SLOW LIFE, GREEN LIFE, BETTER LIFE 
SLOW LIFE
GREEN LIFE BETTER LIFE
PRAISE OF seemed
Slow life, green life, better life . Questo lo slogan dell’odierna giornata della lentezza. E io, che un po’ paresseux sono, festeggio: faccio il “party delle parti” (ho una ‘parte’ lenta, una veloce, una sneakers, una tacchi a spillo….). E siccome oggi sono più paresseux del solito, pesco a piene hands off my private ocean ( Raindrops in Jericoacoara , on the threshold of birth, and the novel in progress that is, instead, by the latest 'ultrasound').
fast pace, jungle of stimuli, sensations and images. Versus: the rural environment, the slow pace , more routine and consistent. "The more the crowd is dense, the more we feel alone, so Zygmunt Bauman 'liquid' the 'city too' (more that the global village ... Too watered down: because the rooms were returning to the surface). But also too little, too much of the same, dell'indistinto. And the outlet (and continues coming out and outing ). City-theater- off metropolis 'fast passage' of anything - even if hyper ... (and that of Marc Augé is not hyperbole: we spend most of our existence in 'non-places', where it consumes the present and the future of abortion).
" Future history will not produce more ruins. I do not have the time. " So Marc Augé.
In the metropolis of a hurry (but go slowly ...) Arianna walked in the true sense of the word. He walked slowly, sipping the sidewalks, shops, houses, people, looking a bit 'lazy and listless. In contrast with the upright in a hurry, not only cars but also pedestrians (who by now, you know, 'travel' with a speed boost of ten per cent over a few decades ago. But New York remained stable in its rhythms and she contributed to this.) All in old Arianna was also damn modern cutting edge.
Occasionally stopped, looked around, up, down ... talking to the stranger's turn, and not only to freshen up the language (Yankees). Frantic in purpose but peaceful action. Determined, motivated, but work- sober, almost teetotal.
If, after a bit 'too much alcohol, we need a little' spring water, including caviar (who I like) ends with the tire.
Cast your bread upon the waters, for after a long time find it again. down the wall of cellophane, pilloried any shyness, the contiguity between the two there was communion. and communicate.
words between him and Gaia (the name of the girl was no longer a secret to Lorenzo, but would know more until later ...) they were running from the cliffs of their territories hours without borders; the a few silences seemed made of the same fabric of words. Silence more and more rarefied, but ready to resume, as, force.
tuned to the same frequencies, and Lorenzo had Gaia, ontemporaneamente, feeling panic (in the pastoral sense) of being at one with grass, flowers, bushes, with the voices of boys and girls traveled, in that magical moment, the path below. Over flutes of the breeze of September, one with the heartbeat of the ant that had passed from his hand to hers ...
The weather, hitherto bitter, reached maturity and still drops Kairos: the appropriate time thought it well to stop the hands of Chronos, the any time (and any ).
How can there be without Imeros Eros? Love without desire? The two, each lost in his first trip at the end of the night , came more and more (the ant ...), up to tap into the most strategic points. A slight, sudden hiss of air curled her hair, making them vibrate on his face. were one: the mysterious pillar desire, the same raw sensuality that was offered spontaneous and natural. Bitter sweet (the oxymoron ...) flowing under the skin, like streams underground unexplored. The wonder and innocence of the senses. Breaking and confidence between the bodies and minds (and location). Eros you do ethos.
Lorenzo and Gaia her body next to his left, the vibrations of his breath that resonates in harmony with those of its limbs. A symphony of bass, treble, silence, which seemed made of the same organza surrounding environment. Magic, supernatural, but vibrant with passion, life, flesh and blood ...
How can there be if there is Eros Aphrodite? More than Laing could Plutarch!
Maybe I suggest you kill your senses? I suggest the innocence of the senses ... time ever suspended, physical sensations, epidermal, tactile, cutaneous, more and more entwined with the vibrations arising from the depths, not only the soul, marrow, spirit, But rising up from the depths of the pelagic time of their times ... Nietzsche, who flirted with Plutarch.
If there is no Eros Aphrodite, without wine is like un'ubriacatura, procured by a drink made with figs or barley, is a fruitless turmoil and incomplete, soon to nausea and disgust. At that moment 'heavenly' and in that situation 'down to earth', mixed by wise hands, the intertwining of life (lives ), culture ( bread) and nature ( pan ) became a living reality before his astonished eyes. Flowing below the crust thickened epidermal sensory-by time. Route from ciceone offered by Gaia (Circe? Demeter?) Lorenzo (Ulysses? Proserpine, some not ...), now started a to mysteries of Pugnochiuso, the place chosen for supreme vision .
Sophia divine once agitated, the mess was about to clot, and the barley wine (with a little 'honey and spices) were there ready to feed through their effect on Lorenzo. That, for the first time in his life, he felt the ' akedia - sloth, the pain of living that often assailed him as the demon of noon - Left the room for a 'holy' arrogance in the intertwining with Gaia, Lorenzo discovered the ' praise the success.
