Adulterated Langnese Honey

dialogue with a person that lies to itself

Yesterday I spoke with a guy. A boy a little 'grown up (I think he had 45 years or so). I will not call him a man because for me it is not.

My friend describes him as "bachelor" and he actually is. I call it "alone."

Yesterday was Christmas and he was to wander with his friend (another 50-years old "bachelor" chock full of money and the good taste to speak under the soles of shoes).

"Coffee?"

"Ok".

"Cigarette?"

"Yes, we go out"

"What did you do today is Christmas"

"I had lunch with family friends, and now I am with my friend to do a round of greetings and best wishes"

"But I do not I constraints. I'm okay. Free and independent "

" In what way? "

"What I want to do, without compulsion. And I'm fine with that."

kept saying "I'm fine with that." God, so far as false!

can be comfortable alone on a Saturday night when you are making merry with friends, but not on Christmas Day. You can not lie to yourself and go on to say "to me is okay."

God got on my nerves having to converse with him. How sad!

is not true that you're well on its own. Do not say shit!

Everyone is just the heart of the earth

pierced by a ray of sunshine, and is now

evening. (Quasimodo)

Died From Scleroderma

Merry Christmas

I'm not very Christmas this year. The spirit of Christmas I have carefully circumvented and the party atmosphere that reigns in the city has not done anything but nervous. Too many people, too many gifts to the wild ride, too many traders who have forgotten good manners.

Bah, sometimes I like to remember the Christmases of old when I was a kid and they played bingo late. When my brother was carrying the child Jesus in the manger. Of Eros and when I sang for grandparents and uncles, the Christmas songs and we all came to see the performances of school. Those are the Christmases that I remember and which are the only ones who can give me some emotion.

Merry Christmas world.

Drink If Game Questions Free Printable Bach

Return

At the bottom of what used to fight breast

guilty thoughts?

The road I know,

return and habits bastard. If

ripercorressi steps

written in stone,

slip on salt.

I caught on other faults

rather chew

scorched earth.

If you do not have the courage to face the sun

die in the shadows.

If you do not know what love

die alone.

E step.

I sleep on clouds of smoke

waiting for the return,

wave on the coastline of white foam.

And rest.

As would be nice if once

coincided with the desire for happiness.

But dreams are nourished by hope,

quench their thirst with dew from the crystals of dawn.

It shuns the word air.

And the sound fades.

What remains then?

A ticket, my guitar and singing

a requiem.

expectancy lies in the cemetery of my stasis.

Blaze King King Prices

The strength of will that no one, after all, knows.

Will

dies suffocated by the pillow

narrow asphyxiation

the last ounce of ardor.

The will fly on the wings

timeless

of a ghost in the fog beam. The burns will

between the fingers and smoke

that spiral salt

up to the ceiling. The will return

through the glass of a window

the cold of the night.

Breastfeeding A Man Vieo

do not know, but love is hate, or vice versa?

- Di ', I think every now and then? - Churches

the star to the moon at dusk

that peeps out from behind the

sunset over the sea.

- So cold, so alone, 'do you think in your stars? -

The moon looked

from the top of his pride and

, with veiled eyes, the star said

:

- From the sky

I look at you shine.

Bright, courageous

lit my mantle.

Heat the skies in August,

shine through the clouds of October.

Give life to distant worlds

and generate energy.

And when you go to heaven in the sky,

below, sighs and Desii you turn mortals.

If you think, you say?

We think so much that it hurts

soul.

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Meeting in Tomaj - Srečanje v Tomaju

M'incamminerò a day
paths of stone
to encounter signs of
been surprised
and painful expressions

rock in the mouths and eyes in good
evenings in the kitchen.
dialogues with your wind
of the road traveled thus far
of words lying
in sinkholes
grown from view
proud of my girl for
met in Tomaj.
that day, Srečko,
in a moment of bora
la Tua lingua diventerà
anche la mia.

dalla raccolta "Con l'Altra parte di me" di Giorgio Depangher

Someday I'll plotting

kaminte lanes

to meet with signs

stunned and bitter

terms remained

in stairways mouth

and good eyes

evenings in the kitchen.

I talked with your wind

on a path that I walk up here,

but the words that are lying

the valleys

and grew in ways proud

my girls

to those encountered in Tomaj.

that day, Happy,

for a moment when the wind blew,

your tongue will become

of mine.

from the collection of "Con l'Altra parte di me "Giorgia Depangherja

Is Winnwell A Good Brand?

Swan Lake is passing

of Matthew Bourne

I do not like ballet, but this ... This is spectacular.

Two and a half hours flying away quickly.
I was ecstatic and I have little to say.
Every word would be too much and not be able to describe what they told me.

could, rivedrei it again and again.

I warmly recommend it to everyone, even those who are not lover of the ballet.
should be seen.

And listened.