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Racconto - Scorsoio

"describes how Levantine person would be wrong. Yes I trade my image, but I do not for personal gain that fills the pockets of my pants, and why not, the swelling of the same flap. I'm just a biblical pillar of salt. I turned, I saw the horror of divine fire and flames I saw the souls burning desire to dismissal of impiety, I saw bodies to stretch their limbs licked by tongues of fire, I saw orbits igneous excavated by red-hot fingers, and now here I am, crystalline, brittle and subject to swing like a breath of the desert totem in the shape of a warning. " The writer looks at me ravenous. She has cheekbones and strong jaw and is equipped with a beauty not so obvious in its brazen perfection, as persuasive in its slipperiness and credibility. A second expression that face that wears light and dark and the light that's about it weaves, she sometimes takes on the features of the nymph, sometimes of a satyr in a see-saw game of seduction and repulsion that makes me even more desirable e mi ricorda, in modo doloroso, la mia vita prima di tutto questo. La troupe televisiva alle sue spalle mi adocchia con dissimulato disgusto. Durante i cinque minuti occorsi loro per montare l’attrezzatura tra la porzione di pavimento occupata da scatole di filo interdentale usate e quella su cui languono frammenti di pane raffermo, ora dimora di una colonia d’irrequiete blatte, ho notato che il cameraman, il più giovane del gruppo, è stato vittima di conati piuttosto violenti. Solo il tagliente sguardo della giornalista lo ha riportato all’ordine e lui, ubbidiente, ha domato le sue olfattive repulsioni. Lo stereo propaga nell’etere le sulfuree note di Devil Circle dei Cracow Klezmer Band. Quest’atmosfera da suk mediorientale, congealed among sewage and ridges of mixed garbage, scattered between veins of essential oils on the walls to create maps of ancestral continents still untouched, including the slopes of excrement and rotting wood furniture steeped in, brings us a drop in the heart of paradoxical melancholy.

"Please, go on - tell me the journalist moving his hands as if to follow a dance odalisque terse notes on the violin - and the same wish to understand the audience at home."

"The audience at home is not there to understand, just want to stretch the meal with a dessert of sordid squalor"

"I'm sure they prefer to understand - reclining il capo pensosa – Ma torni alle origini. Perché lei si è rinchiuso, perché nega il mondo e la sua fisicità?”

“Io non sto negando nulla, semplicemente mi tira il culo fare. Voglio dire, non sono qui per propinarvi qualche sofismo del cazzo sui grandi meccanismi che muovono il mondo e le nostre priorità di esseri umani. Niente di tutto questo”. Tossisco leggermente e una bolla di pus posta nella ruga d’espressione tra bocca e naso esplode riversando il suo rancido contenuto sul mio mento, dove si mimetizza alla perfezione tra i sedimenti di passate eruzioni cutanee.

“Cosa vuole dire?” mi incalza lei.

“Che mi tira il culo affrontare le attività quotidiane più comuni. Sto qua, mi nutro passivamente e lascio che tutto si accumuli fino al giorno della mia morte. Più o meno come voi”

“Lei così pensa?”

“Certo. Voi uscite di casa, osate varcare soglie più volte nello stesso giorno e svolgete mansioni e persino vi illudete di portarle a termine. Dopodichè morite senza avere risolto le vostre passioni, senza avere toccato una reale catarsi, senza aver posto conclusione ad alcunché. Per questo, la morte vi sembra un’insensata prospettiva nemmeno prospettabile prima dei 70 anni”.

“E lei ha una soluzione a tutto questo?”. Il fallico microfono che tiene vicino alla mia fetida bocca trembles slightly and I see his eyes widen. Someone coughs softly in the middle of the troupe, another scratches his butt. Rest in silence for about ten seconds, waiting for a series of worrisome palpitations to subside. The dog barking behind me. It seems impatient with these intruders who bankrolled the project with my money enough to keep me in here for at least another year, even though I know I will need much less time. The robot moves for a moment his arm. It seems that art of metal and industrial waste is waving to my address.

"But I know - blurt eject saliva bloody butterflies that land on the forearm of giornalista – Più di dirvi di imitarmi, non saprei che fare e ora via dal cazzo”.

La donna lancia uno strillo soffocato. Subito le passano un fazzoletto con cui si monda istericamente. Mi trafigge con occhi di ghiaccio pronti a lanciare innominabili strali. “Potete smontare – dice alla troupe per poi rivolgersi a me – E lei…si prenda pure i nostri soldi, la gente avrà di che divertirsi di fronte a un essere così disgustoso”

“Non più disgustoso del mondo” le rispondo. Accendo la televisione e, mentre escono in fretta, mi accingo a morire a ritmo di palinsesto serale.

Can Ice Cream Help Heartburn

I condilomi dell'anima

Non sono un nozionista. Tanto not an academic. First of all, lack of education and preparation, and secondly because of my deep-seated love for improvisation and pragmatism. I leave the sophistry to the next, to me is the art of knowing how. Season the intent of an adequate dose of my indolence, spray the dish with plenty of sloth, relax the limbs, arches his back, I do some unintended esoteric geometries and behold what I have just created with an air of Boccaccio. I reflect on the high coefficient of testadicazzismo I carry out below. I'm sick. Study is a weariness that has lasted four decades. I hate to study. I hate to write. I hate to start up banks of knowledge between neurons induced loops between doctrinal, ideological between estuaries, including Quick demagogic. I do not understand and academics. Why I am inspired by people in non-academic. My teachers are self-taught and are not even teachers. Are vague inspiration, osmosis to know insufflate the hollow of my torso, not taken in the shape of amorphous matter. That's all. And now I do not break the fucking. To have the piece of paper I'll have to improvise academic, at least for the next few months. But do not reveal the treacherous trick. Genital warts are the soul of parchment dry with dry better university. And not only those of the soul.

Why Is My Scrotum Itch

Battles - Mirrored


do you really think I would have refrained from talking about Battles? I mean, this year, if you want to appear figs, radical chic, à la page, is a moral obligation to have heard, internalized, digested and loved to the spinal cord of Battles Mirrored. There are dicks, my dear! The math rock of Shellac is adamant trinkets (well, there was no need to understand ... whops Battles, my little mouth ...) to quit as a moth-eaten coat. Now is the turn of this new American band, cool and fresh in 2007 ready to make its way to the ears of the elite never quite satisfies the forefront of new trends. Want to? Think of the next conversation you have with your friends for music lovers. At a time when someone has the bright idea of \u200b\u200blistening to the claim of re-edited version of Tiger & TheDuke Sound Of Animals Fighting (naive poor, poor fool), but you can produce this exuberant discovery. "Come on, is a math rock quartet in which he plays a member of Don Caballero and the former drummer of Helmet, you know? Yes, that chubby, he, to Betty." In short, a situation that will make you adorably salon snob but at the same time, sophisticated and attractive. Try to pronounce these words wearing something indie rock, perhaps a cigarette in a tailored suit, tie and sweater sleeveless diamond whiskers. YOU WILL BE PERFECT!


TECHNICAL
Clear and used intelligently and sparingly. The Battles have 20 years and feels. The album is recorded with care, the sounds are rarely trivial and John Stanier, as it is, in this context, almost unrecognizable, is a drummer who appreciate whatever. Do not expect ups and downs of baroque harmonies, but be careful all'ingannevole structure of the piece, which often occur mischievous, surreal, circus at times, sometimes minimal pop, and then take directions visceral and far from bare. All this assumes the contours of intelligent and elaborate simplicity, despite its partial incompleteness, but it's a personal opinion and comes from a lover of most saturated atmosphere. The real problem is that Battles are likely to fall into the old trap of those who have decided, almost at the table, to create "something absolutely new. "This applies, however, the purely creative aspect of Mirrored, technical discourse earn a good grade because of their rigor and their sobriety.
Rating: 7



CREATIVITY 'I
sincerely regret writing it, but just in the Battles in which they have invested much of their impact, fail. not totally, of course. The first approaches to Mirrored offer pleasant moments for approval, with a surprise, however, partly affected already the third / fourth play. This is not the predictability of their ideas, keeping, indeed, the honor to stand in a market so inflated as quello dell'indie rock d'avanguardia, ma piuttosto del cuore, dell'anima della loro musica. Un'anima che manca, dannazione. Mirrored è privo di cuore. Il suo battito procede a balzelli e non convince. Tutto è troppo artificioso, programmatico. Sembra che i quattro ragazzotti si siano ritrovati in sala prove e si siano detti: "Ecco, qua ci ficchiamo il riffetto fighetto di chitarra che fa molto math rock, qua il loop di voce con pitchshifter che, per forza di cose, farà molto Battles, quello che diventerà, insomma, il nostro marchio di fabbrica...ecco, a sto punto, invece, ci ficchiamo la ballatina surreale minimal pop, qualche reminiscenza alla Morricone con quelle voci in falsetto che si rincorrono ed ecco che ci siamo assicurati the title of most original albums of 2007. "A bit 'too easy, even if songs like Race In Race Out and, coincidentally just the frame of the album, are very effective. The sufficiency is around the corner and I think can achieve if they can put something more than themselves, a bit 'over humanity, so to speak, in their next job. Besides, it also takes heart, not just competence. Well, in my humble opinion, of course.
Rating: 5.8


CARISMA
difficult to define the charisma of a band of this type. This is certainly an obsessive charisma, strong willed, driven by a strong desire for distinction dal prodotto standard del mercato musicale odierno, ma il rischio del caro vecchio "du' note e una scurreggia" (dovevo scriverlo anche in sta recensione, semplicemente dovevo) è presente. Intendiamoci, in realtà è evitato da una notevole quantità di idee concrete e dal fatto che DAVVERO il suono dei Battles si differenzia e senza neanche troppi mezzucci (qualcuno sì), però, non so...il mio problema nei confronti di questa musica è che la vedo tristemente rappresentativa di una tendenza generazionale all'artificiosità, al pretestuoso, della serie "siamo superalternativi perché lo decidiamo noi prima degli altri e se non ci capite è perché non siete all'altezza". Mah, arrogarsi il diritto di affermarlo should not be the prerogative of anyone. Then, well, maybe I am too I did some screening of four boys and Battles are very humble and easygoing. I hope so. Even here, however, we are one step away from 6 and this is because, although I do not like the approach, the result is above average.
Rating: 5.7



