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words

then I am one who has to write to say kiss letter will show tax returns and even x-rays at times.
I've often wondered why. Where does all this need to share with the world of statements.
perhaps serves to make things real, maybe it's good to make them more credible to myself.

this time and yet I know how these things they call them but I will not, not in front of everyone, this time I open a window, write two words, and then close the gate.
because for the first time those names, the ones that basically were chosen by themselves, did not take long, I want them to keep out those elsewhere.
and is not to protect them, because I'm not afraid to see them exposed.
and not to hide something, because that is enough to see me smile.
is that I do not need.

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Agosto2010-Gozo (Malta)

GOZO - Diving for all age groups

The depths of Gozo are full of arches, tunnels, wrecks, caves and lagoons to explore.

The rocky bottoms offer a multi-colored fish, including grouper, octopus, sea urchins, sea bream, wrasse, squid, rays, barracuda and many more species.

Large caves are teeming with various forms aquatic life.

without doubt the most spectacular dive into the waters Gozo, is that under the Azure Window at Dwejra (Blue Hole). Starting with a beautiful sea water swimming pool set among the cliffs, we head towards the open sea through a tunnel of rock.

Unexpectedly, we could see the sea eagles.

For our dives we were leaning on the Diving Club Atlantis Marshalforn (excellent well-organized center).

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November 2010 - Bus Della Lora (Castel Tesino)

Preparing for photos and important

It 's a cavity characterized by karst tunnels and concretions.
The cave bear signs at various points in hollow walls attributed all'Ursus Speleus Ros, the cave bear.
Our mission has set itself the goal of clean and detect whether post siphon traps and 3 flooded.
The cave was discovered in 1926 by Da Rugna Bortolo, engaged in surveys on natural caves along the nearby river Senaiga. And 'now known as Cave Castle Tesino and locally as the "Bus de la Lora" (funnel in the local dialect).

The various outputs we managed to clean the traps with rope and steel wires left by previous explorations.

Bad weather has also prevented the continuation of providing relief and subsequent dives documentation videographers. We will resume as soon as possible.
The exploration was made possible thanks to the group of caving Arianna Treviso to which I belong.

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September 2010 - Source of Water Bossi

After having heard so much and I finally managed to start Gianfra, destination Swiss canton Ticino.
The emotion is strong, I spent my childhood in those places.
Hubert (thanks a lot) we organize the logistics and we will Virgilio in the exploration stage.
arrive at midnight on Friday and tired we lie down, the day after the appointment is with Hubert at 10.
Our intention is to make the first dive of the photo and video documentation.

Gianfranco must test his new camera installed on the headband.
After the meeting and the briefing of Hubert, we begin to prepare the equipment: Hubert in a moment preparing his Kiss, I and my PASCR EDI2002 Gianfra instead is open 18 +18 + deco.
go down the first 15 meters are a good test for the size of my reb, but then the cave widens. Hubert moves between the rocks with the agility of those who passed hundreds of times.

to -60 equipped a jump to reach the chimney, Hubert warned us that the return would be reduced visibility.
we go up the chimney down to -40, the water is crystal clear in front of me and I see Huber Gianfra me light up the passage: it is a fantastic feeling.

Come back Hubert's prophecy comes true and soon reaches zero visibility giving us strong emotions. Fortunately, the mind is affected, we know what to do and everything runs smoothly.
Going water, and enjoy good returns gradually throughout the dive and deco. A total of 80 minutes.
Once we find out that Peter joined us for the diving the next day. a chiaccera led to another and we end up visiting the Sovaglia and a good feast.
I Gianfra and then we go beyond the border to load the cylinders by the brothers Mansell.
Sunday at 10 am we are I, Hubert, Peter, Gianfra, Max and Nicholas. We are a lot so we are divided into two groups. Gianfra and I aim to -80, the mixtures do not allow us to more and visibility is not optimal. The dive will last 90 minutes.
The others all dodati CCR exceed the trap at -90 to -60, and sailed up the other side.
Also this day will end with a nice beer.
The next day we find ourselves with Max at the Lake of Lugano to see the wreck of the Lucy thus giving the bottom of the mixtures remained.
We load everything in the car and back in Belluno tired but satisfied.

Thanks to all the participants and Hubert Max for its beautiful diving.

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Handbook of self-destruction. 10.

Ten - Love your neighbor

ALMOST `Another sleepless night. Lately
sleep for me is becoming a luxury.
It is strange, because usually when I'm sick 'sleep a lot: that is the way my body to avoid problems, or perhaps to restore the energy to deal with them.
So, finally this morning I did not hear the alarm, or rather, I have heard her, but my brain registered the fact as if dreaming of singing the song that gave the radio.
Result: I got dressed in so little suitable to the occasion and climate, I bagged the useless things and left home that necessary.
Last but not least, I could not wake up calmly so now they are an epitome of kindness is sociability.
We started recently and apart from "hello" and "I'm hungry" I did not say much, I must be the perfect companion for a trip.
An unusual and unexpected traffic for any weekend in February has completed the work making me nervous: at that point for me out of the silence was impossible unless not soak all quiet in my incazzatura.
What's more, I was seized with a fit of unexplained sadness, the kind that you tighten the throat and you feel you would not want to do is scream and cry, but do not know is why you do not know what. I do not think, like many boys tend to dismiss it, a case of Paturnie premenstrual syndrome, there are simply times when I would cry as if I had a great sorrow to vent, as if I were to pull out all the pain I have inside , just do not know what it is.
The only way at this point to get me out of this mood is a vigilant and attentive silence.
This time he did the right thing.
He left me in peace and, on the rare occasions of interaction, has been kind, there is impatience.
This allowed me to leave my limbo "tuttoilmondomiodia.
are now quiet.
Now I say "Thank You".
She looks at me surprised and a little bit amused, wondering why ', but he already knows the why `and` why `one of those who say they are when you need their dose of words to believe what is happening .
That "thank you" has unleashed the torrent of things unsaid or screaming too.
Thus I, of course, without a moment's hesitation and without any explanations are necessary as the work of repairing a fight, tell him why the `sick of my sour, I talk about what I miss and what bothers me.
I took my feelings and I have spilled on the table, as is done with the pockets of his trousers, and now I'm putting them in order: a key part of the other coins.
And while I talk about everything and is more clear, perhaps even more honest, especially to my eyes.
I stopped trying to prove to me that I have no blame in this story, if that goes wrong does not depend on me.
I put aside the filters and I'm talking to him as if he were writing for myself.
He answers me in the same way, speaking of his difficulties and trying to figure out my best, speculate.
This time trying to make the words really need to feel more close, without hiding behind "have made` so 'or `I do not know why it happens."
me about his tiredness, and the fact that it's easier to stay shut up in his world that seek to manage a life with its complicated relations, the world may remember from that he is never released, but at least let me go.
We are trying to be completely honest, especially with ourselves, even if it means being tough, even with ourselves.
And as we speak I am moved.
I am moved by how and what we were, as we are still, for what we could be and what probably will be.
I am moved as I was going to be a time that I do not remember or removed. But
is an emotion that does not make me give in: I talk to him my disappointment with teary eyes and trembling voice, I told him that I do not know whether to believe another attempt, which is not an issue of lack of confidence in him, but simply the awareness that we are too unmotivated and tried not to whether we have any shred of probability, that perhaps what holds us together is only fear to start over, to relive the same things but without `ceremonial tranquilizers, which is normal human and wonder if it would only be yet another truce, one of the many lulls apparently waiting to culminate in yet another crisis.
Slow down, pull over, stop the machine and laying her head on my shoulder. `
remains so for a time that I can not measure.
Then looks at me and asks, "Will we ever be happy together?".
I smile and say, "Are we already have."

