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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.

contreau. with ghiaccio.grazie.

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Why Bella Vita is out there somewhere.

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.

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Jean Claude Izzo: cursed but not too much.

In Izzo's novels are longing for peace, in Marseille in which the races were amassing between sky and sea, where the distrust pervades the minds and makes them shut up in a circle of company that is ethnicity. The text refers to flavors and tastes of their races. A smell of misery enveloping the entire city smells of weariness, sweat and other secretions. Yet the smell of hope shines through, making them living souls overcome the fatigue of the divisions. Sometimes it's indulgent, tracing outlines of men in which membership is only one case, while the bottom of desires is making you feel equal and welcome in a city that shuffles each lot and each one is trying to exist as a size of France, although hybrid. In fact, the native French are far from the narrative, locked in the neighborhood looking for a cleaning at risk districts neighborhood, where Italian, English and Arabic (beurs) animate the actions and deeds of heroes cursed, destined for early death or captivity of the galleys. Sentimental

appears Izzo, disgusted and fascinated by the descriptions of street thugs and prostitutes. Repair in the atmospheres of the background of the blues of BB King and jazz sounds of Billie Holiday's melancholy. Paolo Conte also find its place in the soul of the writer. While Caribbean rhythms describe the intensity of the nights spent with a prostitute of Hispanic origin, intensity of the characters rather than the writer Izzo. He also shuns the vulgar language, preferring the lasciviousness of the jargon of the characters his poetic dream.

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Reyes

Back from Barcelona los Reyes Magos brought me two surprises which I attended! Two beautiful beautiful
fanzine: • the first
Rojo Struts # 2 made by the collective Les Golfes , where I participated with a small illustration of the second
• Colibri # 2 made by Sergi Puyol Joan and Toni Marcarà where I participated with a story about 3 pages.
Thanks!

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under the umbrella into squares. it does not rain.

a short distance.
in the fog.
moisture suspended and rubber soles.
chairs arranged on white paper as poetry
while it lasted the right moment.

lips took before going

words and moments from shortness of breath.

even a noise.
maybe too light.


blinded me with haunted eyes and thought
stopped. bleached.


eye contact is always a big why.

life will consume the saliva.
and you remain stationary.
aspects.

happen.
and it's like biting her lip.

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The old year is gone, with its load of snow

Best wishes for the New Year we do. And 'good education, that means profound respect and hope that the new year bring joy to people dear to us, and especially to those who we love, to anyone who is completely unknown, and who is not worthy of the hope of nenache a better future. To think that someone is not worthy of us and our best wishes sentimentalistica is hypocrisy, which shows us, in our opinion, that is absolutely not the truth of our peers. Some people are angry with the world for its injustices, so it is perceived by those who find themselves in every reason to curse humanity and its contradictions. Yes feels excluded from the asset that gave him an inheritance only curses. Then it is these that the pious mind, the mind right, speaks with his eyes, with an intimate part of the soul, and wished him good, to finally make it to the attention that he so desired without being ever heard. The hope of a year of happiness to souls darkened by sadness and anger is a true gesture of affection from those who are right in the heart.

The thoughts are also with those no longer among us, the inhabitants of a land that no longer enjoy the caresses and kisses of those who have bothered to develop them, who fed them well with his eyes and her smile, who never would have expected so much misery in the hearts of their children now that they are orphans rimnasti that good.

I remember them all the looks of those mothers and fathers who now are gone. I remember their breathless sighs for the year old man who had made them tremble learned the news of violence on television, and images were broadcast in black and white. I remember their desperation for a new tax to be paid to the difficulty of putting together a sum to buy a new pair of shoes to children, while they could pull another year with those remittances, polished leather straps with a shot of brush.

were the same difficulties, common to all those mothers and fathers who trembled in silence and hoping for something, a miracle. And with the grandmothers rosaries, I remember me. Resent their sighs, their whispers are full of confidence and resignation: "Let there be the will of God."

But they were all at New Year and greetings were made, were being sought, are set out, from house to house, friends and relatives, and past the house of someone who had blasphemed against their house were the sign of the cross and prayed for him, with the renewed hope in my chest, under the heavy dark clothes for the winter.

I remember those kisses, those smiles. I remember the laughter of those who like that drive out the curse of the old year. Smiling confident that the New Year would be a year full of joy, wonder, fortune: And if they had not, they thought in their CuO, there would be another New Year's Eve that would have renewed joy and happiness, because with the ' experience of the mistakes they had another certainty about how to deal with life. "The old year leaves / with its load of snow / and never return / over the mountains and up into the sky." The repeated chorus of children, and ran to celebrate in the arms of the grandparents, close relatives, to strangers, who had come to bring his hope of decent cards. Then he ate things that children did not understand. But they were good, you could tell from the looks of mothers who start off on them. Among sparkles of glasses of wine is not too clear, bottled after harvest, placed on a wooden table, above, where no one would ever come - we wanted the scale - that the father had pulled out from behind the barrels, finally now everyone could toast: now that was uncorked and brought to the table. Was drunk partying, enjoying the wine for the pleasure of his father, who was sure I had a great figure with his brothers and sisters. Some turn up their nose, irritated. But the father did not care, because he was sure that his was as good as that of the brother, who was wrong the nose of envy. His wine he had tasted, and smelled of vinegar and then did not so sophisticated, not just because of wine if he wanted.