CONCLUSION
If you think that the Battles are amended Sticazzi avant-garde indie-rock peserrima recent years, give him a better listening disassembled Books of The Lemon Of Pink (which mixed voices and rhythmic sampled instruments played in a similar way but with results, in my opinion, superior quality and originality of composition). Con questo non voglio dire che i Battles siano una band da bocciare, tutt'altro. Un afflato di sincero trasporto è udibile fra le trame sonore di Mirrored ma...è appunto solo un afflato. Il resto è sedicente sperimentalismo di classe confezionato da mani indubbiamente capaci. Lo so, sembra che li detesti. Non è così, qualora capitassero in zona, li andrei a vedere volentieri. Più o meno.
Voto: 6,3

Color Of Shaker Cabinets

Mahavishnu Orchestra - Birds Of Fire


Chiariamoci subito: io non sono un passatista musicale del menga. I passatisti sono una razza che si nutre di vetusti ricordi racchiusi in forzieri la cui inviolabilità è garantita da una genia di eterni nostalgici. Costoro, racchiusi in anemiche livery belonging to alien in this geological eras, pitted their knowledge with unwavering saccenza (a little 'fools like me but without annotations in brackets) and liquidate any musical product after 1973 (year of release of Dark Side Of The Moon) with a skeptical shrug, almost always correlated with profound contempt. Here, this review should (I repeat, should) meet their ears accustomed to analog noise of the turntable. I am going to speak, in fact, the Mahavishnu Orchestra, a collective of eccentric musicians who, between the end of the sixties and seventies of the first half, laid the foundations of psychedelic rock fusion. Two of the bold in their thirties who gave birth to the project were the great Billy Cobham (formerly batterista di "un certo" Miles Davis) e il mediamente grande John Mclaughlin, non esattamente la vera anima della band, ma di sicuro il collante che la tenne insieme un numero sufficiente di anni per produrre alcuni album a dir poco eccezionali. Fra questi, merita particolare attenzione Birds Of Fire (per la gioia dei passatisti, pubblicato proprio nel 1973). Si trattò del periodo di maggior fulgore dei Mahavishnu Orchestra, lo stesso in cui si esibirono in una serie di concerti al cardiopalma, oggi vere e proprie pietre miliari per ogni appassionato di psichedelia. Scioltisi nel 1976, tornarono con una formazione totalmente diversa, fatta eccezione di Mclaughlin (proprio quello tecnicamente più scrauso, ma è un parere personale e non riguarda le his ideas, almost always excellent), which produced bold new registrations, but not with the bursting of the original conviction. But now we see why Birds Of Fire breaks his ass.


TECHNICAL
Massa, braverrimi are good but, boys, they were still the '70s. I mean, the album is peppered with dirt sound, inaccuracies and vigorous virtuosity that would characterize excellent technique for many musicians to come had not yet appeared on the market of experimental rock. There are cocks. We must admit that Billy Cobham, with his double pedal, it was a decent precursor (even if that option had already been seen around since the early '50), Keyboardist Jan Hammer made a generous use of his synth and violinist Jerry Goodman (God bless him, an exceptional musician) ventured into the weird wah solos, but everything was not done with the cleaning in others, in later periods, were expected to admire. The applause, however, remains. Dad's have that.
Rating: 6.8


CREATIVITY '
And here we are at the core of the magnitude of the Mahavishnu Orchestra. The first time I heard Birds Of Fire, I had to immediately make sure the year of its publication and, once done, I was dumb, because if it were not for the expected low quality of the recording, I never thought that such ideas had been born six years before my birth, when he still ran around my lawn green with flared trousers and flannel dresses with floral decorations. Just listen to the opening title track to realize that that guitar riff in a loop that opens the piece was a precursor not only of countless similar ideas, but a new way of composing and designing psychedelic rock, progressive, and later , alternative. Dai, eccheccazzo, the ideas of the Mahavishnu you can hear the Pink Floyd as the Chemical Brothers, the Mars Volta in as Ozric Tentacles, as in the Franz Ferdinald Lost Prophets (well, ok, maybe not in the latter two). You know what kind of band that starts with bearing surfaces and a riff on it, build an endless string of psychedelic improvisations (or sound sequences, electronics abusatissime 90s big beat, but not only) interspersed with some intriguing bridge that breaks and leads the piece to an exaggerated conclusion? Behold, all taken from Mahavishnu. Then, well, everyone can jump on with thousands of similar examples, even prior to them, but hard to convince me that others have ahead of its time with such amazing talent and, above all, that their ideas have been slow to grow old so as to arrive, today, yet so effective. Not only do many of the new generation try listening to the Mahavishnu surprise, but just do not understand. "Oh, this stuff is maccheccazzo sperimetale output this year?". Embellishing, when this sound, your father was Burt Reynolds mustache, if you know what I mean. Sorry for the digression, here is the vote.
Rating: 8.2


CARISMA
Ammille. A palate. Will be complete with the ridiculous John Mclaughlin, the frenzied rhythm of riding Cobham, always accompanied by that expression is very incredulos that "we are in the 70s and are enforceable in a trance hippy", will be the Christological air of Goodman, who gave live thrill to the magnificence with which he was waving his bow, will also be the grainy quality of the video recordings, but live dei Mahavishnu Orchestra sono una vera goduria, uno spettacolo di estetica seventies che più cool non si può, di quelli che t'invitano ad abbracciare un sitar e ondeggiare sulle onde di un mantra multicolore. E' buffo pensare a come meritino assai di più di essere riposte in muffose cantine anteguerra le quattro cazzatine finto sperimentali (e ormai abusatissime) con cui si pavoneggiano certi sedicenti musicisti contemporanei, rispetto alle canzoni dei Mahavishnu. Della serie, guadagnamoci il carisma spaccando il culo, non con le solite du' note e una scurreggia (sarà bene che recensisca al più presto una band minimalista uscita ques'anno, sennò entro a far parte di diritto del club dei passatisti del menga citati a inizio recensione).
Voto: 8,2



CONCLUSIONI
Che ci volete fare, sono fichissimi. Devo essere sincero, se c'è una band in cui avrei voluto suonare in quel periodo (cosa impossibile per limiti tecnici e temporali, dato che sono un chitarrista mediocre e, soprattutto, non posso viaggiare nel tempo), avrei scelto a occhi chiusi i Mahavishnu Orchestra. Passi il nome ridicolo e pretenzioso, il resto è grande storia della musica moderna e Birds Of Fire ne è parte in qualità di, forse, miglior album in studio della band. Ed ora smettete di leggere, dannazione, e andate subito a procurarvelo.
Voto: 8

How Much To Struts Cost

Racconto - Greg Sylvian (esaustiva summa del morboso)

TRACCIA 1 – EDONISMO SPICCIOLO

Il signor Bosom è un gran mangiafica a tempo perso. Lo hanno visto a casa di Lady Godette con un mazzo di rose bianche sotto braccio e una scatola di cioccolatini al benzene stretta nella mano. Nella veranda di Sir Plastico non c’è ombra di igiene e Dr. Linus se ne avvede con gran sconcerto. E’ il party più fallimentare del secolo, è innegabile. Mr Bosom è appollaiato sul davanzale di una finestra, dall’altra parte dello sgargiante giardino di casa Plastico. Tutta la crème è intenta a intrattenersi con aneddoti e storielle di varia foggia e incostante credibilità. “Non c’è più senilità nel portamento di Balestra. Eravamo in tredici a sostenerlo e sono la sola sopravvissuta. Una ragione deve esserci, non trova, Dr. Linus?” L’uomo si desta in quell’istante dall’attenta osservazione degli invitati. “Ehm…certo Jasmine. Lo penso anch’io.” L’anziana donna ride coprendosi pudicamente la dentatura rifatta di fresco. “Voi sapete sempre divertirmi, che uomo eccentrico siete. Intendevo, trovate che ci sia una ragione nel fatto che sono ancora viva?”

“E’ evidente che siete estremamente anonima, mia cara.” Le rivolge un sorriso gelido e lei si scioglie. Preme una mano contro il petto rugoso e saluta distrattamente un uomo obeso e orribile. Intanto Mr. Bosom sta dando fondo alle riserve di Cristal del padrone di casa. Porta i suoi sessant’anni malissimo e la ragione è più che chiara. Karen lo avvicina e lo sfiora con guanti di raso. Sono amanti da un paio d’anni. Lei ha al massimo quarant’anni, portati benone. Sarà la chirurgia plastica, sarà la palestra, ma tutti se la vorrebbero filare. Nell’ultima ora l’atmosfera si è appesantita. Arrivano voci che la festa sia stata spostata fuori dalla villa a causa di una fastidiosa invasione di scarafaggi. Pare che la sola vittima sia stata la figlia di Plastico, a tender meat dumplings. "My God, poor thing ..." Jasmine's eyes are shiny. Pulls out a silk handkerchief from her handbag Prada and drying what little moisture that is able to produce. "Life goes on, my dear. Rather, I am concerned that these beasts can reach the cars parked out front. I would be very disappointed if I had to go home with the tires chewed by those abominations. "

" O Lord! You are right, Dr. Linus! I must warn my driver. "Attempt to dial a number on TV, but did not succeed. He seeks help from a waiter and eventually the operation was successful. Dr. Linus walks away bored. Mr. reaches Bosom. There trace of Karen, but the aged philanderer has soiled his lips with lipstick. Linus picks up a napkin from the nearest buffet table and hands it to her. "Thanks, but ... what?"