(END)

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Handbook of self-destruction. 9.

Nine - Do not want

It is already Friday and I did not.
In the sense that I'm not in the mood for the weekend.
I do not feel anything in the air, Holiday Perhaps it is just lack of sleep, the thoughts of me do the same effect as coffee and inventory after the evening yesterday I made a tremendous effort to sleep.
This morning I wanted to sleep again, then I said "by that is the latest, tomorrow you sleep" and I crawled to the bathroom, where I saw, looking in the mirror, I do not ever take for example an advertisement `of snacks.
But then again, who cares.
am a complaining, I know.
Are not ever coming from the stage of adolescence Ophelia: I am picking up my pain again in the crucible dust around with the long black train. I must find something against which to do so entangled.
I should learn to take things more philosophy, to expect less, worry less. `` I'll think
Monday.
today are concentrated on the trip tomorrow we go to find friends who are a hundred kilometers.
We will be he and I in the car. No people or computers, television or alternatively by forming filler, screen, filter.
keep thinking about and imagine possible by engaging in conversation, to look up words air bag not to be too bad.
I fill my head and if we hope.
I should stop.
stop passing the time in a parallel dimension to our living in an unhealthy relationship where my confusion and I would have liked, the projections of the dreaded "so if we continue '," the parallels with that which we were or could have be: the land of the imperfect, understood as verb tenses and more.
In the rare moments when I come to terms with myself, I recognize that this is the man I chose, and that since I deeply squeamish, then should not be like evil.
`It is not so bad.
People are boring, for the most part, often annoys me, as I understand it often transparent.
He did not. Boredom no, never.
And without doing anything special.
It is true, there are beautiful things that most do not live here, as when the children go to university.
Going to the office today while I was stopped at a red light I came to mind is a vivid and painful as a slap in the face: the two of us, for fun, but a game for adults, using every red light to kiss.
It is not the first time that an image like this leaves me almost breathless, and it will no last. We
we spend a whole day in bed, he says, "we should do more social life" before sinking into me, I do not know stop me smile just because I caress one hand while we're out with friends, that we invent stories and give their children names that perhaps we will never, naked in bed playing and making us laugh, what are we to feel good.
are like snapshots, postcards of places visited, unearthed in an old drawer. Only in those places I can go back there. And in those places is the man I really love that I was. With the man who
I passed the water before I asked, who was on the phone with me until I heard `smile, who was only four hundred kilometers to go with me at night.
My current partner has to fear only one man, only to be jealous of him: the man he was. It `
, I know, you can not love a ghost.
I start to really live, not as if everything that I have left of this story was an album of faded photos and postcards.
`People do not change so much.
It is said that women choose men who meet in half, thinking that they could then change the rest according to their wishes.
Not me, I had a man to love one piece.
It is not possible that I have left him less than half.

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Handbook of self-destruction. 8.

Eight - Do not bear false witness

Too many cigarettes tonight.
I looked at the ashtray and I was almost scared, who knows what I've smoked 'without even noticing, so `for conditioned reflex, one for each new line of thought.
I'm sitting on the bed next cell in the hope that the text message this morning was not an only child, ashtrays and lighters enough neighbors do not have to consciously detect their use, read books stacked around a half in order momentary sympathy pen and paper, I wanted to write, but I was only able to fill the sheet of psychedelic squiggles, a bottle of water next to bed, my blanket, random thoughts, lost and lost a little bit around, like the hair that I find myself stuck to the pillow in the morning, a detachment that does not even feel as if they had never been mine.
This is my camp, my doghouse tonight: television with the volume turned all the way down, lady in waiting post-modern, stereo tuned to a radio any, that it is not the music that matters, but hear voices in the house always empty.
It is the evening of the inventories of celomanca, important decisions ever made in practice.
Lately it has become a fixture myself, perhaps because I have no better alternatives to choose from.
The ceremony is always the same: I get home, get undressed, I make myself something to eat, I take him to bed and then, methodical and relaxed, I begin to scratch with your fingernail under the skin, down there, after all, for figure out how many degrees of truth can get.
the truth.
In this story the truth is the true protagonist: we are always honest, sincere, and we do everything we say out of the teeth, even when it means hurting, fighting once more, offend.
We have always believed that not to tell lies in the long run pays off: We're still waiting, maybe.
As for me, well, maybe someone tell me, So, give me a sop for a while.
Or maybe I'm not even lying, they are just different forms of reality, a little bit more softer, less sharp, sometimes confused, often interpreted, to leave a space, a way of salvation.
He told me that my anger motions are due to its lack of attention, which does not care and does not care about me, that is selfish.
Perhaps it is true, but it is also true that I'm tired. The same things
months ago I would have made condescending smile, or at least then I would be impelled to speak calmly.
I tell myself that if there is not much of a difference `or` there, that after all I'm well on its own.
But it is like when it is on a diet: perhaps you eat enough to be satisfied, but this does not mean that you are happy. I, for alone, are simply satiated, when he smiles at me even with your navel.
justifies my staying with him in the hope that once again be the person I fell in love, because it is `clear that he is to be changed, to have closed, moved away.
And me? I do not control more words and no more able to smile and wait, that I have more strength in my hands and courage in their shoes.
But perhaps the falsehood is more big story to me is that we need to define our relationship.
What we need to take a clear commitment, clear.
What does it take a tape of a specific color that keep us tied together.
The argument is that if there was this sign on our heads I would feel less insecure and I would have less need for confirmation and attention, which may require less, I'd be more relaxed, knowing that he wanted to have a "contract".
Bullshit.
It is like when you have a pantry or fridge full of cans of canned food: if you do not know what lies on the inside you need to put on a label, otherwise you just look through the glass.
We have obscured, or more do not know what lies inside.
The phone rings, I know already that it is him and I could almost write down almost everything we say.
Goodnight. Since
is making her irrelevant to my good night's sleep? Maybe when I hear that is has decided to go into hibernation: useless to wish good night when sleeping already.
It is another lie: if you do not call me ferirebbe. Pero
hour that made him almost do not care.
work only the negatives of our pictures lately.

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Orgasm indifferent

neutral equilibrium: when the body, however slight, is always in equilibrium position

