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Grandfather

We were eighteen kids and we lived with Grandpa Bud. Grandpa Bud was great. That is, was strong. I mean, not great in the sense of huge, that big, not as strong as one that has a lot of muscles. It was, is, we liked. Sometimes we tell stories. Here is one of the stories his grandfather Bud.
I knew who collected a mug - and here was a break to turn his huge pipe, this pipe was huge, crazy - dried frogs. In the summer a lot of frogs and toads cross the road and the crushing machines. Then they dry in the sun and make a noise like cardboard. Yuck, we said. And my grandfather continued: Well, it was such collection. He walked along the roads out of town with a sack over his shoulder and every time a frog was dry, which was then almost always only the toads, pulled her up and shoved into the sack. Then attach all of these frogs dry on the walls of his house, that were then almost all toads. Frogs have been there a lot to say three or four.
prompted to specify the number of frogs collected from the type, the grandfather said, four thousand! Then he added, but now I will certainly at least a hundred thousand, because there I am telling stories that happened before the war.
We never said that war.

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What

What image you paint of your mind blank? Look at the gap, put up the palette - there's color, put up the brush, catboncino - there are forms, and if you cry anger, resentment, frustration, you choose to feel any emotion at that point, the void, after some second you arrive, clear the echo. What
story goes, if your mind is a line joining point A to point A without travel any distance. There is no story.
O's a little room in the bottom of that empty, small, cluttered with even the most insignificant detail, indeed so cluttered that you can not even move a step. But then you have to get up there through a vacuum without end. What are you doing? Returns?
become a plumber, I tell you.

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Background Image

hours
is the only control what you can apply the ruomore

hours under the windows has never ceased
live in a world of men, women
live in a world of women, men and animals
yes
I surrender to life

live in a world of women, men and animals will come dressed as they are now

come with the jars filled without spilling a drop

hours
is the only control what you can apply
hurry to get take my hand

but watch as you try, suckers wet

another point of the mirror as you try a teaspoon sugar
unsolved
thickened at the bottom of the senses
hours
the only control is what

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Here

no, I never understood
not ask me anything, but do not follow

Look below
where the boats sway

where the sky can open up and you do not ever reveal anything more

another I still, I
another, and a Another, still
,
and another I
I, I, then

what need is there to open the sky

if you are here with their hands in the hands

and you know

but I never understood what I should not have let us


the power to understand the dialogue

insists you ask me and urged me

're looking for something inside

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Dirty Water Station

observation. Observe. There is little to observe. Everything so normal, so regular, so banal.
Life begins every morning. Every morning there is to make coffee. It is to drink it. Sometimes it's good. This is one of the mornings when it is not so good. Slow, bitter dirty water. One morning
slow and dirty. Maybe not. How is everything, is, and that is enough. It makes no difference. Why have sent down a cup liquid whose temperature was a couple of degrees higher than the temperature of the mouth and now the dirty water is inside of you this morning and feel the first symptoms of intoxication. Now you dress.
Fast forward.
Now your car is stopped at a traffic light and there are other cars. Even if you have awareness of yourself waiting at an intersection and you perceive yourself as unique, think that each of the motorists waiting at the same intersection has the same perception of themselves and are all the same, same, same, normal, regular, full of dirty water and already completely intoxicated.

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the train station, that night, there were two.
One the one hand and the other one. A to La Spezia to Genoa and one.
From the dark sea of \u200b\u200bGenoa beat rhythmically rocks down below.
the side of La Spezia, the country quiet, the cone of light from a lamp post, the embrace of shadow of the mountains.
Sometimes we take a look threw, of course. Occasionally one of us lit a straw. For a moment the flame of Bic carved features in a flash yellow, momentary reflection dazzled eyes in an instant of retinal persistence.
If we were both waiting for the same train we might have exchanged a few words. We were however divided by four tracks from our being and for that night, in different places. Sometimes
breathed the breath of two ashen galleries. One of us would be the first to leave.