"Lipstick. It would be good to avoid these things in public, even if your wife is not present tonight. "Bosom is cleaned thoroughly and then throw the fly piece of cloth on the tray of a passing waiter. "Get yours, Linus. I am old and shabby and the prostate is leaving me. I enjoy it as long as I can. Do the same too. Just because you're ten years younger does not mean that durerai forever. "Winked and swallowed yet another mocking bicchiere di champagne. Si dirige barcollando verso una donna che sta riempiendo il suo piattino di tartine di carne di struzzo. Le avvicina la bocca alla nuca e le alita nell’orecchio qualcosa di simile a: “Mia cara, sei dolce come sperma caldo, vorrei mungerti senza pietà. Quella la conservo per i momenti in cui mi tiro le seghe, che sennò rischio di strapparmelo.” Dr. Linus ignora la scena e si porta fino alla veranda. L’interno della casa è silenzioso e le luci sono tutte accese, nonostante non si scorga anima viva all’interno. L’impianto stereo manda Take this bottle dei Faith no more. Varca la soglia senza indugio e avanza seguendo le forme del costoso tappeto persiano che occupa buona parte del pavimento della room. A white marble staircase leads to a loft onto which other ports of entry and Plastic studio where he discussed several times on the fate of the planet after the death of Tom Jones. Coming out to look for the driver, when a cry followed by a thud attract his attention. The trail ends at that time and the cd comes out suddenly The Gentle Art of Making Enemies. The pace increases your heart rate. Climbs the stairs, step by step and warned another sound, and other violent cries, partly covered by the music. It appropinqua entry of the study and faces. Sir plastic is bent, the shoulders, on his desk. He is working on something with great vigor, sometimes blasphemy a voce alta e batte il pugno sulla radica del mobile. Linus fa per chiamarlo ma in quel momento nota un particolare disgustoso ai piedi dell’amico. Il parquet è cosparso dai corpi di decine di scarafaggi enormi, tutti morti, a parte un paio che ancora agitano le zampe e tentano di raddrizzarsi dalla posizione supina. Nello stesso istante una mano lo afferra a una spalla. Con una flessione che gli procura una fitta alla schiena ruota su sé stesso, ma qualcuno lo immobilizza con eccezionale vigore e un’altra mano gli serra la bocca. Mugugna qualcosa e due occhi azzurri da tedesco lo fissano pazienti. L’uomo, alto, biondo e colossale, gli fa cenno di fare silenzio e lo trascina lontano dallo studio, vicino alle scale. Appena si allontana da lui, Note the filthy overalls and an unmistakable emblem stitched on the chest. "She is the insect, right?"

"Yes, please, have Gunther." The man's accent leaves no doubt about its origins. Linus offers him his hand but no sign of even tight. "I do not seem appropriate to do so, Sir Plastic know very well. I will have to complain about her, believe me. "Gunther bowed his head slightly. "I'm sorry, but it was going to interfere with a sufferer. Let him alone with his pain, please. "Linus slips a hand into his pocket and takes out a cigar. The light and careless view details the house as it was the first time you enter. "What a pain, sorry? The disappearance of her daughter, perhaps? "

" Yes, please, come. "Linus starts, then stops. "What's he doing now? I've seen those cut cockroaches, I do not understand ... "The exterminator shakes his head and becomes more aggressive. "There are things that interest you!"

"Oh no! Instead the concern. Gunther, let it go. "The look of plastic that now we possessed fixed by the double door of the study both catches them unprepared. Gunther looks at Linus for the last time, upset, and down the stairs with a shrug. "Come on, Linus, my friend." Linus approaches skeptical and afraid. "The regain my, you know? Indeed, I'm already getting it back. Come. "Entering the study. The smell is sweet, very bad. The bodies of insects are exposed to stomach open, thrown into every corner of hysteria uncommon to plastic. A bucket heads on the desk, flanked by a plastic bag full of horrible dead bodies of insects. The stench coming from there. "Come." The landlord shall remind him again. "No, I think I can ..." sweat drip copious hours on the forehead of Linus and must pass his sleeve over his eyes to prevent burning. "... Er, di poter…” Plastico gli sorride, le rughe gli deformano i lineamenti. Gli occhi emanano una luce distante, quasi assente, i baffi lo rendono stranamente ferino e le mani, le mani sono lorde, unte, le unghie annerite. “Di poter cosa, amico mio?”

“Di poter reggere ciò che mi vuoi mostrare. Mio Dio…tu la stai estraendo da ognuno di loro…Mio Dio, cosa…cosa stai facendo, smettila, per favore…” Plastico gli si accosta e fa per toccarlo. Linus si allontana con un salto. Una morsa gli prende lo stomaco. Chi gli sta di fronte non è Plastico. E’ un uomo molto somigliante, vestito allo stesso modo. Solo ora nota i capelli raccolti in una coda stretta, quasi nascosta, dietro la testa. “Lei chi è? Chi cazzo è lei?”

“Dovresti saperlo, figlio di puttana, dovresti saperlo benissimo. Io sono il timore che la finanza ti faccia visita e scopra i tuoi altarini. Sono l’indifferenza dell’emorroide che ti morde le carni del deretano nelle notti insonni e dolorose in cui maledici i tuoi medici. Sono il carcinoma informe che ti cresce dentro ma che non confessi. Sono la fica di tua moglie che si presta a tutti tranne che a te, sono il sipario che si cala ogni volta che il grottesco ha la meglio su tutto, sono la nera pece che dal proscenio cola abbondante sugli spettatori nel momento del monologo decisivo, sono l’ircocervo, la chimera, sono Greg Sylvian e tienilo bene a mente, perché mi piace perseguitare chi mi teme e tu ora te la stai facendo sotto.” Linus si volta e comincia una folle fuga verso l’ingresso di casa. Urta il passamano e zoppica giù per le scale con il cuore che minaccia di scoppiare. Raggiunge il giardino e drappelli di persone lo osservano esterrefatte. E’ zuppo di sudore, scarmigliato e rosso in volto. Jasmine gli corre vicino e lo sostiene leggermente. “Cosa succede, caro? Hai visto Plastico?” Senza una parola ricomincia a correre e scompare dalla vista di tutti.

TRACK 2 - FETISH feticide

"I offer the kind attention of His Majesty epilepsy an extremely thorny : women are all dissolute? "The Courtier and listen to Johnny scaccola absorbed by passing the dirty finger between the plots of his cloak. "Of course not, under the thumb ... if anything could be called quintessence of morbid." He gets up and hands him a cup filled with manure to his sister. She swallowed in silence for a long time everyone in the boardroom look embarrassed. The supreme ass, write excellent, spoke again. "Yes, my lord. This is disgusting. Continue, please. "The courtier Johnny gets up from his throne and near the cage of finches. She masturbates hard and try to hit them with sperm. Those flapping hysterical and one ends up on the bottom, caught up in the semen. "Sex is a trap. A device made to ensnare evil every sentient creature and get it without emotional involvement is the only solution that makes man free. Cold and fake our children will know if we educate them with sodomy and wisdom. "He raises his arms to the sky light and dense angelica, lo colpisce accecandolo. Preme le mani sul volto strillando e si accascia tra le vesti che lo ricoprono nascondendone la forma. Lo scrivano accorre con le lacrime agli occhi. Solleva il pesante mantello d’ermellino e del cortigiano non è rimasta ombra. I guerrieri, le dame, la folla tutta rumoreggia e diverse bestemmie echeggiano nel vasto ambiente. “Era il solo che io amassi con furore. Necessito una scopata seduta stante.” Il deretano supremo afferra rude la sorella del defunto reggente e la penetra attraverso le vesti. Lei attende tregua per sollevarle, silente. Tredici segugi si affacciano dall’entrata e copulano schizzando un gruppo di giullari falliti. Nessuno ride e la cinepresa compie una panoramica dei volti meno significativi, all merciless close-ups revealing wrinkles and blemishes. Tarantella hateful comes from the outside and a herd of dancers rough makes its appearance between the whistles of those present. A naked young makes its way through the crowd and reach the throne. We go above and urinating sull'arazzo real cries: "I love the bitterness of this chronic epicondinite. I love the solo shady I get vicious in the interstices of time cropping fellatio hidden and stuffed with a runny substance mellifluous and sprinkles and kills and eats those apostolic potential likewise created the seal that keeps me from being a teenager and pure essence of fluff Scient. Sometimes I cry together, sometimes free, but the only figures that junk Sollazzo and the regrowth of hair groin. "A bald girl grabs him and throws him to the cage of finches in a move to martial arts. The metal structure is torn from the body in flight and all the birds perform in a coordinated flight over the heads of a band of dwarves disfigured by the fire at the brothel last month. The birds make a vagina button then take the form of a trident. A window is shattered with incredible noise and an old man with a bottle of absinthe in hand and a torch in the other Bercia something incomprehensible and spits a fiery cone. The finches roasted fall one after the other and ferrets sodomites grain struggle with blows of the rod to eat meat. Meanwhile, a man with his face covered with a tunic is revealed and everyone recognizes Greg Sylvian. Spread your arms and let the faithful's dock hands and bare feet. A black man clutching the long hair and try to sodomize. Greg makes it harmless to the positioning of fingers on his scrotum dark. It is addressed to the bald girl who now lies in wait on the throne with arms and faces enormous pressure on the breasts. "Today I discovered a mushroom growths on my navel. It 's the sign that I have to give me the funk and stop to fill up my records of that formless psychedelic patchwork of ethnic influences. "The female figure of the bald is revealed in all its glory when the tunic from her worn vanishes in the form of a white weasel. A Russula protruding from his abdomen and umbrella pulses passing from flesh pink to bright red. "Sylvian, knew of my coming, and so you show up in the hope, ultimately, to fuck, right?" He is progressing slowly, followed by the faithful who, like leeches are harpooned at every joint. "You speak well, or my potential concubine. Come and give me a pump, here, in front of them, so they understand the true essence of sin. "The young man rises from the rubble naked rusty cage and proudly displays the procurategli thousand wounds from the scourging of the bars ripped. Mr. Smangle points a finger at Greg and declares: "I do not and original sin is the most complete abstinence. There is no garbage that the trivial pleasure of causing pain to give more drunkenness. There is not and apparently never will be the most sadistic because of irreversible mass hysteria. There is more frugal meal of rotting awareness of the individual to be mediocre and haphazard. We would all be needed and instead matryoshkas onions exposed to dry out the nail as butterflies are more than us. "A villager from the hairy and ape-crazy features the young man with a blow to the shoulder that does not leave him escape. Within seconds his body was slaughtered and eaten by the thirteen hounds soon fade away wagging his tail. The bald looks and laughs shaking his head and rubbing your clitoris inhuman speed. Sylvian seizes the day and with his hands nailed to the arms of the huge steel seat. In turn, he and the faithful to pierce the lower abdomen and she writhes like a snake. Bites and strikes at random and opens a wound in the arm of Greg, but they do not desist from entering. A wave of heat involves the storage of bodies and many are thrown to the ground in flames. The spiritual head off the fire that burns the hair in the spittoon under the throne and emerges covered with saliva, mucus and phlegm. His lackeys are made by scared and huddle hugging each other. All lay stunned with the old absinthe facing Sylvian. His mouth is full of flammable liquid and moves with his legs outstretched, ready to take a slight movement of Greg. That performs a malicious smile and opens her arms still full of dummies. "Old man, I did not get swept this enemy and fresh young lips swollen." The Old Man swallows absinthe. "That's my mother, pig!" Its almost bluish color reflects the torch-wielding angry. "I understand, Oedipus or fetish, I understand. Listen, I propose a deal not to refuse. My life for that of your ... "See the beautiful young girl, raising an eyebrow. "... Um, your mother with my own. These beggars can also have fun farli a pezzi. Anzi, ti pregherei di farlo. Da quando hanno imparato a leggere mi sento in pericolo, dato che gli scritti che conservo nelle mie stanze sono di vitale importanza per la perpetuazione del culto e che uno dei suoi punti di forza è l’ignoranza dei fedeli.” Lancia un’occhiata severa ai villici tremanti intorno a loro. Il vecchio ingurgita altro liquido etilico e appronta la fiamma davanti alla bocca. Sylvian corre in ogni direzione e quando cerca rifugio tra i fedeli questi lo respingono come fosse un lebbroso. L’attempato guerriero continua a puntarlo e all’ennesima spinta di uno dei suoi, Greg si trova scoperto e in mezzo alla stanza una nube d’alito incandescente lo investe. La sua figura prende fuoco dalla cintola in up and the screams of the artist come together to the applause of the crowd. Some open packages Fonzies, cook other marmots skinned, but most disappear in single file complaining about the high price of the ticket. She surrounds the old and embracing are crying for a long time. Without further ado, the scene changes and with it the play of light.