Balance is everything.
`Do you know HOW did a multiple orgasm? (If you are a woman and you answered no, I'm sorry for you).
Then, try to think of the sea: an orgasm is like the perfect wave, one that envelops you and draws you into leaving you exhausted on the shore, but there are times when you come to fail before you get overwhelmed by a series of successive waves with barely time to breathe between one and another.
The path to the achievement of balance is a multiple orgasm: each progressive adjustment is a peak of pleasure, after which the level of excitement and anticipation is high.
It also says the etymology of the word: orgasm literally means "being in the grip to desire. "
And it is the desire that drives every single action of my life.
If you need to ask what he's talking about, well, maybe you are not suffering from any behavior anal retentive and have never experienced the joys of this condition .
Never been sweaty, tired and satisfied after you have completely emptied your library, previously organized, respectively, by genre, author and title in alphabetical order, and have rearranged the books in order of genre, artist and date of publication.
not have experienced the feeling of a smile on his face that spreads to the case when the eye rests on the cutlery drainer in which each unit contains only one type of dish (this then I think is so obvious and clear that anyone should come to mind: How many types are frequently used cutlery? Knives, forks, spoons, teaspoons. Four. Cutlery drainer one of those commonly found in any supermarket has many compartments? Four. It is a truism `disconcerting.).
Your underwear drawer, you procure joy? No? My you `. Three drawers. White underwear, black socks. Right panties, bras on the left. In front of gym socks, behind the tights. I can dress up blindfolded. I.
What do I need? But that question is? What you need to have sex? (Do not take out the story of the children, be honest).
We talk about the bathroom?
The direction of the toilet paper, the point of squeezing the toothpaste tube, the method of folding the towels?
Well, I could kill for it. Fold in half lengthwise and hung up. There's no other way.
There is no way to arrange the pillows on the couch which is not alternating colors starting with the bigger ones. Any option
outside is simply not conceivable: it belongs to a world where all is disorder, imbalance. Where beauty does not exist.
It is not true at all.
Desire, remember? Is there a way
certainly more beautiful, more balanced, and it is towards this that are constantly tense.
It is not rare to see me going slow in front of my closet, stop, open a door, a drawer and move one or more clothes to another location.
OR change location to a plant, a towel, a bottle of perfume, a ladle. Realign the floor
the table legs and edges of furniture items on them.
Or take a hand of Henry and move two millimeters of the precise I need to increase the intensity of my
pleasure of a good thirty percent.
Or take his head and stop him while I lick, with skill, it must be said, `because I know I have arrived at exactly that point of excitement when penetration is more satisfying: an orgasm by licking, ok, but one more lick orgasm sex? Better, no? Especially if done right with the right timing.
Nothing broken things for charity `!
orgies? Funny, So, but how do you get to snap a satisfactory balance in terms of aesthetic pleasure with more than two people?
Already two is difficult. Have you ever seen from the outside? Body parts that go a bit 'around, sweaty skin, reddened, and inevitably one of two that the other is more excited, because `if you think about the pleasure of others, well, your passing a bit' in the background .
And the balance?
The balance can not be searched in this way.
Not in love. There is no way that there is between two people the same intensity of feeling, or the same level of attention
. Where is the beauty in the nostalgia, because he felt neglected, even in the anguish of separation
temporary? It is desire, 'but constantly dissatisfied. It is like being masturbated to two millimeters from the point G.
And then there is that one way.
balance requires an orgasm indifferent when the body, however slight, is always in position for pleasure.
That, alone.
Henry's hand on my side is not symmetrical and is not harmonious with my position.
But it is beautiful. It is good. Tomorrow
to compensate, will have to eat a packet of M & M's in order of color.


There's something inside me that is wrong and has no limits

There's something inside you that is wrong and makes us like
("White Widow", Afterhours)

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Only one profile.
brown hair with lighter reflections collected in a short tail.
That kind of hair that you already know that without touching them will be silk between your fingers.
An arm, a tonic rather than muscular, surrounded by the sleeve of a black t-shirt.
A new, large, close to the edge, one of those imperfections on which Viola would be able to linger for hours with his eyes, losing the edge, slipping under the skin to the point of losing consistency.
Jeans, shoes, who knows, did not look that strange.

Just as it is strange for her to take that tram after almost a year.
The 7 has always had one and the same meaning: Diego. House
Diego, shelter, cuddle house, not wanting to get away from home, home with mom and dad, home and caresses but they are not telling you your house that embraces you and makes you become a little bigger.
House, however, not family.
House as a home has never been this city, too big, too much for Viola, it gets complicated only when he stopped fighting to make it his own.
A little 'as with people.
A little 'as with Diego. But it has always been an accomplice. Except in the one crime that really compromising, love.
until love did not stop to seduce himself and has become a free, no needs.

Viola stamping the ticket impulse slipping between the mole and the world.
- It 's this seat free?
knows, sees, hears, which is free, but it is a way to make contact. Or maybe the voice.
- Yes, certainly.
does not smile, but her voice is warm, welcoming atmosphere. Stop, though. There are no ellipses in the bottom. No hesitation, no temptation to cling.

Viola sits down and begins to read.
Sometimes peeps that profile, which found to be one of the many interesting corners of a universe designed by a mouth to smile and look serious.
Until the world decides to be generous with her who is instead been so stingy.

- Guys, you know where I get to go away in Bolzano?
"Boys," as if it were an entity.
sketch explanations, Viola and the owner of neo interesting, talking in between them, as they were accustomed to agree on things, provide the information. Viola
disclose additional, insignificant. Necessary. A low voice. Words that say "just for you, just for you."

Again no delay.

Viola cash, without too many bruises: after the round has not even begun.
goes back to reading. But

- Belli these pants.
- Thank you.
- Where did you get?
And the name of a shop gets a name:
- My name is Charles.
And the name becomes a world: a thick fog of words that exclude the tram, passengers and includes, by protecting the remnants of life that have decided to exchange and who knows what else is there to know, to know and share and everything seems possible and he makes as if you have any questions.
And then
- Where do you come down?
- Ah! Fuck! But it's my stop!
She pulls on the seat in all its fascinating height.
- Hello, you pick!

Yeah.
You pick.
In this city, too big, too much for Viola, once again.

And later in the car with Diego, he will wonder if perhaps a minute, a phone number.
Or maybe not. Or maybe it's better this way, the many meetings now fighting, let that remain frozen in the most beautiful moment, when everything is possible.
Even love.


Now That I've met you would you object to never seeing
Each Other
again cause I can not afford to climb aboard you

no one's got that much ego to spend So do not work your

Because I've
stuff
got troubles enough no, do not pick on me When one act of kindness
Could Be

deathly deathly definitely

("Deathly", Aimee Mann)

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contours of an absence

- You gotta do more - I said
at the end when, by now, all I had to be committed was the void that was left.
Not that there had never been the most full.
And if there was, it was because I slipped c'avevo to force stuff.
words.
Hope.
short, a great pair of whores.
It all began with two neuroses that come together and recognize.
Everything always starts like that.

- Engaging in what? -
- Boh, in general -
Him The king, indeed, the emperor of the directive cloaked behind a false life, quite false, almost ridiculous veils echisonoioperdirequesto. If not that what lay behind the veil could always hit the rim five billion points on my skin and there was a fucking laugh. I
. Miss Questions Millenovecentosettantadueeanniavenire. Questions usually intelligent. But not for him, with a smile that rivals the Cheshire Cat, the instigators and then decay, one by one. Questions-candles. Happy non-birthday.

I turned back around a bar of polished desire tucked in the middle of the tongue. I
incastrai between waves of brilliant words stuck in the middle of nowhere. And both

we needed to put on metal of the flesh to have to find out, after all, some consistency.
And when I tried to explain that no, there was a kiss for me no, never kissed before and no wonder, lying, lying shamelessly, not the kisses, but on the questions, I bowl four words as if they were quattrosaltiinpadella skilfully put on the cross "did not happen because they did not want it enough." And I
, open mouth and stomach closed, feet together I fell in the usual tub vocabulary well orchestrated. And when I

with the body in Paris and the heart in the wrong place, wherever he was, very strong desire that I let dangle bait in front of the nose, as smelly, he left to pray and relieve grains of lyricism. And it was widening

vowels and consonants that I breathed a millimeter from the lips sure would not have survived and I would have approached and instead I did not move until. A two-headed monster tentacle and some moved to the bed, until. A castaway in the light of dawn I clung like.

And only a few minutes after the sheets were singing impressions and absences.
And only a few minutes after the fire had become ice, or perhaps less extreme fire.
And only days after more than trying to sink more than stay afloat.
And only a few months later I had to prove to myself that does not mean things have desired.
And only a few years later I can safely say that no, we do not want enough.

