Sunday, March 13, 2011

How To Achieve Limosine License In Canada

corner of unconventional love

not live in me
...
perhaps not believe in Jesus
if here
harpy Hell and fire rockets - verdena

because I can not stand to stay at home to rot, even if the weather is bad, in the long Sunday afternoons free from work, I go out in the street and I start walking. walking helps to think. so I realize that one of our misfortunes is to be a proud people home, armchair - whose greatest satisfaction is to rest after lunch Sunday on the same couch where his grandfather s'assopiva - blocked by the most common weather, water and wind, as if they were falling from the flaming swords sky. Walk out of the house but I can not escape the urbe scattered and dispersed, or at least the face of it that I attend, now fought inch by inch, perhaps in search of modern huts of the Child Jesus, a revelation that can be hidden only in the suburb degraded but still, on a purely hypothetical, throbbing with life. the truth is that if it is true that good writing springs from a pure state of prolonged illness, commonplace recently taken over by rapper-singer-songwriters who as a teenager marked hard soccer tactics but not for their insufferable arrogance, should be near the time of my masterpiece. but a masterpiece comes out after several years - while I whip my alleged talent - and then a masterpiece, strictly speaking of etymology, is an artifact from a series of technical and aesthetic that I do not know, shared by a group of artisans which I do not feel part of it. however, the fact is that as time passes inexorably, and brothers and cousins \u200b\u200band mothers and sons re-discovered writing as a way to impose their mark in human duel - which now seems to be synonymous with twitter -, gain awareness that past I have written something that is true, perhaps worthy of publication in the types of issues Ripostes, probably after careful editing and night work. this is a stupid and vain thoughts, I know, but it will be that, at the corner of the house Quintiliani, Madonna of the ceramic smiles at me while waving a plastic bag inflates and indifferent to a branch.

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