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- LIVE -

V Iver and pain! That's why it hurts!

Who loves you asks you not to think about ... to protect you from suffering.
Who does not consider you, ... you do not say anything because he'll be suffering.
who hates you will say that it is not true ... but just to give you more pain.

Along the way there will be interminable minutes too fast and will last for years as hysterical bystanders.

it rain when the sun was expected ... and you will be too dressed one day that he expected the cold.
There will be a black man, a teacher, a boss and a priest to take away the best hours of your sleep.

There will be a house to fall ... and a father to escape from.
There will be a grandfather to mourn and a roof to build. There will be trucks

precarious rope on a trapeze and high
uncomfortable dizziness, from which escape through handles. We will miss

took away the appeal of friendly hands and arms providential fell from a sky hidden or forgotten.
There will be
daydreams and nightmares and secrets on which the concrete and unconscious fantasies, resting on a table in the dark.

There will be always ready to wag tails when you come back, from which envy the loyalty and scents that tie memories

There will love disarming as drugs which detoxify heavy fatigue and mouths to kiss vintage film seen as disappointing and reviewed again, on which comments make infertile.

There will be cross looks like the plot of a canvas to paint on feeling timid and phrases to be interpreted as languages \u200b\u200bof lost civilizations.

There will be no excuse to find as umbrellas in a storm, missed appointments like bowling pins left feet and waited most firmly impaled in front of stairs, the steps to wait for reassuring.

There will be the hottest hugs and pats on the shoulder feathers winter stamps as a butcher. There will be
handshakes below zero, and smiles as forcefully hoisted sails of a galleon.

There will be more ... in one day from nothing ... and nothing for a whole day.

In every nuance, you can not subtract from your body not even a fragment of spending endless time ... and every chip will be terrible!

Who loves you asks you not to think about ... to protect you from suffering.
Who does not consider you, ... you do not say anything, because he be suffering.
who hates you will say that it is not true ... but just to give you more pain.

-gm-

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- FUORIPOSTO -

A fuoriposto ... Sometimes I feel like a strange ornament, which supports where it happens.
An object that is a bit good 'in all corners of the house, but ends up never being in the right place.
I feel I have learned many things, but unfounded, do not know any really good.
It 's so! And 'as if I had walked many paths ed'ogni time I had worried promptly to remove the traces left behind me on my journey.
And I realize what is the fear that those steps lead back to me whenever I move one, or that I think about how and where I walked Until today.

is why, in the end, I never managed to do something better than all the others.
Maybe because when you specialize in something, when the treats in its essence and make it part of your daily newspaper, also end up being that thing. To be identified with it.
And then at that point it becomes difficult to hide the tracks behind you.
people end up noticing them sooner or later. As can be distracted, there will be always someone who, before they see you, see your footsteps on that path.

The fact is that I have always managed to leave the track, before I get those looks from the world that regularly unleashes you from behind. I
strewn behind me, dozens of incomplete works, cakes, raw and unfinished buildings, so that they can be considered true "cold cases". Archived
not for lack of evidence, as the lack of an accused to be put on the bench of the court.
Almost certainly there is all the explanation. And 'I may have chosen not to ever completed anything, just to escape the verdict of those judgments.

as I preferred the cold anonymity of a "no signature on a picture just outlined, only the fear of being present on the day that someone had laid eyes on that picture ... ask who was never the author.
At that point it would be hard to dodge the label and almost impossible to prevent the world to call a "painter."
It was not so much "fall" to scare me, because the fear of falling.

's why today I'm here, sitting at a table with a cigarette between his fingers and eyes red from sleep.
A sleep that is not there, like a woman every night gives you the hole, but still waiting.
And as the smoke goes into my room and ends up creating a pall of smog that seems the sky of Rome played a scale, I'm staying here. A meditation on that subject ...
fuoriposto.

- gm -

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Tuscan Archipelago and history

T ra Corsica and Tuscany, a cluster of seven islands cut off the blue of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Seven reality very different from one another by extension, geological origin and historical evolution, but all part of the Tuscan archipelago.

Elba : Third island of Italy, after Sicily and Sardinia, Elba is one of the most popular tourist destinations of the boot. Its origins are lost in history. The first inhabitants were the Ilvates, Ligurian people hence the name Ilva, taken over by the Romans. The Etruscans made it a strategic base for its rich copper and iron. The Pisani dissemination of towers, forts and ramparts against pirate raids. Cosimo I de 'Medici built the fortress city of Cosmopolis, the current Portoferraio, a fine example of military architecture. Napoleon created his kingdom here, helping to fuel a timeless myth. But it is the nature and its wildlife is the Elba ore plant owes its reputation in the world. A legacy that has earned him the recognition of the National Park along with the "Six Sisters" that make up the Tuscan Archipelago.

The other "pearls" are the Islands Giglio, Capraia, Giannutri Pianosa, Gorgona and Montecristo.

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- Nostalgia -

can be just wrong that world that makes you regret another world.

can only be stopped this time where there is only the past.

can only be artificial sun that which you prefer the darkness of darkness.

On the fields where they died ... values \u200b\u200bwill flourish in dozens of nostalgic buds.

-g-