TRACK 3 - INSECTS

We are in winter and ice studs adorn the jambs of the windows of a modest cottage. A child down the moor, melancholy. He felt that this year there will be no spring or summer. His father told him during the last propitiatory killing of the scapegoat. "The insides are clear" he had said. "We can forget the summer season this year. We will have to warm up just sleeping in the bellies of cows slaughtered. And when all this is over we will end up full of rheumatic pain due to moisture than guts. "And he took refuge in the barn, looking for just those mice nati che il gatto aveva tentato di stanare senza successo. Ora è nella sala da pranzo e sua madre sta preparando lo stufato. Indossa la giacca e sistema i gusci di scarafaggio sotto i piedi, per non affondare nella neve. Si reca nel granaio e mentre attraversa l’aia intravede le galline, raggruppate come acini d’uva, sulle mensole del pollaio. Entra nel capannone ed estrae il fucile che ha nascosto mesi addietro nel vano tra un’asse smossa e la parete esterna. Accende le torce per illuminare l’ambiente e subito un’ombra si staglia enorme sul soffitto. Il bambino trasale e preme il grilletto. La gragnola di pallini si pianta in un palo, tra le balle di fieno. Percepisce un veloce raspare lungo le pareti. Una forma nera compare per un attimo behind a trough. Shoot again and a dull thud marks the end of the bustle. He approaches the origin of the noise and find the body of a huge beetle, two meters long. The projectiles have almost wrecked. Grab a fork and begins to separate the carapace. "Well done, bambiiiino ..." He turns abruptly, limbs stretched and shortness of breath. Space with the look, but does not identify other than his presence. Place the rifle on his shoulder, ready to fire and moves between the troughs arranged in parallel rows. "You pauuura?" The voice is thin, almost absent and is lost in a reverb that does not permit indefinite understand its origin. "You know who was that? Yes, yes. He was your ... "

"Shut up! Shut up! "The explosion of the gun port silence again. The child is flushed from the effort to scream so loud and keep the barrel pointing up, still smoking. Tremendous advances, point your gun in any direction and feel waves of adrenaline that make the brain pulsating. "Needless to find me. If anything, I'll show myself. I am the supreme bambiiiino. And I want you, oooora. Reborn is coming a second time, is the denial of divine eiaculatio precoooooox that has put us all in the world and I want you to be reborn. Indoloooooore will ... "

" What do you want? Why me? I do just what my father tells me "The voice is closer, it seems a few steps away from him. "Tesooooro ... you just killed your father." The child clicks on the side and shoot into a pile of hay. Now hear clearly something lightning at a gallop along the walls and approaching. Open the gun and tries to grope the cartridges, it finds them, bends down and sees him slip from his pocket, reaches out to grab her, put in a desperate, foaming at the mouth to the panic, it closes the weapon, glassy eye , each breath a gasp of terror, looks up and sees. The harpoons and a leg off the hands of equity. The blood gushes to the fontanel. The screams are mixed with pain, almost surgical nerve. La faccia distorta in un ghigno di Greg Sylvian lo sovrasta. Ride sguaiata e non cessa di ondeggiargli davanti, sostenuta da un corpo vermiforme di nemertini. Si muove più vicino trascinandosi dietro un cilindro bianco lungo alcuni metri, ricoperto di pustole nere. “Ti ho preeeeso, ti ho preeeeso, ti ho preeeeeeeso, ti ho…” La nenia martella costante, il silenzio sembra non giungere mai. Invece, come sempre, arriva.

TRACCIA 4 – NEFROSI DELLA MENZOGNA

An elegant man in suit is sitting at a table with drawers, old and crumbling. Three individuals are the opposite. Does not distinguish features and clothing, since the strong light of a lamp is pointed at him, but he did a pretty good idea of \u200b\u200bthem. They are probably undercover agents. The room in which they are gross and smelly. He noted that teeth, nails and streams of blood sprinkled and spotted the wall to his right, accompanied an ominous warning to the chains hanging from rusty nails industrial sales in Russia. His lip was split, as two of the upper incisors. It has a half-closed eyes and swollen and tie and shirt stained red. It looks horrible already imagine. Li was asked to leave immediately lose face, but have not heard. The agent supports the one hand to the table and leans toward him. "Mr. Presley, you decide to speak and we will be happy to leave it to its valuable social duties." The agent 2 makes strange gestures with his head. "Very true, very true. You give us what we are trying and we will reward you with immediate release and completely acquitted. "The agent 3 runs around the desk and approaches, bringing her face up to it. He has high cheekbones and skin of the cheeks seem to have been subjected to numerous facelifts. "We read all about lei, siamo al corrente di ogni particolare.” L’uomo abbassa lo sguardo. “Tutto? Per esempio?”

“Per esempio della sua scappatella notturna al Leibniz con quel sordido sodomita arabo che vende filmini snuff.”

“Mio Dio…ma che state dicendo? Non conosco gente del genere!” L’agente 3 lo schiaffeggia forte abbastanza da farlo quasi cadere dalla sedia. “Animale! Inutile fingere. Abbiamo le foto, le testimonianze e quanto ci basta per incastrarti e immerdarti fino e sopra al collo.” L’agente 2 getta sprezzante un fascicolo sul tavolo. L’uomo lo prende, titubante, fissando l’agente 3 con timore reverential. Scrolls through the pages and see that the first photographs show people wealthy and luxurious villas occupied by the pool in orgiastic revels. There is no shadow of himself. The following pictures are blurry and of poor quality. You see men evidently photographed from a great distance, exchanging bags. The place of exchange, it would seem an airport is always the same, but change the clothes of the subject and light. His presence, once again, latita. 3 The agent's snatches the folder and hands it to the agent 2, then grabs the man by the collar of his jacket and shook him. "Well? So! Do not say anything all this? "He is on the verge of tears. "But I'm not there! Do not you see? "The three agents giggle and look complicit. The third strikes him again. "We take for fools? Eh? Next, say it! "

" No, no! ... I do not take to sc ... "

" Shut up! Watch "The agent 2 is crawling on the table and still another picture under his nose. It portrays a surgeon with instruments and shirts. Seems to have just removed the mask and satisfied smiles, as if he had successfully concluded an operation. "You recognize him? Well, actually we should not ask, but today we are more patient than usual. "The man looks stupid and shakes his head, tears now moisten the collar. Another shot him there, this time behind the head. The third grabs him by the hair, immediately pulls back her head and whispered: "Come on, Prisley make this job a little 'easier. Speak, admit that this is the surgeon you have remade the face. "The second involved. "Bern 1997. It tells you nothing? "The man continues to sway his head, dazed and spends himself in constant mourning. "I ... I do not call Prisley. My name Kudok. And I have forty years, as you say, there are only thirty-one. And I'm American, not Belarus, Christ! Want to know? "The agent first gets up. The light is still preventing di carpirne l’identità. “Ascoltate, stiamo perdendo tempo. Non ci resta che torturarlo e vedere fin dove regge. Anche non fosse lui, dovremmo comunque disfarcene, ormai ci ha visti.” L’agente 3 si gira verso di lui. “Hai ragione, attacchiamolo a quel cazzo di muro e vediamo se dopo un paio di estrazioni dentarie si convince.” L’uomo valuta per un secondo e agisce con inaspettata animosità. Infila la mano con precisione micidiale sotto la giacca del terzo. Ha notato poco prima, mentre aggirava la scrivania, lo scintillio della pistola sotto il vestito. La estrae con disinvoltura e fa fuoco centrando l’agente 3 all’addome. Quello si accascia e strilla a ripetizione. L’uomo punta l’arma the other two. Shoot at random. The light goes off in an explosion, a body falls. Prisley runs to the door, the blind, the darkness around him like a shroud. This can open, he sees a glimmer of light that illuminates the agent 1. It 'still, in front of him. E 'Greg Sylvian, who possessed the piercing eye from side to side with a spur. Centered a kidney. Man loses all contact with reality. It falls on all fours, groping, unable even to scream. Immediate numbness invests. Press trigger them, does not know how many times. The bullets bounce does not know where. His last hope is that he brought with him the son of a bitch.