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big eyes and strong hands because it does not weigh anything

warm, hypnotic music too high, people yelling trying to overcome it, hot glued hair to the skin, while the feeling of being sucked up and rejected by the crowd.
a part of you wants to become invisible, so you can observe the environment without any problems.
Clara is one that looks at everything carefully.
every little detail.
has already had a couple of cocktails, the right ones to walk sway without being ridiculous, is now ready for the third, one that allows her to raise her chin and eyes that touch support.
looks around, her friend behind the bar, leg resting on the side of the guy who knew the wardrobe, while he keeps one hand under the knee, throws his head back with a flourish, Clara records the movement, the single frame, stockings work, which raises her skirt, the folds that form the insertion of the legs, the hand of him that just shrinks the throat of her beats.
See Clara, the girl who gets to see the counter and moving the inept guy, kiss the bartender. Watch
Clara, watch the usual losers bounced bad, sad in their fifties, the girls that giggle, those who can not afford clothes that show off the beautiful and impossible that you will get pregnant from the body shop gym the entire sample, the local unit to organize something in this Saturday night that seem to have nothing different from other days, if not more time to be bored.
the city is small.
you know how it turns out the story of anyone, though, as Clara, look pretty. Watch
Clara and feels as he watches someone is watching her.
a hand closes around her wrist, a nose is wedged between the neck and ear, preventing it from turning around "you should let your hair grow. Should. Let them grow and pick them to leave uncovered head," her voice tickles the skin and then become a bite hairline and a shiver down the spine and warm.
the hand leaves.
Clara does not turn around.
Clara does not look this time.
fondles his wrist and go get a drink.
the town is small, you can look around and see if you like, who goes with who, who makes the horns to who, who tells more lies than others.
is why Clara caresses the wrist and does not look, for once not want to know how it will end.
for this and because he knows who is the voice.
Clara amused smiles, throws his jacket over his shoulders and exits.
sits on the wall outside the room and lights a cigarette, he knows that is a matter of minutes.
the third mouthful of furtive fingers are caught in his hair from the neck, back, huddle around the locks and, slowly but steadily, pull your head back, exposing his throat with a pair of lips that are lowered to caress the skin back toward the mouth of Clara, ajar, and with the corners pulled upwards by malice.
"there you put the time ..."
"few minutes, you have not even finished his cigarette!"
"two years since I told you that if you wanted you had to catch me by surprise"
"but you're not surprised, really, is not it?"
"no, not '
" You see everything, "
" I look around but I only see what I see, like everyone else "
" so you do not I? "
"depends on what you want from me?"
"all you have to give, everything I can take all that I can steal everything you do not know you have "
" you hands strong enough for this? "
hands to pull down the wall, the run with his face pressed against the concrete and raise the skirt.
Clara closes his eyes.

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what happens when you realize that life does not always follow the laws of physics?
and even those of mathematics?
and that one plus one does not hardly ever a face and you can only hope that at least a little 'more than two?
and if you continue to resist yourself?

===
I write from the depths of the sea, hidden inside a garden
Coral
to protect sharks
but invisible to the sirens

when I feel like I look up and watch the sun

through a million billion
cubic meters of water and finally

not I burn more
Eyes ("Why does not weigh anything," Marta sui Tubi)

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from time to time

the first time you get the same attitude of those who is going: recessed shoulders, look down, distance shipped.
I saw you from afar and I knew it was you, although you only had a bunch of words carefully chosen and aligned.
the square was huge and full of people, but that could just be you.
we talked so much, undoing all the words but I do not remember me, I remember your eyes fixed on mine, at anchor, drowned, drowned.
was immediately clear that we would have a hard time data to each other, when the second time I was late (never in my life) and you said hello three times embarrassingly (and never in my life).
I always remember everything, even in the details, I can tell a movie by putting the same time we would like to see it, but the third time I only remember a stupid joke and you you hold your arm around my neck.
nor snow prevented me from the fourth time to bring my favorite book and talk about silly things like we had all the time in the world.
while at the same time we have lost and found when the fifth time has turned into a hug and kiss me, after so long, I felt that I needed more.
and then there was that time I've removed the cigarette from his mouth and you did the only thing that could make you forgive, you kissed me.
and then there were the countless times that any excuse was good to bring skin grafts and any excuse was good for Milan to become more beautiful than ever.
roses only when there were witnesses, that time sitting on your lap, I asked you not to never go back on the bench, because I had learned the route and did not want to be able to go back without you.
even once I got bored, even when I wanted to be elsewhere, not even once I regret to be, once again, the best traitor to myself.
until that time that a simultaneous orgasm has left you amazed, but never as much as me when you have decided that I could be left alone in that bed for another night.
and it was so that the last time, while I kiss, I knew, with terrible clarity, that were going on, while you, with his head resting on my legs, I call home.

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Handbook of self-destruction. 7.

Seven - Do not steal

This morning I woke up licking away a tear that had decided to sail the face independently.
It `because` I was not at all sad.
I happen regularly I would say, to wake up with a mood, a mood with well-defined, usually with no shades of gray or distressed, almost depressed, or elated.
heaven or hell in short, that everyone knows that purgatory does not exist, as between seasons.
This morning I woke up rather strangely serene, in a kind of limbo moody, except that tear indiscreet.
It's a strange feeling when it happens: you get this wet path that makes its way onto the skin of your face and you put a little bit to realize you're crying.
No, you can even say that you cry at this time: crying is features contracts, throat choking, his fists clenched, but this is only water from his eyes.
So this morning I was not sad, nor is angry, nor is much less bitter or angry. I
. Simply. It is not easy.
For someone like me used to analyze, to study, understand, define, dissect, the time being and just never comes. I
asked several times what would be my definition of happiness, not universal ones that can adapt, without giving me answers.
Valid for me at least, the people does not take much, really. Perhaps even more important to them are questions that do not listen to the answers.
I think for me the happiness and the absence of thought: those rare segments in which space-time. When I made only of skin and nerve endings and emotions and goose bumps and hairs standing on the shivers down my spine, or a sincere smile and unexpected, warm or clot in the stomach, fireworks Facu traitors cheeks or even warm liquid that flows from the throat to the legs or vice versa, and then accelerated and uneven beats.
Here, in these moments are, and maybe I'm happy.
As when, soon after arriving in office, I is a text message appeared on the phone: "I remembered that I had to send kisses to you some time." As I read it is a flowery smile and started from within, even of those who hand over his mouth because they can hide from the eyes overflowing 'so that light from every pore of pleasure that curls and becomes more luminous .
Perhaps what I miss, those gaps which I feel the constant presence, net, is just that: the unexpected, the unexpected, surprise not give me time to think and let me be.
to ask so I understand: more excitement and sudden unexpected joys in years, in an established relationship with its laws and its good legs drawn on the floor, as in dance classes.
But I can not resign, I do not understand where is was and how it happened that I have removed from under the noses of the packages that were under the tree.
I will not stop believing in Santa Claus, Prince Charming already left me a widow premature.
words I still soft to pet, and regal presence and absence unintended, but inevitable, with an option of nostalgia to suck together, I still want to kiss and caress the buttons in the stomach in the temples.
do not think there is blame or responsibility, but I will not even believe that `it is so normal that it should be like.
As I walked home in the car I turned on the radio, something I never do that lately, not to disturb my thoughts.
"... that 's no tomorrow
today remains today or tomorrow might tend to' infinite

and I would not because when you're alone and the rest
with my thoughts and I ... "There was
Guccini. Our song.
not a song at random, which would have been even better the rosary on Radio Maria, no, our song.
lyrics.
` Yes, 'because of our songs there are as many were moments to remember, but this is special, she was in tears when the background is a blunt "I love you", when only a single special moment I have thought and felt, without questions and no answers, that the first had vanished and the latter unnecessary.
Maybe I can take back what I is stolen, you only have to understand where it may the plunder, the thief does not count.