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Melody Mechanical

What's your name, I watch. The clock does not respond, not even ticking. He stopped. Still the same. Eleven hours and sixteen minutes, forty seconds. He stopped, and there is silence in the house.
We are still together, for years. The clock never responds, never asks. Just me, sometimes, the address a few questions.
Ah, he's happier than me. Eleven, sixteen, forty-three. He was arrested there at the height of its activity. Even if its mechanism is damaged, decay, even though he was forever denied the chance to get back on their bikes, he did not care. Continue to say, eleven, sixteen, forty-three. Every time I see it, every time I wonder.
I put it on your wrist and go out. Night. The city is dead, nobody, nothing, not even absence. I walk without torment or peace. Walking drawing lines on the walls with white chalk. The city is shrouded in a web of my tracks. Sometimes I look at the time. Eleven, four forty-three p.m.. Sometimes I wish someone asked me the time.

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to the misery. But you want to do some 'of silence while I try to think? For God's sake, the thing which he thought Dan Dan was thinking it was just "for God's sake." He had woken up with these words in mind and could not get rid of head. Dan often suffer from delusions of this nature. Once he had even thought "shut up" for two consecutive days. His companions could not have imagined anything like this. They thought that Dan was thinking of something interesting and profound. See how much you think they thought. They were envious.

The door was open, and Dan had entered. It was September 15 last year. Then Dan used to think in pictures and was featured a few flowers. They instead said, think well, think not of me. Which promptly occurred. It was then, was that day that Dan realized that he did not care for anything to anyone. He sat down without looking at others.

But you just think? churches the second day. Albert fell in love with his deep eyes and his three-day beard. Fuck me, she said. Dan came over and looked into his eyes with an intensity that Albert had never seen the equal. Albert's legs quivered and buckled. Oh, he said. A hot jet of sperm soaked his clothes. In a moment of sweet shame knew he had an orgasm just from the look of Dan But he wanted to see the fucking and sucking. Forget it, "said the owner of the cock. I'm here to think, not for me to suck up to you.

to the misery. On the wall there was a huge clock. Roman numerals. Black hands, heavy thinking. The 0:40. Golf Masters and had been caught by an attack of appetite and were rummaging in the pantry looking for a few packs of crackers. While rummaging Fields, had hit with his elbow two glasses which were broken on the blue tiles with a roar that nell'innaturale silence that enveloped the place, it seemed the announcement of the apocalypse. Twenty-four heads were turned toward the source of shot noise. Only Dan had maintained an position. Eyes downward. Hands resting on thighs.
- For the misery. But you want to do some 'of silence while I try to think?

Sorry, Dan, she said Campi. I dropped a pair of glasses. He looked dismayed

broken glass at his feet. They looked like pieces of broken glasses on blue tiles. He had never seen anything like it. Masters took broom and dustpan and swept up the pieces while Fields was trying to emotion which had no name. There were certainly many other things that neither he nor anyone else could have given a name, but this was particularly intense, and was urgent in the chest as a snake trying to rid itself of its first skin. Masters opened the refrigerator and took out an onion, a bunch of parsley and a pack of five hundred grams of ravioli.
- What do you do? - William asked entering the kitchen.
- Ravioli.
- By the onion and parsley?
Masters smiled.
- I like to slice the onions - he admitted. Meanwhile
Fields observed stunned the absence of fragments of blue glass tiles. Recognized in what felt like a vein of nostalgia.

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Thought I read

I read that life is sacred
I read that life is worth nothing

I do not know why they both have an argument

well thought and life there is even more
you, me
a dream
and then interprets the dream now
waste from a mind that does not exist
prophetic, inspired by the gods or insignificant
I know I will

one or all of these options, an argument can
vigorously
and the dream does not even exist and even more

everything that I read

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My feelings

incredible how many travelers end up here looking for "swamp" on Google, I said, then I scratched the hollow of his left elbow and I analyzed my feelings.