OTTO MARZO. FLY… FEMME FATALE FLY ... FEMME FATALE
Fly lady fly ... away the veil: the fate is with you! Of course not: the veils away. Of bunga bunga we now sick and tired. Away the veil, if anything. With all due respect to Islam, at least one of Rabia and Rumi, the veil and know it can easily live without, without betraying the original thinking of Muhammad.
Women infinity revealed. And eight and three (March) are, respectively, signs (and strokes) for the infinite is certainly symbolic.
Fire! Fire! Fire! Bessie Russian, Peppino and the Italian Concetta, Fannie Ukraine. These are just some of the girls died in the fire of one hundred twenty-nine shirts Triangle Shirtwaist in New York. It was March 25, 1911 (yes, on 9 and 11 are repeated a bit 'too often in the Big Apple - is the worm?). Yes, one hundred twenty-nine femme fatale: they femmes fatales. And to think that if a boy means 'capital', 'foemina' true 'small', namely: Minimum faith (fides minus). If anything, fidei munus (gift of faith). And women do not have faith, have certainties ...
And speaking of women, I can pass the flabellum (Porete to Margaret, the mystique. But he, like every woman is a scourge - in sense of the whip for flogging, not the weak thought, because the weak of thought . "Be hot or cold, but the lukewarm vomit them in hell." ) to my friend Dalila (the Orlane some of my old post). Not before, however, for having blown a quick thought my 'feminine' - in the sense of passionate, galvanizing, velvetizzante ...
UBI MAIOR FOEMINA-MINUS-MACHO CESSAT
Heavy droplets touched the heat and stench formidable temples, rolling, doce doce, on the cheeks. The fingers, fording the streams emerging on each piece of skin they earned positions on the mainland (and bodies in motion), tracking and marking territories signatures. Mixed, together, partners in crime, the sharp sword of him again after vaulting into the sheath only air; she , the foemina: spear.
the scorched earth. The track was beginning to plow furrows, the ground crumbled beneath their feet. Stood the invincible sun and the moon, defeat, becoming pale. As a new dawn, after sunset, the ephemeral, the oxymoron them with the lisp and the 'o' blasé. No brakes, no qualms, no hesitation: the train of desire rushed lights off in the first gallery.
The physical universe is stopped. But the flow erotic, even heretical, in full resurgence, or the momentum - elan vital - the furor Fanica (fanatic and sexy here too the sacred-profane oxymoron is not a crease). The upstream (of Venus) collapsed, panicked. Before shivering in crumbs, then an avalanche quakes: the a passion began to run naked above (and below) the bodies, overcoming all obstacles, sliding under (and above). As above so below. Even after (the corner). But always on ahead (and below).
" Tree m'è penetrated into his hands, his lymph m'è rise in arms. The tree grew in the womb m'è deep, the branches sprouting from his arms like me. " smiles, drops, origami. The rivers became streams, then rivers, then lakes, but always stormy. To Ezra Pound. Wuthering Heights, flowering valleys. Eros kind. flower from flower, the synapses of the circuit of Eros (even exist?) Multiplied indefinitely, creating new primary and secondary circuits, by-pass and flying connections. Without respect for rules and standards: a risk of blackouts.
Pensiero stupendo. He was born a little crawling. It might be a need for love. Better not say ... The room suddenly lit up: a lot of fireflies (real or virtual) had invaded the room, though closed, multiplying the lux. In a fiat. A voice thin, almost silence licking the walls. How parachuted from the sky. The stroking, tickling, titillated, Perm and squeezing bubbles and bubbles, removing the points and blacks eased clogged pores too long, then look out timidly into the room and melt, oxymoron, with winds of him and her.
“Questi amanti incorporei s’incontrarono, un cielo nello sguardo, cielo dei cieli a ognuno il privilegio di contemplare gli occhi dell’altro.” Prima Ivan Segreto, poi Kazu Matsui, ora Mark Almond a farli veleggiare sulla spuma del suo Cruising. E i versi della Dickinson, onde sempre più spumose, ma vieppiù dolci, nu babà…
“Vi furono mai Nozze come queste? Un Paradiso li ospitava. E Cherubini e Serafini furono i rispettosi invitati.” La costa era vicina. Il suono delle sirene del porto (delle nebbie) li invitava ad approdare. Le vele ammainate, i remi in barca, i sensi nella stiva. Ma il canto di altre sirene, flautato, dolce, invitante, ludico, innocentemente lubrico, iniziò a pervadere la stanza.
E tu ancora. E noi ancora. E le donne: sempre.
The show (lo slow) must go on. Dopo la mia esternazione, passiamo a quella, dura (non sempre le donne sono sofà ), di Dalila/Orlane. You referred to a local fact, but the extent (a nice 'salad') is for everyone.
TARANTO, AND DIOXIN DERIVATIVES
is thought as you live. (Demosthenes)
must have been pappardelle with prawns escaped to the dustbin. Have been the bubbles rise in Malvasia ol'atmosfera retro look of the chairs in wood. But, inconveniently, irreverently, hermeneutics, was born. The meta-empirical theory about the foundations of human behavior typical of the inhabitants of the south, and why not, of Taranto. Un’afflizione lamentosa e continua, costantemente presente ed un senso di insoddisfazione permanente. Senso di insoddisfazione che mai si placherebbe, quand’anche al posto dell’Ilva ci fosse una distesa verdeggiante, quand’anche nelle università ci fossero i termosifoni d’inverno e l’aria condizionata d’estate, quand’anche possedessimo tutti il famigerato “posso fisso” (il “posto fisso”: entità esterna e oggettuale anelata, ricercata, posseduta e custodita gelosamente per accendere un bel mutuo – sempre in accordo con i suoceri, però, perché “ci deve essere lo spazio per i bambini and guests " ). "What " then, these guests, I have never seen in my life, not to mention that my grandmother did not even sit on the sofas, "not dirty."
I, I've seen things you people, you could not imagine :
... whining continues, unemployment, oppression of parents, lack of stimulation, Ilva shit, headache, stomach ache. Housemaid's knee. Mal de vivre. It is enough! It happens that we want to happen. I do not want the good Demosthenes, but more than " you think how we live," the correct formula would "we live as we think." The mind has an exceptional power. In Taranto area, exceptionally negative.
... smashing people in loving relationships that had only the name of love, and masochistic dynamics "repetition compulsion" endless. I saw women made pregnant by the same Executioner carefully chosen with care from mom and dad, play bingo family allowances in frustration. I saw men subject to wives-mothers bring pastries on Sunday morning in-laws' house, I saw smoke cigars husbands in secret in neighborhood gambling dens. But the saddest thing is that I saw boys and girls complain about the oppression of this place, the excessive presence of the parents (and parents complain about us " children-big babies" - thanks Schioppa), the absence of stimuli, dioxin, unemployment, asbestos, closed-minded, dead of cancer, the clubs all the same.
Once a person told me “se non risolvi il problema, è perché quel problema ti crea un vantaggio”. Ed io gli risi in faccia. Oggi capisco e dico, vi dico, mi dico che i due mari, nel loro costante e mortale abbraccio, ci fanno sentire al sicuro in qualche modo, ci offrono la possibilità di lamentarci senza trovare il modo di alzare il culo dalla sedia e prendere il volo. Taranto, mamma, papà, figli, disoccupazione, amore, odio, ciclo, fumo, diossina, cielo, mare, cibo, litoranea, discotutteuguali, mutuo, suoceri, mal di testa, cane e giardino. Sindrome di Stoccolma.
Siamo tutti innamorati del nostro boia.