"The old year leaves / with its load of snow / and never return / over the mountains and up into the sky." He kept the feast, with kisses and caresses, sighs, and confidence for another year full of new features. In their hearts they knew that the news should be their gestures, their righteous deeds, their effort, their commitment due. "Congratulations!" Raised their glasses. "Strength and Courage!" They said, before bringing the glass to his mouth. "Another year awaits us! And we welcome the heart and arms open to the newness. " They drank. Then he sighed, whispered, they turned on the minds of hope.

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laugh is Christmas

Poetry, like any art form is unique and necessary when investigating the truth of human experience, where beauty is not artificial, but the conviction or excitement. Where any complaint is lament of all, because joy can not be privileged few. They are the cries that reach the sky, the celestial heights of joy already. The poem celebrates the pain of the man who is desperate for a joy that is far from the land reduced to rubble. It 's the hopelessness that gives rise to the rebellion of the soul, searching for herself the beauty of being a divine breath, far from the tumult of a crowd celebrating Christmas as corrupt illusion of salvation or folly, without the possibility of repentance.



laugh, it's Christmas

Let me live life to the forest
away from lions and circus
in the fury of wild thoughts
find the idea that leads to the mystery.

Misery, misery of the people
sing the remains of a cathedral
that no longer applies.
Occasionally
is heard even roar like the lion tears
foreigner who no longer afraid. There
leaves heart dismay
The song on the roofs of owls?

We laugh, we laugh it's Christmas.
are the remains of a cathedral.

Let me live life to the forest
away from lions and circus
in the fury of wild thoughts
find the idea that leads to the mystery.

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Les Miserables

O miserable earth is populated by arrogant or deluded.
Every day you come across beggars asking us something. Some beg with dignity, are the real miserable. Those who are without resources do not live their status as a humiliation, but as a condemnation of them submitted their existence. Not seek the causes of their misery, do not curse the world and God, do not hurl themselves against each other, but fight their daily battle against hunger and against the adversities of life. Poor, the shabby clothes, the proud look, candid soul, present in the world and ask for charity. Do not resort to disguises to fool those who have a little more money for them, not envy the luck, do not demand the same luck, but we ask according to their dignity: for it is decent when you need to ask.
In fact, the poor who meet on the street are a small part of human misery that you find in other places. Where the faces are not decent, looks are not candid souls. Nor have decent intentions and manifestations of these wretches who believe themselves awake, clever, able to take from others without asking. Convinced at the same time, the ability to disguise their poverty. The clothes are worn out as those poor people, even if they do not know, and not even know that their dignity is not worth a smile of the real poor. Dress like carnival masks, are too often ragged funny, colorful, and the second mode, which some of the poorest of them puts him inspiration. Dressed as clowns go to work, where mischief and malice against humanity deemed to be weaker. View from the weaker who can not watch their eyes. Further the cause of that command from another poor person who has crawled, it was lowered to the worst humiliations, miserably to conquer this place. These screams and yells against the other, running without a direction. Snorts, assailed by worries out of place for a right mind, would know the mind of those who cry out against that other crying from above, who refrained from putting alongside a mind like that. Alongside, not below. Because a mind just can not stand under, not even stand to be on someone else. A clever mind and just know to stay on the same floor, because it is not afraid of confrontation, because it is not the illusion of being that gives it dignity. It does not fear even the threat of losing the privilege of the buffoon, because it is aware that the condition is suitable to those who are fool for lack of dignity.
A mind wise and just has to deal with these poor, deluded they are.
are everywhere these poor deluded.
They are sitting next to us in the train or bus, making obscene display of the colors of their clothes ragged, worn and stained as are the socks and shoes, masks poor. They go look if cross that of others, feigning indifference, perhaps for fear of being caught in a poverty who can not identify. Believe to be envied, rather, because of envy they live, that feeling vile soul of the poor. And this poverty is not addressed.
They meet in other places, the most unexpected. In post, shaking their feet colored wool, fuming because it takes too long, the operator behind the door with a client who came before them. Then smile, so fake when it comes their turn, and stood in front of the operator with authority, snorting as he acknowledged the poverty of those deluded. Threaten heavy action against the operator, who continues to puff. Ask the Director of the police station, the priest, the Minister of Posts and also a minister of God
smile, however, when they ask about something that caught their curiosity. They are interested in the balances of the season, to bring home something of value at a low cost, to appear without being rich. They ask for a discount at the restaurant, hoping to do well here too. But the figure of the beggars they always do, because they are born beggars. Other
beggars are proposed to be deluded in intellectual activities, actors, writers, singers. Copy all use clichés already experienced by others who have given good results. Imitate, steal words, thoughts, tones of voice. There is nothing to them, that have a soul without dignity and inspiration. They appear on stage in a theater, they pose, they racked my brains in a complicated tangle of sounds without form and melody. Some applauded, some poor deluded that the discount applied for a place in the last row, because the first rows are occupied by other beggars in colorful clothes that have the right to a seat reserved for the authorities. The authorities of the tramps.
Outside the cinemas and theaters are the poor in material resources, the ones with the dresses worn with dignity in the eyes and mind, heart and soul, the dirty fingers of real life, the kindness of hopes betrayed, they tend hand having mercy on those beggars that you run through the other side.