"The confidence is the essence of heroism." Pass, in that moment of life , the antithesis between spirit and senses, and transfigured sublimed from this special thrill, free from past and future, Lawrence felt that he was bound to succeed. a new self-confidence, which originated from the sources being , a force Pelasgian, un''emersoniana ' in becoming self-reliance (and for the future), the decline of every past, the emergence of a new Self make a the dead bury their dead.
The terrible had happened ...
"It true, if they miss. But the desire . usque ad sidera, usque ad inferos. We genuinely need to coach in this stormy sea. Of stars orient you. "
Lorenzo, awakened by the 'flash' the Bible, even slipped into a crouching stellar performances by surprise (the first, perhaps because of the shouting all around, had not grasped the term coach, or had pretended but knew him well, albeit for a short time. And knew her as well ... ).
"Yes, coaching is best suited to the times of today. Species then for those in a hurry (and who does not?), As is now coming back to slow. Slow but rock. Finally ... (Lorenzo had never felt the rush of the robot gassed o dei bipedi schizzati di cui erano piene le strade e i marciapiedi). Sto leggendo ‘Economia dell’ozio’, del sociologo Domenico De Masi ( ma quanti libri leggeva contemporaneamente Lorenzo?! ). Un attimo, ti cito un passo interessante...»
Lorenzo prese a prima botta il libro dalla borsa da mare (una matrioska quanto a letteratura) e si tuffò, anche qui a colpo sicuro, nella pagina deputata (fortunatamente in superficie).
« “Al pittore David, che gli chiedeva come preferisse essere ritratto, si dice che Napoleone abbia risposto: “Sereno su un cavallo imbizzarrito” (...) On runaway horses seem calm, however, many intellectuals by profession, many students harassed by the rush to learn, many modern captains of industry with the cohorts of managers - in double-punk - today the practice of martial virtues and contagious global competition. " And I add, a lot of people that fills the day with so many unnecessary trips back to nothing. Not nothing, one with a capital letter, nothing mystical in which the 'hidden God', the En Soph, shatters the diaphragm which lies at the sight of men, not the 'lofty crown', the crater in which magmatic jump to emerge bathed in real life, but nothing minuscolo, quello che sarebbe mille volte meglio riempire con un ozio produttivo (c’era ancora il sapore salato delle gocce delle ‘nuotate’ teologiche di Gaia sulla sua pelle…). Tempi di pausa o attese sgradite, sfibranti (alla posta, all’aeroporto, tra un impegno e l’altro), da riempire, piuttosto, con qualcosa di ‘significativo’, di vibrante, dissonante (qualche giorno prima Lorenzo aveva fermato il tempo soffermandosi su alcune sfrenate riflessioni sull’ otium ‘produttivo’ stil(l)ate da Marcello Veneziani, altro suo conterraneo della rive droite ). Innanzitutto, letture: non diceva forse Isidoro di Siviglia che la crescita dello spirit comes from the reading? And Cardinal Martini "the Bible in one hand, the other a newspaper." Not to mention Bonhoeffer: "the Bible in the pulpit, at work, sull'inginocchiatoio ..." But back to the slow ( the slow pace of the poem will save us from the frenzy of the world ... ) the pathos of distance, against the sinister and blind pathos activism. The pauses are not useless, are the most productive of the day and life! The break action. We recover, diluted each day, the Sabbath , rest, the ' otium, Saturday the divine. What is not yet finished. And it's too good . Shalom! Approfittiamone to meditate, draft copies of programs to change our lives (and essence). Let soul and body culture, others, sport, dance. Galatea, have fun, enjoy, enjoy ... "
Galatea did not need to repeat twice and jumped up Lorenzo, to seduce him on the spot (in fact, rape the fakir on the soft gravel Chiodos Bay Pugnochiuso). The presence of people around was enough to deter it (of necessity) on the other hand, the holiday was just the bud.
Lorenzo, escaped the danger, spat at the core, began to turn the ball. It was not unprepared on this: he had in hand, not only the praise of laziness ( seemed bonjour! ) , but, due to unexpected needs, the modernity of the gloom (he who encouraged the Positive Thinking and fou rire - but melancholy, that otium is beautiful. Belle de jour. toujors Belle).
He cleared his face and radiant, lit up and filled the outline of the Galathea beach towel, dissolving the looming ombra dell’ombrellone reboante. Poi diede fiato alle trombe: una jam-session sul coaching (negli ultimi mesi aveva letteralmente saccheggiato i siti internet alla ricerca di ‘reperti’ e tonalità nuove), a mani levate e passo sicuro (sia pure su virtuali tacchi a spillo. Quelli di Galatea erano reali: solo il pietrisco della spiaggia era riuscito a convertirli in più opportune infradito rasoterra, sia pure stilose ).
