It 's time to talk, just a taste of those who beyond all doubt, provided all the inspiration and reason to open this blog: The goddess Romanian. Provo two diametrically opposed emotions As I prepare to do it: on one hand the memory hugs me until I fall into a limbo of positive feelings, on the other I feel a tear because of his absence. "A week forever," however, goes beyond all this and that is why I write. This raises the question of whether it is better to complain or regret. The likely result is always the same (depending on how one lives it): a big pain. Having lived for a moment what then, if in the end I'm smeared on a wall from which I can not tear myself away. Manu, Sabrina, Alexandra, Francesca and all of you pardon me, but unfortunately something bigger has taken possession of my life.
Mine is only a facade of convenience: a few have been honest. The truth is that, if time helps to heal all, is a moment for me is a century does not matter: in any case is painful and exhausting but I am confident of succeeding. That's why I think it's time to talk, just a taste, of whom no doubt, gave me all the ideas and reasons for opening this blog: The goddess Romanian. Provo two diametrically opposed emotions As I prepare to do it: on one hand the memory hugs me until I fall into a limbo of positive feelings, on the other I feel a tear because of his absence. "A week forever," however, goes far beyond all that, and that is why I write. I know it's very late, but I will in any event, tell a story, one that often are used to read novels: those that advance the cinema shows on the big screen or small it is. So a story like many others, maybe maybe not romantic. Certainly the plot bizarre, disturbing and even cruel in any case, in particular, so violent in its beginning to seem almost unreal ... a dream. The problem is exactly that, it is the honest truth, and here comes the first of many paradoxes of the many contradictions that I will try to make you understand. I will use a language that you too can understand ... no, please do not get me wrong, it's my fault. I sometimes use terms that even I can fully understand, just that. I want to tell you a week of pure emotional excitement. Remember those inner feelings we felt when younger, he lived the emotions with a sense almost all hormonal? The involvement was immediate and, when the mind is lost in imaginary thoughts, our body vibrated with an ardor almost insane. The rapid heart beat and was always the most easily recognizable because of the emptiness felt that gripped the pit of my stomach. If you forgot you now, all you will, I hope, clearer. A week consists of seven days or 168 hours, or 20,160 minutes of ... Einstein was absolutely right: time is relative. I could say platitudes such as "... one day a week ...";" or "is an eternity and yet ..."." ... a fleeting moment ... ". For my part, I can only say that I lived intensely. No clock could ever give rhythm to the minutes and hours, you know why? Simply put, the time has stopped, and in that interval of time, I'm lost, but believe me I was not alone ... and from here starts a week forever. Please let me say one more thing, just one. The end of everything boils down to a not so recent, but beautiful song by Neil Young that I make my own just for a phrase;
" .. . The m just a dreamer But You Were Just a Dream ... "
Yes, if I'm just a dreamer, you were just a dream. Very nice REM sleep in a little 'less is fine but when you wake up like that. And yet here I find myself wondering whether it is right or wrong. My behavior is rational or giving am really crazy? Even this is not to be underestimated. Living chimeras, dreams, feelings lost and the unreality of those things are not grown and I should be at least in terms of master. My analyst, dignified and patient person (sorry, but I should be the patient?) Long before I realized that I am a generally unreliable, let alone in their feelings. What makes me most angry is that my existence has always been a me live the life and not the other way as it should be normal. I to say, except denials introspective, that if you see me now appear in the newspaper in a certain way is because I always get overwhelmed by life. Why then off on a tangent and seeking external stimuli unconsciously, absurd and not consistent with what I wheel around. In those phases, I've seen several times, only the instinct guide me ... pity that does not have a driver's license! So ... one disaster after another. Though opening the account, go forward until, when everything becomes a catastrophe within that involves not only me but also externally, who gravitates to my person with damage that were sometimes irreparable. Would you stop? Do not you dare, groped to recover is something very difficult. I understand the concept: you get what I'm babbling. I'm not even mad at all. I just went on a caterpillar, they are all broken so much pain that I not only blurs the view but even worse thought. The tragicomic thing however is that, despite everything, are unreasonably radiant, even though I am aware that the sun and do not handle will be little. And what a little patience, listen and follow my thoughts, perhaps before long you too will understand. For over twenty years I feel the need to write. I am well aware that this is not because of my narcissism (as someone said), I would say instead of Italo Svevo, absolute forerunner of writing introspective, during He taught for decades. My requirement is obvious. The desire to outsource more than you think is great. A little care if you read this paper. I just want to finish my task: fathom the reason of my being. I'm very self-critical and you can not leave deviarmi. They argued that I should be more descriptive, to fully understand the meaning of this, I gave background to the archives of Google and also to my little patience. Understood the meaning, I tell you from now that will not happen. In everything I tell you: the smells, feelings, colors, shapes and lights belong only to me and I will not be stupid to describe them. If you want to live my emotion, the need to do in the dark and disturbed only at the instant success of which, to make your my existence. I think it is also difficult given that you're always on. I would love for the truth, be descriptive, perhaps as Marquez fails to describe a Macondo so true that you seem to always be there. Unfortunately not: I am not a writer, I am simply a man in search of himself and, if you're by my side, certainly we share it with some thrills.
" ... All without misunderstandings or failures ... so ... normal ... "