TRACCIA 5 – COLLISIONI mATEMATICHE

La ragazza calva è sdraiata su un logoro giaciglio adornato da foglie d’alloro secche. Le voci di alcuni venditori ambulanti l’hanno tenuta sveglia tutto il tempo. Lascia vagare lo sguardo lungo le pareti della capanna di fango dove si trova. La superficie è irregolare dovunque, anche nel pavimento di terra battuta dove cresce un ciuffo d’erba ribelle che a Baba non è riuscito di estirpare. Indossa un saio nuovo, donatole dal suo ospite. Si alza and warns that a strong turning forces her to sit. Wait a few minutes and massage your feet and shoulders. The hair are growing back, or so it seems. Sente read tips protrude from the skull, but still seem to be an eternity to the same length. It was agreed to and exit from the refuge wary and disoriented. It is located on a dirt road besieged by countless stalls of a market in the Middle East. The buyers will gather at the desks and screaming addressed to merchants, who in turn contract with unfailing patience. A mound of earth and took over the houses stands that surround the street. And 'huge, tens of meters high and surrounded by swarms of flies in the grip of their morbid rut from dung. Baba said that he would go the temple and do not dare think that will be that the goal of his reconnaissance. He stops at an arms dealer and buy a boat with a little money rimastile. E 'bill of primitive but highly functional and is sharp. There is a growing among the people and reaching out to grab some lame about her trying to tear her dress. They look like without skin, perhaps victims of some cruel torture. Li avoids rapid and allows himself a moment's peace path of slipping into a hole, wide right for one person. A woman leans from a window above her and put on a wire skin a cat. He sees her and smiles. She escapes and ends up mired in chaos again. Other hand touch it, belt, pinch and can not find spreaders that persecute hidden in the crowd. Ends randomly in a square and get more free walking in front of a big store. A barker obese and sweaty slaves sold at low prices. They are exposed in a row, naked and trembling seized with concern. Some are children and the only woman who is an old emaciated, mercilessly exposed, try to cover the private parts. Buyers button, the goods with the bluntness that would reserve to beasts of burden. The merchant will not stop talking for a moment. "Buy, dirty young cow, buy the dregs of serving asshole! Get paid minions, lackeys make yourself without risk of betrayal! Give importance and prestige, herd of yokels without dignity, "and all potential buyer kneel at the feet of the fat bouncer praying to be offended. Some roll in the sand of the square asking filthy physical humiliation, but two dark-skinned men flanking them away in the obese weight. She notes with dismay that the buyer is replaced sold to the slave and servant is whipped by one of the villagers blacks with unprecedented violence and blood sodomized the other. Treatment excite the crowd enough to push many to rape the crowd. The bald you notice too late for the beating ritual that is emerging, and two hands grab her from behind. He feels a huge penis into the anus and get you screaming seized with painful contractions. Rotate the spear in hand, turning point all’indietro e sferra un colpo preciso. Liquido caldo le investe la schiena, sente un urlo strozzato e un corpo pesante la schiaccia a terra crollandole addosso. Striscia nella sabbia, che le riempie bocca, naso e orecchie. Tossisce, annaspa, qualcuno le calpesta una mano ma resiste al patimento. Si allontana carponi dalla ressa e cerca riparo sotto la tenda di una bottega. Il turbinio della gente che si assale, si schiaccia e si avventa sull’emporio ricorda un termitaio dato alle fiamme. “Incredibile, vero?” La ragazza sussulta e istintivamente porta la lancia davanti a sé, ma solo ora si rende conto di averla abbandonata sul corpo del suo aggressore. Un uomo sulla trentina, con una grossa cicatrice sul labbro e con due incisivi rotti la osserva e le sorride. E’ vestito molto elegante, è di bell’aspetto e sembra avulso dal contesto che li circonda. “Chi sei?”

“Sono Prisley. E’ un piacere vederti. Baba mi aveva detto che saresti venuta in questa zona, ma mi sono ricordato solo all’ultimo che ogni martedì in questa piazza c’è la vendita di schiavitù e sono venuto a cercarti.” La ragazza lo perlustra con gli occhi e si trova attratta da quell’individuo. Si ricompone anche se sa di essere coperta di polvere e sangue. “Io sono Auge.”

“So chi sei. Mi piacerebbe parlare ancora per conoscerci, ma è meglio che ci muoviamo. Seguimi e tienimi la mano, non mollarmi mai.” Le porge la mano e lei la prende senza fiatare. “E soprattutto fidati di me, intesi?” Lei fa cenno di avere compreso, con sguardo quasi infantile e si avviano nel caos che li imprigiona a margine della piazza. Avanzano molto lentamente e l’uomo la porta lontano da un gruppo di pezzenti che si contendono una donna sfregiata tirandola, ognuno per un arto. Un capannello di beduini coperti da vesti scure li fermano per chiedere l’acquisto della donna calva e Prisley li ignora. Uno di loro gli punta una lama in faccia, ma lui prosegue imperterrito. Auge gli si fa più vicina. “Come puoi essere così avventato? Lo hai ignorato come fosse stato un innocuo bambino.” L’uomo the sideways glances. "I pushed a mirror under his cloak. Here are a rarity, I do not bother us anymore. "The girl fell silent and think about how much time has passed since the last time I looked at her reflection. Is swept along the streets, beyond the square. The chaos is passing away and the stands are more sporadic. The mound is now more closely and can see details from the first hidden away. The surface of the huge cone that stands in the middle of the medina is full of narrow slits and a number of them dense smoke rose colored, perhaps the result of burning incense exotic. Mists of insects create arabesques in the air e si raggruppano a folate successive, creando forme misteriose, lettere, rune e caratteri in cirillico che stordiscono le membra di Auge, persa e ipnotizzata. La sua testa ciondola e gli occhi sono fissi su una figura rinchiusa in una gabbia a dieci metri d’altezza, appesa a una trave fissata fuori da una delle aperture. Sembra un uomo magrissimo e dalle gambe eccezionalmente filiformi. I soli polpacci sporgono, ma bastano per superare la lunghezza di un arto normale. La sagoma del capo è nascosta dall’ombra che copre il fondo della cella. Ormai sono a ridosso del torrione. Per duecento metri di raggio attorno alla costruzione il terreno è privo di edifici e capanne. Il vorticoso viavai di gente che si incrocia sulle vie che convergono nel tumulo dalle four cardinal directions remembers the constant pilgrimage to a place of worship. Auge sights packed with families with carts below on junk of all shapes and arranged in a mo 'walking home, the old monks soaked in vitriol, so disfigured to look like dummies, rubber, adulterous women without breasts proudly displaying scars unclean and thirteen caught by hounds are rutting unstoppable rub on passers-by. It 'a vision so singular, as drunk and the girl feels sometimes freeze, sometimes boiling over-the soul of emotional input. The man dragged her, his hand information serves as a hex-free umbrella and secreting sticky molasses. One of them entered and greedy swallows waves of dummies with no eyes, nose and mouth smell them, lick them and square them pimps. They are identical to the figure that hung leaning against the bars of his cell in the air. They are smooth as erect penis and rubbing their heads shapeless plastic collision produces noise and stench of crude oil. Es'impossessano are a multitude of pilgrims at the entrance with the arrogance of a queen bee drones on and unprotected sex. "Where we are, Prisley, where ...?" He stops to remove it from the embrace of a huge dummy, five meters high and equipped with huge arms. The tugs and pulls away, digging in the tumult that is stirred in spirals unpredictable. The fixed folle di desiderio. “Ci sono tredici ragioni per cui dovrei amarti, ma nessuna basta a sacrificarmi in settantuno parti di fecola indefessa come sedici e più statue di cenere che cadono al sole e si disseccano oltre il patio, in quella dimora che non ricordi ma che è ben scolpita nella mia mente.” Sangue a fiotti cola dalle sue narici, gli lorda le guance rase di fresco, la camicia griffata e la cravatta sgualcita, la giacca impolverata dal deserto e il setto nasale deviato in quella partita a hockey sul prato del giardino pensile di villa Guascone e un dito oblungo, privo di unghia e impronta digitale, lo stronca da dietro e così inaspettatamente che Auge strilla forte abbastanza da spolparsi i polmoni con vernice di vetroresina.

Greg mouth away from the microphone. Anxious glances toward the cold wall tank soundproofed. A voice reaches him, as expected. "Let's make this last bridge, it was a shit, Greg. I hope you agree. "Sylvian headphone system on its head and oversee the lip singing.