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Handbook of self-destruction. 6.

Six - Do not commit adultery

There are a number of questions that I often do, no matter what happens in my life, So, for pure spirit of speculation, curiosity `and why the questions keep me alive.
Children have a secret life is born by questions, points of departure for all sorts of places, shoots of discovery, knowledge.
The answers you do get there, they stop you, kill your interest.
I think I've treated this thing with the milk drinking it, because ` my head is always full of questions, answers, instead I get bored, sometimes not even listening.
Questions are SO many that sometimes I forget them, perhaps the most important, like when you go to the grocery store and you forget to take the one thing you really need and instead you find a cart full of crap beautiful and fun, but unnecessary.
One of the questions that I do most often is whether the crisis really a love story make her evolve and grow, if in fact functions as a child when I had a fever and my mom told me that I would have made it more high. Everyone says
`yes, stuff like" love is not nice if not litigarello is "and" we need to discuss, argue, discuss, or do not communicate. "
I think are crap. Colored patches are made available to them `not to see the hole, which is perhaps even more interesting, but woe to the one show that reveals the bare skin scares.
The truth is that every time you fight, you argue, that there is evil something breaks, something intangible and gains a small crack and is a crack that is `so open, that does not heal such as wrinkles and aging is the sign of the relationship and there are no creams or cosmetic treatments that take.
We never quarreled. Never.
not there was n need to confront, to communicate.
we speak.
So, every single stupid little bitch.
talked late into the night and we ended up falling asleep with a smile, more and more neighbors, more and more steadfast, sure love that breathed words of a good, useful words and full of meanings.
talked to us, the other, the things that we did not know and those we dreamed of.
We used our own words and when there were not enough to borrow it, we read poetry, books, manuals, recipes.
There were so many words and stunning travel in small microcosms of availability, Why give someone your words makes it powerful, able to delight you or hurt you.
We touched.
So, in every fold of skin.
spent hours on a bed playing to small explorers, testing reactions and found grains of different skin, revealing patterns of imagination, moving on land unknown and yet hospitable, finding a small oasis of nerve endings, diving into pools of novelty fun.
ate little, drank our moods, sweat and saliva, breathe our skin, enlighten us in the discovery of odors, while recognizing fused into the fabric of linen, in exalted and embellished with us into the fabric of the cushions.
There was never enough, greedy and avaricious, trying not to lose anything, not a sigh, not a movement, not a grimace, not a memory, because he was feeling well until the next day to relive the flash back of our skin and mixed raccontarseli as if it were another story, with other actors, to renew the excitement by giving it a new cover. Everything was
food and fertilizer, we lived in constant overdose of sensations. We
then. We
now.
We know that good, `but that is a good history, past, present and of what there is is impossible to say, we are too afraid to take off the paint, scrape off the crust and find out if the wood beneath, kept, or you are just moths that after removing the surface film, will disperse into the ground like a sigh.
We went to his house last night then: it fires and burn and cut with ease, but it `sa, the wounds from the blade when not hurt, do not you hear either, and we've become very good at hiding the blood .
We undressed and put to bed with well-established acts, anything that disturbs the veil of tranquility that sometimes we lay, exhausted more pitiful that.
It is approached, hugged me and he dusted off an old game, pretending to eat an ear, I laughed - I do not know how authentically - took the gesture as a pass, it is moved safe, quiet, on traces of the old pleasures.
My body has provided answers.
My head continued to ask questions.

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Handbook of self-destruction. 5. Small internal

Five - Do not kill

front page.
Title: Disastrous storm sparse on the ground a house.
Subtitle: All that remains is a breathtaking view.
That is how is that sometimes I think should happen to my story, a tragic event or at least drastic, inevitable that all gates, to allow me to start over, to make me do it.
's important is that this is an external event, something that I can then tell your friends say "success is going on ..." with the tone of "I'd try it again, has not been MY a failure. "

It `why` and `what is burning, gnawing, breaking, which breaks: the specter of bankruptcy, yet another story that does not work and" poor thing is alone again "or" this is my nephew spinster " . The fear
tethered and violent minds: the fear that, if I delete this from my life, that which remains `I chop off your breath, but not for beauty, but to asphyxia. Instead
a nice event that raises me from the outside and responsibilities of the charge of bastardy him: that he did not leave me is contemplated, it would create a vicious child, like when my mom gave away the game that I did not use more and I suddenly became the most beautiful in the world. It `
, something unexpected, unthinkable, something that may surprise us to the point of having to rethink every action, every word. A nice clean-up: zero to zero and the ball at the center.
It is hard to think about these things, it is tiring, more painful to try to make a decision: stay or leave, that never happens to double.
today are more tired than usual.
S. Valentino is doing more damage past New Year's Eve, fireworks and there were also injured. The restaurant should
usually reserved for far too long to think of not going, and that nonstabene nonsifa, and then proceed to appropriate the peace negotiations - or truce? - And go.
not got much to say and what we need is not suitable, perhaps, to a dinner of S. Valentino, or at least I `I` I want him we have to face it. A
see us from outside are almost enviable: we exchange endearments, laugh often, we play up to that.
Until one of you says or does something wrong, which is never the same, never to categorize, defects to precise ever reported or known. Indeed. Indeed, the flaws are built, the flaws will embroider, the faults are sketched, as numbered in the path of the Week Puzzles, only that we have not even numerini, only those damned dots and do not know how to justify the trouble we cause and then because of sweat and elbow grease pencil to draw flying elephants bearing beams that irritate the eyes.
Even yesterday evening.
It is funny, do not even remember how is started, ie, can not remember the words, the content, but the modalities are still the `.
At a certain point is like when you have the sudden spasms of nausea, of those who do not give you time to get to the bathroom: there is something that bothers me, hurts me and I do not have time to analyze, understand it sometimes, I see that already - it `, I see them - the words that come out of my mouth and I wish I could get my hands before and stop them or pick them up and put them back in, but keep talking undaunted and the process is violent, say more things that do not I admit, I do not agree more and I start to speak up and keep talking, as if trying to clean a stain stofinandola hide in the mud. And I look sick
words sour, with a porcelain doll look innocent and surprised, So, as if I were not so much that I blame a little bit and I do worthwhile.
From that moment on is pure creative effort: to justify the discomfort, pain, reaction, the words, how.
Finding a solution to make this understandable and acceptable to him and to me, especially me.
Maybe if I understood the source of these events, this story would not be so bad, but there are some, more and more often and I do not know how to stop them.
The rest is not so terrible ', indeed.
fact. Then he bends down, I get closer to the nose to the neck and says, "Good this fragrance," and I said "I do not wear perfume," and he "Then you know you're good."
So we know we are good.

