Everything has a beginning, the problem you have to admit it.
often due to the start we are ourselves, and when there is so little to do, the 'autofustigazione may be a good solution.
The inevitable is the worst beast that we carry with us.
E 'only when we are now recognizable in his mouth, there is no escape, not even the famous jack that you should necessarily hold in the car. No armor, prayer or whatever.
You will be crushed and that's it.
Get the peace of mind, hell is all that will live on this earth. In a movie a
man says " I stopped believing in God " I wonder if God has stopped believing in me.
All this to introduce my next argument ... you like it? Not for
idea, do not be so naive, this is what I think and what my appreciation for the degradation of the human race every day.
bitter disappointment or awareness? Fate vobis.
Fortunately, to keep up my conscience, there are dreams.
As I mentioned I wanted to see Lawrie.
A long car trip. While I drive a fictional character makes me moral. Even
Sant 'Agostino was capable of much.
not remember the arguments but it was useful, now I know how and what to say when I speak to my seven chapters.
fortunate that there Lawrie, a fortune that there otherwise I would stir seriously consider the possibility to hire him as confessor.
In practice I think it already is.
I miss him as a confessor Lawrie, possible that I would live better with him as a medal for good luck.
E 'annihilating the feeling of security it brings.
The dead do not exist except in our memory, but the memory can be constructed by the mind itself.
I could do construction work, Lawrence imagery that becomes real in the imperfect memory.
Lawrence there as "memory .
With a fake ID I do really exist. So if the Americans invented the Arabs, because I can not invent someone else?
Lawrence is more useful on a personal level, and most harmless of war.
Moving on to another night, I had another vision.
was not a dream this was a vision of apocalypse.
I was in Muenster, in the era of reform and reformers.
Roads were the ones that I saw and still remember it perfectly, because I'm going to see that damn museum is closed on Mondays.
With me, S. and Christopher Pearce.
dream combination + S. Pearce is how to decrypt an image dell'Hypnerotomachia Poliphili. E 'written all over them, I just have the key.
S. discussed in the square and preached ideas that I know only too well.
Christopher Pearce had become the head of the commission for the control of works of art. Take the usual Nazi
which now also know the pants, mix it with a reformer munster the sixteenth century, combined with all the rain, cold, a preacher who would compete for the proper Jan van Leiden (which recalls the occasion of being Dutch and turns with a vase of sunflowers useless and a cap as a peasant), a race capable of leave you breathless and mix together adding a bit of anxiety as a sunshade.
Why? Simple, try to convince you that that Pearce is a work of art on an insult to morality. You try to convince S. that could try to reason with Pearce and not to destroy everything that comes to mind because it is "just and proper."
you have any idea what it means to persuade Pearce to convince a committee not to put in the slammer S. for sermons?
Faina, even in the dream Pearce is a weasel.
Faina and incorruptible, is there anything worse?
Lawrence is a saint in this regard.
Ok, not all creations of my mind thinks so. We must look at the medal on all sides e. ..
does not matter, I can watch the side that I prefer now, I'm on my own. Can I sell
Lawrence for a saint and the devil and S. Pearce by the Holy Spirit.
I created my trinity.
Among other things preclude me to call Lawrence Pearce by name and last name, is indicative of the opposition.
Name - Surname.
Good - Evil.
Things like, take a piece of paper and make this game, scored two columns to the left is the one assigned to Lawrence and the Right to Pearce. Without this marked the positive and negative, and you'll know who to respect.
Christopher Pearce haunts my dreams and even S. manages to keep it at bay, very bad since it's creation it might as well make an effort. Among other things
Pearce smoked and every time I went to try and find him asking me to turn on.
Pure!
I fed that feeling of discomfort, as when the cars run without putting the arrow and you are forced to nail down, as when walking from the balcony and the water drip drop that ends on the jacket clean, the train delays that will make those five minutes arrive five minutes late as much as enough to make you serve a wry smile but not buckled on his plate "laggard." That stolen kiss that does not make you a fredifrago but does not leave you untouched.
I think you get the idea.
The other side of the coin is the immaculate Pearce.
Imagine the perfect man here.
One of those who also fold socks when night is bare, which would remind me to live with a psychopath, then come full circle because that's what I did for months and months in Germany and everything makes perfect sense and not only that, we would live yet.
Do me the favor, keep your thoughts for you.
Lawrence is moral perfection, the formal Pearce.
Lawrence would never do something that goes against his morals, while not maintaining perfect form. Pearce never go against the form, while not perfect keeping his morale. Formally
is invincible, impeccable.
The part of me that loves Pearce above of all is the one that defends him with drawn sword, which has a blind trust.
The part of me that loves Lawrence is one that is based on estimating deep.
's one excludes the other, the estimate provides for the criticism and acceptance. The blind trust not.
write the diary of a soul in love with Pearce, he will write a posthumous biography false.
In the book I'm reading, quite boring to be honest, there is the figure of an art dealer described as follows:
"This I took of my father, not his memory or miraculous insight artistic and even the casual elegance, grace inborn. "
Sherry.
--------------------------------------------- -------- OTHER .... YESTERDAY'S ------------->
" Perfect, you'll end up in the technical part."
This was the comment of technical RAI at the end of the short interview I have today granted.
ridiculous.
My Big Boss of the exhibition of Van Gogh I fed the RAI as I climbed the stairs of the show with his breath, broken for the race.
I also specified that the gentlemen in my opinion it was a little sick, a lovingly gave me a pat on the shoulder and said, "but jokes? "
No, I mean, in my opinion really does suck, I told you my bitch and four classified under" expert ".
hate "look in the room" I feel like an idiot talking to an idiot.
The microphone you keep it myself.
Gentlemen, I have no course for 15 minutes to waste any more time ...
I love television as a thorn in the foot.
I think I will find myself in a montage dedicated to sex tourism of the Roman night.
If Rome were a woman would die for her, but it's a monster and I'm fighting for my survival trying to kill me against my will.
Amazingly, every time I start the first two hours from home, something happens that leaves me to discover "new parts" of the world.
A world that I do not care, honestly. Today
a suitcase abandoned on the track waiting for the arrival of the bomb squad and police station.
A suitcase.
Let me explode but do not let me be late to work. Let me explode
obbligatemi but not to go the way of the protagonists of the films in direct line with the employee as tormented souls wander in search of the "solution" to reach point A from point B in five minutes and twenty seconds.
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