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Oudeneia parresia and, according to Philo of Alexandria.

Oudeneia is greek word to indicate invalidity. Said it would seem to postpone a "worlds" with a negative value, to an absence. Value when applied to humans acquire even offensive. And like all things apparent - that irritate the incapable and suspicious, in their immediate meaning, the result of instinct rather than will - in minds prone to meditation, arouse interest and wonder, even bigger when the meaning is revealed as the discovery of 'soul, as achievement of a truth which gives support to the wonder.

parresia is another greek word that means freedom of speech. Freedom is not the right to be able to superimpose his own word to that of another, even wanting to, but it's ability to tell the truth, which comes from the renunciation of the word, while he listened to the word soul, the tendency to knowledge, and finally to wisdom.
parresia and oudeneia are faculties of the soul. Soul for the presence of self, and soul are addressed with real words. Out of self and appearance. And the appearance does not belong to wisdom, but of one who is Ouden soul, the soul of one who has never met, no one has ever heard, and this has never been able to consult with the truth. Simulated a semblance of existence, the faculty dialectic. But there are transcendental and dialectical, not related to the encounter with the Earth: embrace the universe, and belong to the embrace of man by God

Freedom of speech and respect for God are born in Abraham from the awareness of its oudeneia

22 But look again, as the daring mixes with deference. Words: "What will you give me?" (Gen. 15, 2) show the boldness, the word "Lord", deference. Scripture sole use mainly two epithets to describe one who is due to God and Lord. Now, however, does not use neither the one nor the other, but the term "Master" in a much more respectful and far more relevant. Certainly Lord and Master are considered synonymous. 23 But if the subject to which it relates is one and the same, the two epithets, however, differ in their meaning "Lord" (Kyrios), derives from the force (Kyros), namely that which is secure, and is opposed, however, to what is unstable and weak. "Master" (despotes), derived from "link" (Desmos), from which I feel should be also derive the word "fear" (DEOS).



Philo, The heir of divine things.

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cigarette tobacco is not pressed.
exceptions.
infinite truth
every tear like blood
every word as I would like the sap
saliva everywhere.
as a fragrance.
like a soap.
as chissacosa.

I put my foot in the winter.
put breath in the cold.


is easy to have the difficult is to keep your eyes closed

going on without banging

looking for a skin on him.
a new device
unknown. clean.

the head is not in overdose
Stop filling
never ends.

curse two lips.
profile
remember every smell perfume breathed


to stay to live with open eyes
without sleep.

heart cracked in order to understand who you are.

tired hands and stomach and is shaking.

is like breathe the pure sea salt without
.
is a pleasure to swallow air.

into bed every night I try

that the soul does not remain firm

rebellion is in the veins.
life is behind me.

I need to get off.
I just want the blues.

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some thoughts on my mind
forgotten the keys at home.
lighter and a half box of sadness in his pocket.
outside the perimeter of the glass is turned off.
the stars are light bulbs burned
progressing
sure to warm your heart in your hands to coat
need to touch anything.

undefined.
private.
unknown.
of mine.

the thoughts
smile if you give something good in mind.


master reigns as the ice in the cold I do not think I want to breathe the sea


will never be a kiss fool me.
a smile instead.
all back in color.
sooner or later.

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smell. sweet like vanilla. strong like turpentine.

can be a great day even if you smile if you can navigate inside
sadness
if you face the day and not just sniffing
breathing.

Research Department that flavor. looking for any smell.
know you do not get bored. You know I rivuoi.
recognize him with his eyes closed.
destroying your fingertips together.
almost to want to touch consistency.

aspects. aspects. aspects.

do not know what. do not even know why.
aspects of having filled his nostrils.
want it harder on the skin.
just want the smell. smell.

while standing still.
send in the throat of a soft tobacco marlboro.
you think.
and smile.