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sentimental

"if you sleep I go out"
"exit"
"Really?"
"sure"
"but I can go out with anyone?"
"sure"
"really?"
"of course. You also take the keys to my Porsche."
"since you have a Porsche?"
"since you can go out with whoever you want!"

had agreed to take a coffee with him out of boredom: what do you want to be a coffee hour in the worst case of boredom in the company rather than alone.
after a first analysis lasted only a few seconds when I saw him exit the metro, had decreed "not ever give it to him." that would not was questioned, do not ask why, secrets of a woman.
hour later we were sitting on my couch drinking tea and surprised that we wanted to call our first daughter with the same name.
I was greeted with a hug, a hug tender, affectionate, with no sexual connotation.
had gone away like this, displacing a while ': no \u200b\u200badvances, no proposal for another meeting.
and had continued to do so by sending a text message a few hours later, "I do not know how I can wait to see you again."
wanted to see it again immediately. before.
the next day I was at his house and maddainonlhaivisto between film and sex until seven in the morning interrupted by forays into the kitchen for bread and nutella and I was reading lying on the ground while he was playing, the day has become almost a week lost confused between dissolved lasciamiguardareseditanticapellicisipuòfidare her hair.
and weeks have become months of post-it notes left around the house "I would be the piece of food that remains between the teeth" and Berlin and concerts and photos and the endless sunrises.
and laughter.
and laughter.
and endless laughter among the infinite kiss between the infinite sighs among the countless times that I thought the worst and showed me that I was wrong.
the end all I wanted was to laugh and have finally wrong.

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Fatality

there is one thing that always made me feel a little 'marginalized: I was the one that had never been broccoli in a nightclub, in a local gym, in the course of decoupage.
short, the sad reality is that the only place where they are picked up by years is the Internet.
before there was internet and I did not go to discos or to local, so no text.
until yesterday.
in the gym.
make my exercise bike for half an hour sweating like an animal (cited "the ladies perspire, sweat animals") and then I start to do the exercises in the area on the ground, there is a bit 'instead of the far right, I take my pad and I settle.
while in comes a guy that, although there is enough space, sits on my right, leaving five inches between my and his pad.
my impatience to have the volume too high because my neighbor left me:
- you need some 'space? I
a smile that is more a grimace
- in the sense that I made a stupid and obvious question
- no, no
- then you were sour and self-deprecating?
- no, come on, I'll explain later (say in a whisper)
looks at me as if to say "if you explain it to me now I feel guilty for the rest of my life. "
refer back a smile that is becoming more of a grimace squint in an attempt to show the funny guy with eyes on the right.
smiles.
begin the exercises.
- have you been confirmed?
- sorry ?
- that have suffered religious ritual that infuses the presence of God within you? me or I'll confirmations.
and indicates the bar in his hand.
- yes, I was confirmed, but no sign of the presence of God. indeed.
- it means that you have been owned by another?
- eh
- human or superhuman?
burst out laughing.
- do not make me laugh that I can not count.
- and you start again, not make you evil.
are silent for a while '.
- I accidentally heard a conversation between two girls, said that men have become less stupid.
- it is true, but it is a good thing.
looks at me dumbfounded, meanwhile arrives her friend, who teases him
- you do, Collisions beautiful women instead of working?
- thanks for the "beautiful woman"
smile at her.

and this is the best thing about the whole scene.

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Handbook of self-destruction. 4.

Four - Honor Thy Father

Within the office with the terror of seeing flowers on the desks of colleagues, I could make rash envy and anger, or maybe not, maybe I able.
Maybe I could ask for once the anger towards something that is alien to me.
The fact is that I know that I'm not a stupid flower in February day that may change things: it is the presence of flowers that makes a difference, because their absence.
not wishes. Ne `
flowers.
Ne `good works.
Honorable mention to the man who slept beside me for the omission.
Why is strangely easy to see that is more than what is lacking is that there is: close your hand on your life and not feel the compact surface, not known thee joints, stumbling only in the gaps to be filled and are those who feel.
I often wonder if I have to wonder too, if the problem lies in my not being able to appreciate the things we already have: it would take my mom threatened me to give my man the smiles of children in the Third World, to tell me what are a lucky girl, that some girls do not ever fucking tell me that the engaged and not throw anything away, as the pig.
But mama, and then there's no way for the festivities, we light candles on a stick between remorse and a question and I recommend that the wax coli neatly between assumptions and regrets: happy birthday to you, good S. Valentino to those who deserve it or who enjoy it but if not meritandoselo. I
no.
In the sense that I do not I enjoy, but perhaps not I deserve it.
In the first case it's all thanks to me, I can be proud of: they are very good nell'accorgermi of the nice things only when they are no more, ruining any time thinking about when it will end or what is lacking or what could have been if, crease in the moments most perfect and well-ironed, perhaps a perverse taste for melodrama, maybe I have done has ruined the classic.
The funny thing is that I am well aware when this happens, but I can not stop it, like if you had those nightmares where you would like and you do not scream out his voice. Regarding
recognition of my merits, or rather the inability to, I must admit that it was carefully and thoroughly trained to do so.
A round of applause to the gentleman that I have the honor and I am honored to be a daughter, sir, perhaps a standing ovation, because `he must be a difficult task and the exhausting and painstaking undertaking that it made me, her only child female as well as `daughter, an insecure young woman perfectly and wonderfully compulsive tendencies to depression and delicious.
Ladies and gentlemen, here is the model Sara.
Well, So, I know not to be a model of haute couture, but a pret a porter, that not even the merit of be so original and out of the norm you may recognize me.
dad has done his best to make me come up `but` very disturbed, they shall be recognized. Eight
less in greek? And that not why? How
not reaching the shelf? Try to get on your knees!
Want to go to dance? Are you kidding: you're agile, but do not have the physical. Children
hit you? Okay, but what did you do to children?
you do the science? No, you're good, but the math is not for you.
I can still hear his voice in his head, a worried tone, the will to pull iron on the good 'is daughter. The lessons of
almost right. Almost just as a daughter, almost good at school, almost as happy as a child, almost as an early teenager. Almost loved. My
imprinting is one of almost.
And it is this that I have today, almost a love.
My dad always played with me, therefore I always lost. When
teach you to lose as a child, how do you recognize the victory?

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windy

no wind, keep me very close, just for a bit 'when you fly by.

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Handbook of self-destruction. 3.

Three - Remember to keep holy

OK. There are
.
Now I lean, I take the glasses I leave this house and know that ill air you breathe.
"Hello."
Shit! I said. Another attack from incontinence oral nonlodico, nonlodico, nonlodico, here I told you.
She looks at me. I look at him.
It is in these moments that the level of my expectations are rising alarmingly.
say that when you're dying to review all your life, well, me, in these moments, I project the film of what I would like to see happen, is a succession of:
now gets up and kisses me and tells me that can not live without me, now I

or holds out his hand and pulled me close to him and make love, or even

if I wait two seconds to tell me more so far has done everything wrong and realized that the woman of his life.
Stop. Real life. Good
the first, unfortunately.
Not at all. He `
them, silent, looking into the eyes of" do not know what to do and if I did not know where to start "and" with the dick that you do 'win', mixed with his face in a mixture of sadness and hardness.
I want to slap half and half crying.
I do not know what I do, but should not be that great 'if he is not willing to drop everything and fill it with kisses.
The fact is that usually, when trying to have a strong face, a look deep, magnetizing expression, well, that is the time that you face is a crazy fool, I know, I tried it in the mirror, so I try to relax your muscles and have a normal face, as those which "you move."
And all this in a spit second when he did not even tell me good morning.
Fuck you. According to film
expectations.
Here:
now I go out of the room and he says or does something to keep me or