Examples Of Welcome Letter For Wedding Guests

Racconto - Inumanimazione

are
hours drive. The hands clinging to the steering wheel, dry face and nose purple make me unclassifiable. Libertino Judah is on my side, curled up on itself and the pursuit of perfect fetal position. The rows are undeterred and follow the Marche landscape flows under the ass of my car, endless. Throngs of hills shaded from the impending storm I face the conflict and the highway seems to be a voracious invertebrate waiting in catatonic lethargy and careless post-modern. The frantic red blood cells of this colossal artery filandosi dry run on the day of my eyelids and then stagger under the weight of fatigue that grips me from Bologna. The virtual coral reef on the Adriatic coast, whore and mother of his bastard people, looms as cirrus clouds pierced by the stalks of the vermillion sun salutes this ungrateful earth radiation coobate. Caesar Mandela sings "Jackass, u will not rape me tonight" with zeal and wise Judah wakes up to yet another ring of the African-American singer. Stretches to do with cat and looks around stunned. "Where are we? And ... what time is it? "

" We are in the Marche and the seven ... I think "I observed a moment uncertain, give way to the look on the bloody slopes that stand to our left. I would expect the frantic flight of a vile witch lost in the sky of dawn, the gallop of a unicorn side by side with our metal horse, the thoughtful frown bear Mantegna grappling with the gutting of a hive or the royal thoroughness Pellagra of the goldsmith, armed with a trial and precious metals, ma tutto questo è anni luce da qui o forse dentro di noi, relegato in un buio pertugio chiamato “trapasso verso un metafisico e laico mondo di pene o gioie o vie di mezzo”.

“Siamo quasi arrivati, vero?” La voce di Giuda mi giunge tremola. “Sì…manca mezz’ora” La sua faccia è stampigliata sul vetro, asettica seppur deformata. “Quando arriviamo tu dormi che io vado a prendere un qualcosa da mangiare, ok?”

“Come vuoi. In effetti sono a pezzi e la testa…beh, lo sai, è un po’ altrove”. Sbuffa e cambia posizione stringendosi nelle braccia pelose, muovendo la chioma crespa e color seppia. “Lo so bene, lo so. E chissà l’accoglienza…a che ora è?”

“Alle undici, alla chiesa dello…Stilnovo?” Ridacchia e si allunga nel tentativo di dare tregua ai muscoli rattrappiti. “Tu di chiese ne sai, eh?” Riesco a sorridere e tento di ripassare le fasi salienti di una messa. Dunque, io sono cattolico – io sono battezzato – la messa celebra ehm, il rito della…la resurrezione…il dialogo con Dio…? L’entità che bestemmio e poi mi tocco i maroni, non so se avete in mente e poi alzo lo sguardo al cielo e chiedo mentalmente scusa e poi mi dichiaro ateo alle cene dell’università perché fa figo e le ragazze mi osservano con quell’aria vagamente interrogativa e io cerco di non fargli capire che, beh, in fondo in fondo, Gesù lo tengo appeso nei recessi più reconditi di quell’anima così ideologicamente sputtanata che tanto ho negato di avere. E poi, ci sono cose nella vita che ti fanno scendere a compromessi con mister “io non credo si fottano tutti io mi drogo e bevo e mi tiro tre raspe al giorno e mangio merda nei fast food delle multinazionali, sono uno squalo che divora e non da, divora e non da…”

Mani che scuotono. Mani che MI scuotono. Le mani DI GIUDA che MI scuotono. Mi sveglio di soprassalto, un Archimede ridesto nella vasca da bagno. Eureka. Raddrizzo il volante e torno nella corsia centrale. L’auto, poco prima alla mercé di mister Orfeo Bragaloni, ritrova controllo. Giuda mi fissa incredulo e la sua mascella da centurione schiocca ritmica, quasi a tempo di Caesar Mandela, il negro che al momento bercia nelle mia orecchie “U woke up, u finally woke uuuuuuuuup…”. “Ti eri abbioccato dibbrutto, cazzo che strizza mi hai fatto prendere!” Scuoto la testa e mi impongo una posizione la più scomoda possibile. “Che ti aspettavi, mongolo…se avessi la patente tutto questo non si sarebbe verificato. Forse per i sessantadue anni arriverà?” Lo scorgo solo con la cosa dell’occhio ma di sicuro ha alzato gli occhi e sta proferendo labiali offensivi. Circa l’effettiva esistenza di un legame fra e me e lui mi sono interrogato spesso e ho ottenuto solo risposte ottenebranti, vaticini di dubbio gusto e utilità. Siamo capitati al mondo nello stesso tempo e nello stesso luogo e la contingenza ci ha uniti nel tentativo di sentirci meno soli. Succede fra amanti, figurarsi fra provinciali compagni di bagordi. E’ un rollio in perenne ascesa e presto ci farà cadere dall’amaca chiamata apatia su cui abbiamo parcheggiato i nostri culi da universitari squattrinati e senza prospettive sentimentali e lavorative. Presto il contado chiamato rimorso ci assesterà una secca pedata nel fondoschiena e ci manderà a lavorare la nuda terra riarsa dal sole per tre carlini e un tozzo di pane. Presto madame Tempo will be thrown to collect what it can and will apply the Protocol without compassionate liturgies ever written but well-oiled laundering dick guy. And be happy, then yes, it will become damn humiliating.

I see the exit and entrance Pesaro with the terrible doubt that it is the wrong one. Judah sleeps again. And 'nice alternative. I'm driving, he navigation, to guide me, him in a dream world, I am driving, the process of Autogrill him, I at the helm, he struggling with the car radio. And out of the car it seems that the dynamics be repeated, upsetting my beliefs to be a versatile person and transformed. I extract a bloody boogers through the right nostril and smashed on the trousers of my new friend. That remains there, confused and shapeless, and I am delighted. This is not you expected, dogs.

national highway runs through some never seen before, followed by the pregnant clouds that have stamped on in chiaroscuro "cock breaking in store for you fucking terrestrial bipeds." Maybe they saw me reading, because sparse drops begin to dot the windshield and I scroll leaving trails of wet webs. Mandela angrily pull out the stereo and throw the CD in the back seat. Enter the Goblin and the atmosphere is tinged with silver gray light filtered through the overcast sky. Our entry Pesaro which seem to be anonymous, since there is nobody to witness our arrival and the houses do not give off no memories of last summer. I seem to be in another place, crossed by shadows restless and forgetful, not a place where frames without lids, mixed with mo 'soup of oblivion and so vivid and painful, succeed in mounting a mistake, yes, because those images do not belong to me, I do not want more inside of me, violate me, dragged me to my virginity cathartic. I'm already worn out although young, because I have more appointments worth arriving on time, I have no promises to keep, so does the same for me and for those who around me. And this commitment, but who wanted him to piss off. In fact, we are fucked advance. Do you want me tell you? If we were not parties at night, drunk and intoxicated by cocaine, we would never have come here, this tragedy probably would not exist and everything would still like last year. Maybe closing his eyes and moving backward, arms outstretched and his head bent backwards on the highway to Modena, leaving to take a murderous-looking lashes and I hope that the great purges, maybe Vanessa and maybe come back to life would not be too late and I could do it on the spot, without warning Judah, now prey to sleep, and his indifference so well hidden.

Berth almost blindly and clear stand in an open space with shortness of breath and heart that rages in his little corner of indomitable tortured chest. Rest on the steering wheel and hold back the tears, me swallow all, one at a time, I keep liquids. Also because now I could cry just vodka mixed with the mood of the vaginal bitch that we uploaded last night after the disco. I feel and I am dirty, earthy, mascara and beer and tie the pitiless witness, a shameless banner carried with little dignity. I look after the ones that seem to me a few minutes. The shadows have changed around. The first tree that you threw on our car, now draws more clearly see its outline on the pavement and people who alternating with a plexiglass booth and metal reminiscent of the gaudy show of technology 60 years. All extract and insert empty cart, pushing it more full, more or less awkwardly, with the car now seizes this nest of red-hot sun of fiberglass that mocks us from the gap that opened between the walls of cirrus sodomites. Judah Russian softly and seems to disregard the child who observes a meter away from behind the glass. His mother is charging the expenditure in the trunk and it seems not to recognize. The Judas Bamboccio instead fixed with that cheeky involuntarily frown that only a human baby under ten years and particularly pain in the ass they can keep you stuck on him for endless moments. Si accorge che lo sto osservando a mia volta e un moto di cagarella attraversa lo stronzetto. Non sai che mamma non apprezzerebbe? Lo sa, lo sa, lo leggo nei suoi occhietti e nel broncetto da avvocato. Sto pisciasotto si scoperà un sacco di fighe, oh sì, oh sì, lo vedo nel suo DNA e dal sedere della genitrice che proprio ora capeggia all’altezza del mio sguardo malizioso. Una mano da trentacinquenne ben tenuta guida il bambino con grazia e lo fa accomodare sul sedile posteriore. Quello mi tiene lo sguardo puntato nelle iridi e quasi mi guardassi allo specchio mi ravvio una ciocca di capelli. Il bamboccio mi spiazza e fa la stessa cosa e proprio nell’istante in cui l’auto parte celandomelo alla vista, mi pare di scorgere l’ombra del derisive smile with which that little bastard irretirà a lot of the same age and with a face hugging sarcasm I wonder how the hell could I be at her age. Yawning loudly and stretching his arms and legs for a while ', waiting for the cramps to give up their fetentissimi ambushes. My face is a collection of greasy humours of which want to break free as soon as possible. I shake my little friend, and between verses inarticulate cries and wakes and sits up with a look debuting in the late el'infelice. Flex the neck in an attempt to give an overview of the place and clears his throat, still hoarse from sleep. "Where are we?" I'm lazy and cleaning the nails. "In the parking lot of a supermarket, Pesaro

"Great! Great Lore! Are we there yet. "

" Yeah ... listen ... "

" No, no, listen ... "Open the door and comes out with unexpected readiness. "I'll get to eat, you stay here." Look at the clock and a wave of anxiety invests stunning. "Occazzo! It 's late! I'll be right ... we must be there in an hour! "I see him run away with the usual awkward gait from canine in heat and after a while 'I look away, disturbed by the imminent launch of our meeting.

