixed feelings, the tensions that each one carries with him, hoping that nothing happens.

"He can not do it, I know, will never get past the barrier, but could always give it a try, has enough space to do it. The piece of road that lies ahead is still unrestricted, unhindered, and could groped to cross on the run, before the plummet on him, and postpone the malmenino back. And 'the gesture that counts, not the result.
But that's not how things are going, keep telling myself with sad cynicism. Not in real life, only in our oaths to go clubbing or university endowments in the Masonic in our cowboy movies and comic books. Because, contrary to the humanist thought in the seventeenth century, every man is an island complete in itself, and as it is sinking, around him the feet keep moving, from nothing to nothing with no time to lose. "

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cast iron radiators. ice water.

no fog. no smoke.
only sun. and nonproductive cough.
you look behind the lens.
now dark, blinding for the occasion.

palpitations. the heart.
is just the heart.
an ordered motion.

books well arranged
average volume
and lips with glycerin.

silence. I'm listening.
silent.
not troubled. silence.

the country is almost lunchtime.
'm going to take my portion of life.

me. for today.
are calm.

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From my window. Shutter down.

my throat is inflamed
thoughts
clean hair in disarray

the radio too high
the glass is half full
I did not even have a woman
and why.

appearance.
I expect. I wait for you? I have the full package


put us treasure the time you want.

one day decide
favorite color in my eyes.

and maybe stop looking
words in books.

hear how it sounds. listen.

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meeting with aliens

entered by chance on a literary blog I try to participate with my comments.
I live comments are written by people talking about him, without listening, nodding on absolute paranoia, the substance of which may resemble a dialogue like this: "Today it's raining," said someone. "Yes, yes" answer in chorus the others.
"But it is absurd," I try to point out them the truth. "It does not rain, dear gentlemen, it does not rain. You're wrong."
"Of course a time as this was not seen in years," continue between them, without giving any value to my "interference", ignoring me, believe they want to provoke. I live in this way.
"But look, that I will not bother you! Go ahead if you like, but the truth is otherwise. Are you saying untrue things that will hurt too. That hurt even those who, by mistake, enter this blog and reading your crowd, "I try to make them think about what they write, to let them see the reality.
There is also a commentary by someone lamenting that would take out, take a walk if the weather had been nicer. "Sin" and write sigh, ignoring me, feeding bad thoughts about my "real" intentions.
"No! Gentlemen, I have no intention of opposing My words for you. I did not enter into the discussion to say words against you, to write really. My words are far from any intention of fraud, presumption, lack of respect. I will not disrespect, indeed, precisely because I respect you and to be honest, I have taken care to warn you that it does not rain. Indulge your desire for that walk, because it really does not rain. "
"Ah," sighs continue with these evil lords, concealing their anger at the intruder who is losing their patience. Back to despair of the poor conditions of the time. Someone does not write more, seems to have disappeared. But then suddenly reappears and shouts so obscene profanity, threats, rambling thoughts. "It's raining!" He concludes, almost as a challenge to the intruder. "It's raining, it is clear? It's raining! It's raining! It's raining! "
The editor of the blog to alert the intruder that interventions should be in line with the contents of open discussion:" Every other challenge I'll be forced to delete them! "Keeps the suspended sentence with an infinite series of ellipsis, with a language from alphanumeric code.
"I Sorry, "I conclude that encounter unpleasant. "I'm not used to speaking with aliens. I leave you to your Bip! Maybe it's raining really on Mars, "the doubt creeps into my mind instantly, beginning to look really from another planet.
"Vaffa ..." meet together, while the administrator of the blog, consistent with its previous assumption, delete my comment and let all those obscene signs, an example of alien literature.