rushes out of bed and I apologize

or even picks up the phone and are just outside the door called me and asked me to back.
Stop. Real life.
Fuck: right first time too.
now I'm out. Another expectation
sweetened dressed in the guise of hope to go fuck yourself. Lucky you. At least broom.
But I collect pieces of projects and dreams and desires a little bit chipped, sometimes chewed at the corners, then I put them all together in a bag and in the evening at home alone, I do puzzles. All times are out of new designs, or at least that `it seems, but the tiles are always the same, more and more worn, less glossy.
I know I should stop wondering who makes me do, not the answers I had months ago and I have now, even if now is more serious. Months ago if there was I missed, almost physical, morbid, as if the air we breathe become suddenly half, or less good, every moment spent away from him asking what he was doing and imagine what we could do if we were together.
Not now. Now when there is no live equal. Survive.
and survives even in high humidity.
It is as if, at some point, my life was, and peak level of suffering and happiness were killed to obtain a more elegant and composed of moderate views being confused, mixed - and no more alternate - suffused with a sense of pain.
It is a bittersweet pain, paradoxically, the kind that make you company with which you learn to live so that when there are more almost there you miss, from nostalgic song in a minor or sentimental film with a happy ending but not too much to tear, not a scream of wounded animal, to "write a poem," not "kill me".
It is a pain that you fuck, you do not want to rip off his back, because `the bear at the bottom, but munch you every day and you do not even you know it, you still stuck on him and mixed with your scent to the point that everyone you meet is able to hear it, `and so, while you hope that something good comes suddenly to change your life, you do not realize that the smell, the smell of flowers and a little bit sad withered, `distant land of beautiful things `as long as you do not scroll off.
'm almost at the office.
My phone has not rang.
No gifts for me today, nor is the life, nor is he.
Happy Valentine's Day to me.

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Handbook of self-destruction. 2. New life

Two - Do not take the name

It is already morning and I do not know if I can stand it.
That is, I can, I know, but I have no desire.
Last night I fell asleep suddenly, do not even remember what I was thinking. Or maybe you `
, the usual things, all the roads I could take and the alternative life that I choose and the various scripts that I could play, but then stay here and let me drag.
Sometimes I wonder if it would be better to just stop altogether.
Well, last night I tried to stand still.
It is not never been my talent.
He is still sleeping, I peeked out of the corner of the eye.
My right hand is now completely asleep, I feel the only arm to the elbow, as if I had been amputated.
not know his right hand.
But I'm sure that even the left hand is well behaved. My Games
see as the only participant of rude language, usually.
Luckily the nausea is gone, almost a little bit sorry, was part of the character and focus on the physical discomfort distracted me from the psychological.
Ok, spirit and courage.
I get up and go to the bathroom to wash.
making noise.
I can not give voice to my rage, but somehow I want to have the volume up.
When I return to the `I see a dress that is awake and looking at me.
smiled.
I pretend not to see him.
It is too easy, Christ, is all too easy to reduce to some muscles of the face that moves.
Words: a collection of syllables appropriately made let me know that you want, want.
I know that I should give more importance to the facts, but facts are interpreted. It `
, perhaps even words, but not for someone like me who has to Zingarelli instead of the heart.
Ti. I
.
Two words, minimum waste of energy, that `there to interpret?
It is not true. Then I ask if he really thinks, even if the test or if you really want to say `why myself. But

If you do not want to deal should say `why? And if he thinks why is should be willing to hold me? But if you really want to hold me Why then do not say?
And why. Fuck.
I'm going crazy.
I head a song that continues to sing alone, I would chase them, but I should focus on something else, drives out, but if the nail is driving away most of the first asshole? No risk
This morning, we walk up annoying popular tracks.
It is disturbing how, when you can not be happy, feel a pain that you are familiar can be comforting.
I finish getting dressed and almost running away in the kitchen: If you do not see it `will not fall into temptation.
I collect my things and I do not do breakfast, out of tune with my martyrdom.
Shit, I forgot his glasses on the nightstand.
I go back to the 'in the hope that you do not speak, do not say anything, but especially not pronounce my name.
do not use it at all, only when he is very angry, or when they know there is one distance from the bridge, when a diminutive any, would be out of place, almost sarcastically.
But when you pronounce it that way, with the first syllable pressed, crushed them is then dragged around the room is like saying "what the hell are you doing? Eh? You realize?".
And when it comes down to the name, which also is short, my body screams scusascusascusa already and I have a nice try to resist.
take heart and I'd use it to clean the streaks left by my name on the floor, evidence of guilt but not committed complainant atonement.
I do not want. Do not want to need forgiveness.
eyewear, glasses and then I look out the door.
In this new day. Fuck.