When I arrive at the church's Isis that pulse in your ears and set out doomsday scenarios in my imagination pane view. Judah crunches romelline of listless and sometimes rummaged for fish in spending a can of pineapple juice. Without the means in the forecourt and turn down the volume quickly, as my passenger opens the door when we stop. We go down and immediately spotted the group of people near the entrance of the parish. Judah observe a moment to look full of panic and then move. We are reduced to a disgusting, disheveled, and gross liquids alcohol with shirts like maps. It seems that hands have penned cheesy explorer maps unknown continents on our clothes and I am not surprised that it does not disturb my friend, too busy licking the salt from the peanuts from her fingers. Lift up your eyes on me and responded to my puzzled look by doing. "What? What is there to watch? "I shake my head. "We dellemmerde and you even you realize. Give yourself a voice, we're going to a funeral. "Judas leans back, takes a few steps uncoordinated and relies on self laughing. "This is beautiful ... ah yes, this is beautiful, Lori ..." It is seriously broken and I fixed in position. "Fuck you think? That evening after we arrived here yesterday with a modicum of dignity still stuck me? "I look down embarrassed and fixed the tips of my shoes, suddenly so attractive, smooth and perfect. Judah things worse. "I do not ... I do not think this is a game for me, that I ..." you pass a hand over his face and rubs bovine stubbly cheeks. "... I take everything to shit. Come on, let's figure dimmerda but I guarantee you it would be worse if we had just presented. "

" I have my doubts ... I have no idea that we are making a huge crap. "My friend raises his face to the sky and for a moment turns into a Christ. "Next, Lori." He comes to meet me and encircles the shoulders con un braccio sudaticcio che probabilmente lascerà un alone sulla mia giacca. “Mal comune mezzo gaudio, no? Saremo in due a essere delle merdazze, là dentro.” Avvicina il muso alla mia faccia e se la ridacchia sommessamente. Io sogghigno e cerco di crearmi un’immagine mentale della situazione in cui mi troverò tra poco ma la sola idea è sufficiente a spaurire ogni ipotesi e lascio la mente fluttuare nel suo brodo primordiale d’imbecillità adolescenziale. Mi libero dalla stretta di Giuda, mi avvio con le mani in tasca verso la chiesa e lui mi tampina alle terga trotterellando goffamente. Non oso sondare il gruppo di convenuti, anche solo furtivamente, alla ricerca di eventuali conoscenti. Raggiungiamo la porta spalancata and besieged by Informa wreaths stench emanating from the soap opera and there we stuck. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and only then raised his head. E 'Jessica, a girl who went out years ago, there in Pesaro. It 'great to put on weight and his face is washed down with copious tears balloon. Me, I find him before he could utter a word and do not understand what I say, stapputtana. Flooded my ears with sobs and I start to melt, is the bark of black African man who became the month of the mustache ever. I hold her in my turn and I began to cry as well. "Lori ... Lori ... I ... sorry ..." I feel his words and I wonder what it's mind. What do you Sorry, latrine, God! Vanessa was nothing, nothing, you know? Do not you hear me? Stop it! Rest of clinging to the fat and I realize I need it because I continue to sob freely and quest'idrante eye I held stubbornly locked for days exploded in an iridescent rainbow of liquid evolution pierced by nails lacquered purple mass, including Vanessa . When I held her hands and told me you're my Schiavetto and seemed to wear the livery of prisoners and fill us with eyes to see Foucault's panopticon from searching, finger pointing and baton in hand, ready for yet another session convicts of heresy. Caesar Mandela had always had to say, soprattutto quando facevo sesso con lei in auto e tra le unghie viola spuntavano le liriche del negro e mi coglievano alle spalle con frasi pungenti del tipo your love ends tonight, your lust lasts forever, foooooreveeeer e io mi vedevo costretto a venire spruzzando odio in sede d’ufficio.

Il resto è già passato. E’ già passato il penoso incontro con la madre, accompagnata dal suo dolore, nascosto dietro lenti affumicate. E’ già passata la messa. Ed è già passato il feretro. Soprattutto quello. Non è passato il senso di colpa. Ed essere venuto qui mi sembra ora così pretestuoso. La gente sta lasciando la chiesa con mani giunte e capo chino. Esco e cerco di evitare Jessica and the whole gang of his friends. I see Joseph, who last year had drunk a bottle of Pampero all'Esselunga stolen by him under the house. Susanna, who kept a cat bastard in the house, always ready to ambush guests, and then impossible to find refuge in some hole. Roger, the jerk who did not give me ten euro for the barbecue held at the beach. I will not even touch them, so I feel vulnerable. Perhaps one of them spotted me, despite trying to mingle with a group of middle-aged people. I am in front of a man, tall and robust, with features strikingly similar to those of Vanessa. It must be the father. I had never seen and a bike impotence catches me with hot flashes. My vision becomes blurred and more tears watered her eyes swollen already. I squeeze his back badly and try to keep the sobs. They are the most useless and be out of place on this planet. The man looking at me dumbfounded, since they are unable to move to clear the road. I think he understood. I see that he cries in silence, with dignity, though. Offers a powerful hand on the collar of my jacket, and the system gives me a slap on the wrist. I feel shame new, acute, and never before experienced the feeling of inadequacy that comes over me every other feeling prevails, even emotion. Serro eyelids strong, almost make me want to break these damn eyes si ostinano a mostrarmi che pezzente sono. Sento passi lenti attorno a me, passi di piedi racchiusi in scarpe costose, di marca, con tacchi alti, solenni, di cuoio. Inspiro forte e spalanco le palpebre in fretta, rizzando il collo come uno studente colto in flagrante. Nel parcheggio di fronte alla chiesa non c’è più nessuno. Solo un sozzo e vizioso prodotto tipo di blandezza esistenziale che se ne sta fermo con i pugni serrati e lo sguardo tra l’accigliato e il colpevole. Giro su me stesso, guardando in ogni direzione ma non trovo nessuno a compatirmi, nessuno che abbia anche solo uno sguardo di rimprovero da regalarmi. Sono riuscito nella mia capricciosa e vile missione di passare inosservato ai più e ora mi mordo le labbra looking for my blood, the only one who can pay this debt of humanity to everyone that I have met in my life. I head to the car and I sit at the driver's seat, with feet flat on the pavement. I take off my jacket and tie, I unfasten the cuffs and rolling up her sleeves to find respite in the heat that is growing more and more. A terrible gash in the sky lets in the sunlight that pierce impaling me on the seat. I wonder where Judas, that cowardly bastard that left me in need, always ready to pontificate on the maximum brotherhood of intent, and then disappear dart off by Iscariot which is good. I let myself be guided by the intuition, and spotted a bar nearby, on a street off the square, I decided to get up and walk in that direction. The doubts are soon dispelled, as I find Judah perched at the counter, with a sour face in front of a pack of Winston and hairy red in hand. The restaurant is a real disgusting, smelling of cigarettes bad, bad breath and old telephone directories. A decrepit cabin of metal is placed to better fit in a corner. Inside are in an Arab man and a woman, facing a very tough call. Berciano gesticulating wildly and tear the phone from hand to each other. The furniture, all dating back to the sixties, inspired aesthetic repulsion, but at the same time, a painful physical familiarity. A band old, stationed at a table of color, unidentified, play cards and monopolizes the attention of other customers with verses in dialect. A kind-looking cirrhotic, not far from the fridge of bottled beers and wearing a baggy beret, sipping what looks like a low quality limoncino and stares at me with resigned indifference to life. Judah plays with a Winston, passing it between his fingers, and then lights it. Sets the clock above the shelves of liquor and snorts softly, looking at the bartender's ass when she bends to take a bottle from the fridge. It 's a beautiful blonde in their twenties but they are blinded by hate and I do not sit and observe.

“Brutto stronzo!” Il mio cosiddetto amico si gira con occhi sgranati e quasi fa cadere l’amaro dal bancone con il gomito. “Ehi!” Sorride imbarazzato. “Qual buon vento, Lori!” Mi seggo di fianco a lui e lo fisso, incazzato più che mai. “Sei sparito. E questo ti classifica come stronzo. Lo sai, vero?”

Spalanca le braccia e alza gli occhi con vittimismo da professionista. “Ossignore! Cazzo dovevo fare!? Pensavo preferissi restare solo.”

“Come no!? E quelle stronzate sul mal comune, mezzo gaudio?”

“Cose del passato, Lori.”

"The past is a dick!" I realize that I have raised her voice too much. The old stop for a moment their tight disquisitions on best tactics to win and they turn hungry for gossip. The Arab man leaning from the cab angry. "Silens, please ammigu" She stares at me too long and my eyes must not be friendly because it seems to contradict each other, even more, and falls by keeping their eyes glued on him.

"You have betrayed me and these are things of the present, my dear!" Additive Judah and he angrily departs.

"I have not just betrayed anyone. Vanessa hardly knew her, Lori! Cazzo rompi! Mica me la scopavo io!”

Questi sono momenti in cui tutto diventa distante. Immagino che chiunque compia gesti estremi viva la cosa con chirurgico distacco e sorretto da ettolitri di adrenalina che affoga, almeno momentaneamente, ogni tentennamento e rimorso. E scommetto che, mentre compie l’atto in questione, l’unico suo pensiero sia: “Non sono un violento, sono solo una persona normale che gli eventi hanno costretto a fare ciò che sta facendo”. La normalità deviata da un’ingiuriosa contingenza è la panacea di tutti i sensi di colpa più atroci. E io non faccio eccezione alla regola. Mentre spingo Giuda giù dallo sgabello e lo spedisco carponi sul floor am I thinking the same thing. As my hand hit him viciously in the face and the feel of his cheek hard and excruciating pain to the knuckles, maybe, just maybe, my brain quickly processes the same remedies. While I go running from the bar and I do panting like a criminal on the run with sergeants at the back, my pile of neurons hysterical mad chase to find a justification for what I just did. With one last fleeting glance I see two Arab infidels out of the cab, behind the old woman cried, wagging their disjointed sentences huge calloused hands and close the fridge sbronzone laugh in his sleeve. Strontium shall have access to this place for twenty years only in anticipation of this moment.