«Il coaching è ‘allenamento’ dell’anima per migliorare le prestazioni del corpo. Corpo olisticamente inteso: la triade paolina corpo, anima, spirito. Un tutt’uno (alla giudea), ma, platonicamente (e cristianamente) separable. Each with its journey. I know myself, coaching is an interactive process short term, a dynamic program focused, rather than the causes, on the solution. It helps you to grow, develop and manage emotions, to create balance and produce the desired results. It helps you focus on the illness and the inner strength to overcome it ... but above all aims to make goal. "
marpione A smile accompanied the last jab, after which he returned the turkey chick.
The night is epilogue and not the whole elegy. The scares and sudden flutter rough night on the banks otherwise ugly, here only the glittering (but still sharp - and Lusco) tremendum Diana. Praise of Folly, no Liala eros, only drops of life to gun cotton. All the parterre is one man, one woman her our Lorelei (loose hair: it is not cotton) . But no protective uterus: each is in its '(dis) comfort zone'.
secluded snappy, yoga asana on a war footing, nothing sloppy (and no, thank goodness, live chat ... It's all). The hours of yesterday (the past 'Useless') are running out, I smell the long rains ( Après moi le deluge ).
I squatted down next to Chloe, she gives occhei (the night peeps more per day). Maxwell and D'Angelo (two cool & lounge crooner comes from the senses) We'll be rocking wave upon wave, to then slam on the shoreline: from there we roll up dune dune (the sofas seem to multiply and empty, but there are all lying or duck hanging from the lips of each other: aristocratic democracy ).
a shiver up my region (and reasons) deep. Beached but happy. Deported from the world, I roll on the sand of my memories (and future: Diana has reversed the hands of time), ready to betray the mission of the evening and fly (and then, soon hit hard, though virtually or viciously do not know yet).
switched places. We welcome Yin Yang: two armchairs fused together - materials that meet, concavity and convexity, which alternate and mingle: elements of an oxymoron in progress (but 'regressive'), copula for pairs of in-of-ways but ecutions -separable. All according to program (and staff).
"And do not confuse science with a conscience (Diana continues to enjoy, a fairy, absinthe). If Darwin is better survivors - so for him is not merely a question of 'quality' or 'value analysis' - for Nietzsche, and for me, the better the more 'successful' . Only he has the right to life. For in Christ there is power of life and dynamic - not static - the existential. That way, it seems cruel, cruel, inhuman, mechanistic, but it is not at all. Quite the contrary, it is human and even spiritual well-managed is the sum and the product quality and virtue (in the sense of values) from the most diverse (Especially, divine - from above): the beauty of the facade (no offense, is a source of pride) to the blood line (not a boast, it is a wind - blowing like and where he wants, but has an origin ...). The 'well-managed' are not recommended, the most 'straight', the cleverest, the richest, the sgam ... They are the 'best', the 'reported' - and 'marked' (which? I guess your heart 'deep'. He knocks on the door - you 'choose' - you're free or not to open: the your free 'response' to Suo libero ‘appello’). Sono loro – gli eletti dall’Origine – i ponti (sospesi) verso il Superuomo. E la mia non è solo kalokagathìa , mito della bellezza e della bontà, ma è qualcosa di più profondo, di meno epidermico. È signum aeternitatis (immancabile, la ‘siringata ipodermica’ di Diana) . I ‘malriusciti’, gli uomini-frammento (una ‘legione’…), sono sia il ‘gregge’ sia i ‘porci di Gadara’. Come direbbe Laing, sono in formazione ma viaggiano fuori rotta. Noi, invece, men and women on the brink of crisis (the Krisis: Kairòs -choice), we are broken, we are 'a wheel', we will do the burping, but at least we are on course ... "
Well We are in training, but also en route. It is time otium of seemed, but it is also the time for action. The action slow. Slow but millipedes pede. To put it yet with my novel in progress (a little 'sneakers a bit' high heels):
We are the plasma membranes of the center and suburbs, the gap junctions occluding the minds and souls , teurgi plastici in cerca di corpi da rigenerare. Col forcipe dello spirito recidiamo le sbarre dell’anima e liberiamo dai ceppi impazienti i dèmoni dormienti. I nostri e gli altrui.
Diamo le ali al nostro angelo. È lì che ci aspetta, dietro l’angolo. È stato fin troppo tempo ad aspettarci nel nostro salottino privato, poi in cantina, poi giù per strada, sotto la nostra finestra. Dai, scendiamo, usciamo dal portone, giriamo l’angolo.
È l’angelo a liberare l’uomo, schiavo delle effimere luci del mondo sensibile and a prisoner in the labyrinthine maze of his permanent shadow. is to guide him, from heaven to heaven, in the ascent to the spiritual and enlightened realization ( here and now, for the moment). Unless they do everything ... He