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the square has two churches facing each other.
that you wonder what the fuck to serve two churches in the same square, but mostly what the fuck serve eight churches in a spit of land just six thousand souls.
in the square beyond the two churches there is a bar, a pharmacy, a hairdresser from the air too pretentious for the place and he, our hotel.
that there is written on the sign "Restaurant" is one of the shades.
entering the first thing you notice are two old age of about seventy unknown: she has a pink wool cape over his robe, but always rose from another nuance, which is above the nightgown, still pink but a further nuance, Knittel and a woolen stuff. pink.
he's in slippers and smoking jacket with bricks.
look, listen and above all, given the volume, a movie-themed Easter.
when you finally realize that we discover are the operators.
in the meantime I am fascinated by paintings mirrored serigraphs twenties and old radios and other junk.
there are cases where the kitsch is welcoming, is home, family, happiness.
in other cases is sadness.
I do not know what distinguishes them.
perhaps it is sad when you realize that is taken seriously.
is full of plants.
give me the key to my room.
get there for a corridor that seems to be to a hospital.
think 'it will be better inside'. in reality the room is cold and small, contains a miniscrivania and a mini table.
the bed head metal convoluted.
someone has tried to dampen the air of monastic cell painting of the red metal of the bed, but the pangs of rust nullify the result.
the bathroom mirror is so spoiled that we do not see if one of the spots.
luckily I'm tired and I end up in bed in the hope that under the covers face warmer.
give up even as the light bulb burned out dell'abat-jour.
to two I wake with a start.
did not realize immediately what is happening.
me buzzing ears though.
for the first time I understand the meaning of the phrase "having your heart in your throat": I have the heart rate so high so that the veins in my neck seem to want to explode.
I get, I try to do two steps.
breathe. breathe.
wrists under cold water.
the only result is that I begin to tremble uncontrollably.
I have a red face pressing against your ears and feel, I feel that my head will burst at any moment.
never went out after half an hour. I hate having to do it, but I decided to call my own.
come running.
dad is worried she is asleep standing up.
mom takes my hands and caresses her speaking to me as we stroll around the room.
I will not stand still, I am sure you will collapse if I stop.
leave spend a little 'time. I still shake like I'm in withdrawal symptoms.
my father wakes up from slumber and says, "I'll take you to the emergency room."
not know the way, we do not want to wake anyone, browse and download.
that is attentive to signals and signs along the way I am.
arrive and discover that in the movies the people who are angry at the bar of acceptance which has the reason: I going to die, but
"What color is your underwear?"
"zodiac sign?"
"when the last time you smiled?"
"chocolate or vanilla?"
fuck.
the end I managed to glide on a bed with a needle stuck in his arm and the sensors attached chest.
"the electrocardiogram is normal, 120 beats per minute, wait in the waiting room the results of the levy"
while I wait I have the impression that restart and it hurts my chest, I can tell, I draws on the ECG, same result.
"But now I admitted."
the rooms are full of parked over sixty for the holidays.
one is even tied to the bed.
to have a hand in front of me completely swollen by dint of a drip.
passes the attending physician and gives me a beta blocker and twenty drops of a tranquilizer.
"could be the thyroid," says "considering his robust physique ... um ..."
cynical smile, I can not stand in diplomacy a moment like this:
"says well overweight."
while it's nearly four people, sleep is not talked about, between fear and gasps and moans.
my parents would not want it back to the hotel.
convince them to six and a half after the first round of the nurses, with the promise that they will return the first round of visits of nine.
in the meantime I have no way to realize that hospitals have a reverse curve of the noise in the rest of the world's casino night and day there is silence. dozing, five minutes at a time, I'm afraid.
beautiful nurse smiles at me and tells me "what are you doing here? We're not used to seeing young people."
"I went out easter egg" I say.
comes the primary part of the tour, when they come to me to make my beautiful nurse asks an ECG, in lifting her shirt over her breasts I apologize, I joke
"so now everyone has seen my boobs in this hospital" .
primary conclusions are that I need an echocardiogram and control markers of the thyroid, but they will not do anything before Tuesday, in practice, I suggest to sign and leave.
and that's what I do.
I get home from my uncles and the day runs smooth.
but I refuse to go back to sleep at the hotel.
my mother refuses to leave me alone.
my uncles are refusing to let us sleep on the sofas.
no one seems to understand what things really important.
the end me and my mom take care sofas and amen.
the two are awake.
tachycardia, less strong than the night before, but it exists.
hot flushes, cold, I shiver, I seem to sink into the couch.
call my mom but nothing.
the shake.
"you think I can take more drops of Lexotan?"
"yes yes" (the morning after he confessed to not remembering anything).
began again after a couple of hours sleep.
the next day the situation is the same, except that we went back to sleep in a hotel because I do not want to do the shrinking violet of the case.
on Tuesday morning, the hotel is even sadder than usual: the tables for breakfast Good day of the mill are set with white plastics and pre-cut slices of a dove, like those made at home.
but again, no home, is sad.
luckily I can not eat breakfast.
arrival in hospital is deafening, I do not know where to go, does not appear anywhere, I seem to be transparent.
hour later someone notices me
- taking the thyroid?
- yes
I see the arm that is already a bruise
- thou hast the capillary small enough to see if
has a light hand.
takes a second look, never had no fear of blood or needles.
- now respects my
there they had to stay out, it's time for visits.
the lane is in full swing, I'm out of time, as in those videos where the singer goes at normal speed and everything is accelerated.
hour passed and someone is telling me I can not make me an echocardiogram
- I made an appointment for April 21
- but I live in milan
- ah
seems there is no way, but they tell me to wait .
my call me constantly asking if I want a coffee or something to eat.
but I closed the stomach or maybe I just want to be bad until the end.
eleven still do not know anything, I pendant to the lane, until I feel the tears streaming down his face.
passes the primary, he looks at me and tells me
- does not seem to exaggerate?
the result is that I want to cry even more, a couple of nurses ask me what I have, say anything, because I do not know.
maybe I'm tired, maybe.
meanwhile my mother is able to enter, my sweet mother, ordered me to go wash my face and stop crying, because that's not how we deal with things, because I'm insulting everyone else in the department and why not help me to get better.
I rebel, I support my right to vent, but deep down I know he's right.
continues to reject any form of food.
to 12.30 are only telling me that I can do an echocardiogram.
"floating movement of the septal wall," but they say it is normal.
a juice bar at the hospital is that I allow myself.
the day after returning to Milan in the evening my brother and I spent an hour in the following dialogue produrci
-
not breathe - you breathe
yes - I know, but the air does not reach the bottom
- if you breathe in and exhale normally arrive. But if you want I'll take you to the emergency room.
- no, wait.
...
-
not breathe - you breathe
yes - I know, but the air does not reach the bottom
- if you inhale and exhale normally arrive. But if you want I'll take you to the emergency room.
- no, wait.
next few days happens a couple more times, but I go back to tai chi, scared, but I go back and finish in the bottom of the lesson.
step on Sunday to cry like a slaughtered calf, but he does say that Lexotan.
the next day in the gym.
while on the bike portion and the heart rate reaches above 150, I stop, breathe calmly and try again. I reduce the Lexotan
slowly.
today I left home.
I called the hospital.
- the results of the thyroid are normal.

time to flourish.

(end)

Complicating, circulating New life
,
new life Operating, generating
New life, new life
("New Life", Depeche Mode)

Feminine Males Chat Rooms

I sometimes

I sometimes know how to dance in my head and I have a dancer's body and my brain when he hears the music goes over the steps and movements and feel the contraction of muscles and ligaments stretch.

I sometimes in my head I can play the piano and when I listen to certain songs I feel the tension in the fingers and move your foot as if I knew when lower on the pedals.

I sometimes in my head I can draw with your eyes and review the outlines of things fast, like if I did a sketch accompanied by swift and decisive gestures.

I sometimes in my head I know how to get what I want.

and though I can not dance and I can not play piano and I can not draw, sometimes I find myself in your hands exactly what I want.

not what I thought to want.

Shower Doors At Menards

Handbook of self-destruction. 1.

One - Thou shalt have no other god

I try to stay more firm that I can. Although
.
I have a feeling of nausea that I think I would go if I could put myself up there on his stomach, possibly almost sitting.
The little finger of his right hand is now completely asleep, maybe my head was blocking the movement of the arm.
But I am firm, steadfast, I also try to slow down the breath that you never know.
I try not to think that I spit acid is accumulating in the mouth, I know it is only a matter psychological, that if I can calm myself `fluke.
I try to close your eyes and concentrate on the muscles of the forehead by relaxing, and then get to the eye: if I can get to the chin without distracting me go to sleep '.
Pero `I might as well go into another room to smoke: get up with anxious gestures, to sit on the bed and pull my hair back with your hands, then holding them to the sides of the head and elbows to the legs in a gesture of resigned despair , then sigh and go into another room to smoke.
I never do, would be noticed.
Or I could go to the bathroom to cry.
Not here, there would be a little bit for granted and then not stand it if he put a hand to a caress, or any gesture of comfort.
In the bathroom, the bathroom is perfect.
Meanwhile I'm still firm, you do not think I want to draw your attention, or worse, I'm trying to take a conciliatory attitude towards him.
It is this silence that kills me, makes me feel weak, I want to sell but not `feel so ignored.
It is best when we fight, at least I feel alive, important.
Cosi `and` as if I were not there and it makes me want to scream.
I could talk to him. Tell him that I do not know if I love him.
Just to hear my voice and establish a contact that is not a surrender.
Part of me knows that whatever I do now can not get worse the situation, but I do not know what I'll be able to `stand still, without giving voice to rebellion inside me.
I could get up, So, without saying anything, get dressed and go to my house, but if you do not try to stop me?
are the 2, I do not want to drive around the city alone at this time.
I could also turn around and hug him, I know I put everything in place.
He hates this situation as me, but the time when we were first asked to tender apology for who is the past.
now is too important to keep the positions, train the other to restore the bone, as when you breed a dog. This is
become our history a little dog that makes us friends, to take out twice a day a little bit miffed, to be educated so that they do little damage and break the balls as possible.
Now I tell you: what are we doing still together?
Before we had a lot of common interests, not stand to be separated, there was never enough time together 'because we always had a lot of things to do and say.
Now none of this, only sadness is holding us together to bring the dog to the kennel.
Now I can tell.
No, not now, when he is tired and unreason becomes acidic.
Tomorrow, maybe not in the morning that does not connect, maybe at lunch, or tomorrow night, I ask him if we meet for dinner here. Tomorrow night we see