Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Taking A Vicodin Before A Tattoo

Pruvisori Définitif

'Tis some day that I write. Yet things, these days, there are a lot happened. Yet somehow I feel I have a degree of unawareness of the fund. This brings me satisfaction that I live the moment, but I do not let its flavor. Things get a thing so quickly that often turns into a kind of anguish for wanting to relive that particular situation again, as if the last time I ever lived was the last and in the future does not come back.
are in a period of temporary total Overall: there are few clear points of reference. There are moments in life where you feel "provisional". in which you feel you are experiencing situations that are inherent to their temporary nature since the first minute. The real problem is when these "provisional" ripetutatamente tend to become manifest.
And then you shiver goes up the back. It 's that shiver in Brianza jokingly call "pruvisori finality" (provisional final). The thrill that reveals the fact that some work carried out relief may instead be used for a long time, as if it were final. But until it comes to work, it can also be acceptable.
The real problem is that we are talking about life, a life full of "pruvisori définitif.
It is not nice, you know ...
(pictured Samuel Kuban today (AFP): rainbow in Seefeld, Austria)

Monday, June 7, 2010

Mood Of Lisa Fugard's Night Calls

A surprise caught me in the infinite sky

A surprise caught me. I caught between day and night, in the much-adored "siretina. A fleeting thought, maybe even a little amazing, but certainly fleeting. Yes, because after an indefinite period of time, so brief in my subjectivity, but maybe longer in someone else's, had a thought already changed, already in some modo lontano anche se il suo sapore lo avevo ancora nella bocca della mente.
Una sorpresa mi colse. Appoggiato a quel parapetto, osservando le onde che muovendosi formavano mille brillantini, mi colse quel pensiero che tante volte nel mio passato si era reso manifesto con un abito negativo, come un amo del pescatore che cattura il pesce dopo che questo ha inghiottito l'esca, strappandolo dal suo habitat.
Una sorpresa mi colse. Ma un attimo dopo quella Luce cangiante, che tutto pervadeva con una atmosfera irreale, aveva già una forma diversa, una manifestazione soggettivamente ed oggettivamente diversa. Perchè a volte, anche la percezione delle cose oggettive può avere caratteri di soggettività.
Una sorpresa caught me with the "siretina" who give themselves over to night. The thought of the magnificence that is turned off, wonder gives way to obvious. It 's like living in a solo concert next moment the surprise of its forms, and background music can seem predictable in its movements.
And that evening spent on the shores of the lake, between sites that were the scene of many surprises that I took advantage of my time passed, I found myself even more alone: \u200b\u200bthe objectivity of a sentence that innocently and without malice was the key the feeling that enveloped me, unreal what the sunset.
I found myself so alone with myself, with my stubbornness, my look a Time così dolce e deciso, ed oggi così smunto e duro.
Una sorpresa mi colse. Mi colse, ma io non la colsi...
(nella mia foto di oggi: riflessi di tramonto di fuoco sul lago ad Olcio, Mandello del Lario)

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Flat Warts And Wartrol

Small

Il vento soffia impetuoso oggi. Rende il cielo ancora più limpido, terso, profondo. Un cielo turchese, che ci fa sentire tanto piccoli. Basta viaggiare con il pensiero, staccando i piedi dalla Terra. Salire, salire, e poi salire ancora. Vedere tutto sotto di noi sempre più piccolo, mentre la dimensione che ci circonda si fa sempre più infinita, con spazio vuoto sopra, sotto ed intorno a noi.
Il sole tramonta, the sun rises. The moon becomes full, the moon is new. The seasons run fast. Every second is a second shooting that had, every day is a day that begins to live is often the same as that experienced before.
We racked my brains to change the world, from small things around us, but the world never changes. It all goes, as if our small scratch on the vast land had already been cleared by the wind. As David Van De Sfroos sings, "will arrive shortly in cancel my wake, but the mark left by my story will never be erased."
Well, perhaps this is the hope. Everything is cleared, but our history will not be never deleted. Signs of stories, like streaks of stars in the clear sky, to which many cling giving a fleeting desire ...
(in my picture today: getting lost in the infinity of the Garden of Eve Montevecchia High)