Now I'm running down the street at breakneck speed. I am surrounded by low buildings surrounded by narrow porches, all fairly new. I do not look back and I hope not to find in front of Judah, that Cain, bloodletting that devourer of good intentions. I do not stop for several minutes. I see a music store on your right and I get close, slowing down with elbows high, his forehead sweaty and distraught expression. My stomach hurts and my back, my legs are aching and my head is spinning. All the drinking and the snorting of last night I fell from exhaustion and disgust comes over me now is the perfect nemesis of so much debauchery. Incident at Neshabur room-filling del negozio di un’anacronistica atmosfera a tinte gialle e rosse, annaffiata di Tequila sunrise e altra roba esotica, davvero fuori posto. Mi affaccio dall’entrata e osservo la strada per un po’, alla ricerca di qualche vecchio da osteria con forcone e fiaccola in mano a caccia dell’ennesimo eretico. Sono erga omnes e distante da ogni possibile redenzione. Non mi resta che la fuga, indomita ed eterna, vile e maledetta.

“Scusa, posso passare?” Mi giro lentamente, corrucciato e perplesso. Una ragazzetta, massimo sedici anni, mi fronteggia, capo leggermente chino e posa sbarazzina, con un CD in mano. E’ di Patty Smith. Ho sempre pensato che solo gli eroinomani ascoltassero Patty Smith ma lei non ha l’aria della tossica, no di certo. Ha una calzamaglia nera sulle gambe secche da adolescente, una cintura con borchie di metallo e una maglia dei Cure di due taglie più grande, tagliata all’altezza del collo. Il viso è proprio carino, acerbo, interrogativo e pretenzioso come quello delle stronzette che affollano i locali rock per giovani rampolli depressi. Ci fissiamo per un po’ e lei abbassa lo sguardo sorridendo. Con una mano si copre la bocca e torna a guardarmi di sottecchi, lasciando ondeggiare le spalle. Oh Cristo! Sono attratto da una bamboccia di dieci anni di meno. Mi faccio da parte e mi schiarisco la gola. Inarco un sopracciglio e torno a controllare la via, timoroso che questo momento di distrazione abbia dato way to the suburbs to find them like a vampire caught in his grave. I laugh at my paranoia and as the girl passed me, I notice that seems curiously out of my idiotic expression from complete. I look at a pace to get away with fake dark diva. Mavvaffanculo! But I like it, fuck me, they do. I've never done it with a younger and I would be curious to juggle it at my leisure. I shook my head and I immerse myself in the music of Santana, leafing idly CDs on the shelves. Let's see. I wanted to take something Satriani, the last, perhaps. So much so, that Mongolian Judas, always ready to crapped every time he opened his useless orifice surrounded by dick face more stars on the planet, non è più nei dintorni. O almeno spero. Immagino che al momento stia smontando meticolosamente la mia automobile. No, oh no, lui farebbe qualcosa di ben più plateale. Utilizzerebbe un cartello stradale estirpato dal selciato con la sola forza dei suoi muscoli scimmieschi per percuotere la carrozzeria, il tutto di fronte ai passanti inorriditi che non oserebbero avvicinarlo, data l’aura di bestialità che lo circonderebbe. Un lupo mannaro emiliano a Pesaro, un leviatano inarrestabile, che subito dopo correrebbe verso l’edificio più alto della città per compiere l’ultima drammatica, beh, diciamo tragicomica scalata verso una salvezza ormai irraggiungibile. Mi piacerebbe essere là, quando questo avvenimento sconvolgerà the locals, but I have an appointment at four o'clock by the dermatologist, in Modena. And I'm a fucking healthy.

Average Dress Sizes By Country

Racconto - Tantra Bar


There was no evening goes by without a sally, slower or faster, the tantra bar. I knew Digo, who sat sipping his drink at the bar with the air of someone who would sell a kidney for an hour of fun. It toyed Mary, next door, the hem of the skirt Mr. Smangle. They had caught some of the dissident fair average, lost in a sea of \u200b\u200bregret and wasted years in the wrong bed, cultured from the pain of yet another post-abortion dysmenorrhea. Meanwhile, the Skull wrinkled pages of an old book Irvine Welsh, his Bible, sitting idly in an anonymous table under the giant attacked Armstrong on trumpet and swollen like a bagpipe. And out came the noises of the boys on scooters loaded with the arrears charged makeup perched behind. The bartender served coffee to the lords of transition from the city. They come in designer clothes, in a hurry, almost did not want to defile of provincialism. One of the audience fell silent on all patrons of the country. He looked like a cross between Charles Bronson of the best times and Gianni Morandi. Smile of porcelain and polished as a rock, swallowing his cappuccino with hand Leste and took leave without saying goodbye. Every so often he would live Beppe, who advanced to the jukebox boots with pointed feet and put the same song, New Kid in Town Eagles. He drove a tow truck and was shuttled between the east and Milan. He was married to a Slavic name of Zdenka and had children without thinking that the brats do not feed automatically, not even a gallatura it had been in the house. Oswald pointed out that the best cowboy always low but the lamb was not an understatement was not interested in anyone. Nobody, after all, spinning Oswald, peeled and inept, how many gifts hair, the son of a sarchiapone size tank and a woman without ovaries molasses to remedy. Then there was Christian who impaled and always challenges involved in darts, did not speak much. Le sue parole erano i rintocchi sordi dei dardi che si conficcavano nel legno e che sancivano le sue vittorie. Non mancava, inoltre, la membranza di Riccardo, il pulcino calciatore, cresciuto e trasferitosi a Bologna con una schiera di cuori infranti alle spalle. Non era raro che Alcide lo ricordasse con astio, grattando lo sporco da officina che gli anneriva quotidianamente le mani. E non sorprendeva che al Tantra bar vi fosse stata anche una rissa che aveva coinvolto più villici presi a preliare come gladiatori in corsa per la vita. Il flipper aveva strillato il suo ultimo tilt quando Antonio aveva impattato la sua tutt’altro che modesta mole sulla faccia di Axl Roses e compagni. Orazio, il fabbro di corte, ne aveva sancito la morte tra i sospiri dei bambini e Santu particularly the sardonic, that fuckin 'who did not exceed one hundred thousand, a top-thirty, ten years of dodgeball championships and never lost a game. Every Friday night there were some females in tight clothes Partially Bonded, cigarette in hand and fresh fresh license in his wallet. The staked Deborah, said the troione, but that did not gave her pussy to anyone. The fishing takes place, rather, to fuck the cheese fries and the Big Bubble about stretching her long purple fingernails and obscene. Her maid of honor, the Berta scarniccia, made eyes at Luke, a ram of guy, hairy, rough skin and character, still crouched on the phantom airbrushed by way 'of American sports car. Then there was still chi portava a galla, nei propri discorsi, la nefasta ricorrenza della sera del trentun agosto in cui un certo Ugo si era sparato nel capannone dietro casa. La sua ditta di pezzi di ricambio per auto era fallita mesi addietro e da allora non un soldo era più entrato nelle tasche del poveretto. La moglie Marina si era infilata un vestito nero ed era andata al Tantra per chiedere a Fausto, suo prozio e unico parente rimastole vicino dopo un matrimonio avversato da tutti gli altri, un prestito per allestire un degno funerale al marito. In quell’occasione il bar si era riempito di sentimento e il paese tutto si era stretto attorno al dolore della donna, compreso Landi il furfante, uomo dissoluto e dedito al furto nelle ville in collina, una greppia per bocca e un trogolo Nose, who spends himself in a newsboy crying from admirable. His wingman Francis had comforted them in your pocket as soon as the stolen goods taken from the widow Nardini, seized by uncontrollable tremors of pain empathy. After all, the priest did not ever see at the bar, like a big toe and gout had seized and prevented falangette to walk more than ten meters from the church. The elite of the country was then far from entering into the merits of the activities of the local socket to parade in full regalia with shiny cars ejaculate from the magnificent gates of the palaces outside the country. The only environment that worth the Tantra of his presence was Robby the idiot son of notaries of great fame and expressive as a stalactite. Parade of shoes Gucci Brook Brothers and complete, but no one is wise, since at the Tantra fashion it was not known. Gianfranco laughed like crazy when Robby looked out the entry with his snout amorphous and was forced to run the processes to rinse his face flushed. Was not a man to use delicacies, but he loved his daughter more than Gladis from street vendor cart that was dragging behind him like a coffin centenary. Gladis was un'infingarda attorney, court of a mouse wearing glasses that made dating even more grim on his face sharp. But the arch-fiend of the country was wiry Pino, an evil ferret crawling in the shadows, from house to house, and sneak into the bar like a slut of Tantra sewer in the most renowned restaurants. It appropinquava the counter and asked for a package of national and Montenegro. His diet was lethal and that he gave un'alitosi chronic discomfort over the slut cock near the hull of the Autogrill. When a stranger entered the Tantra, he approached the slimy and malevolent, filling it with praise and various jokes behind. People laughed a lot Pino, but never with Pino. Philip took him a kick in the porch in front of the room and told him that his mother was a silo of manure. He was a lover with young maidens, but then he covered his receding hairline with hair and greasy black hair that looked good from the wash to keep it firmly on the cranio.

Poi, beh, c’ero io. Un mangia banane a tradimento che un giorno affogò in un bicchiere di Martini di troppo e che fu ritrovato nel fosso davanti alla casa di Mino il macellaio. Qualcuno si era preso la briga di legarmi al sedile del guidatore e di piazzare un mattone sull’acceleratore e quel qualcuno era mia suocera, una cagna procellosa con uno spiccato amore per l’azione. Al Tantra Bar fu accolta da vestali festanti e tutti gli animi infetti di quel tugurio pestilenziale levarono i calici per un ennesimo brindisi, portando le voci gracchianti delle zingare indovine fino alle stelle, i pianti dei bambini cenciosi fino alla Via Lattea e gli squassanti peti dei braccianti oltre i confini dell’universo.