Knightsbridge Doll Collection

Florence

A friend of mine He told a dream he did: Piazza Duomo deserted without the cathedral or the church tower, nor the baptistery, but only a meager water in the middle, naked, without even the flush of cash. I wonder if it means something specific.

Gay Cruising Spots Ontario

Per Milo De Angelis

"and life reigns, alone, of course, alone, but not an orphan" is a verse in 1978 by Milo De Angelis. Life reigns priva di origine e di fine ultimo, e la condizione dell’uomo è quella di una solitudine senza giustificazione e senza compensi. Ma così facendo questa poesia allontana da sé un grande tema come quello dell’Assenza e sentimenti ad esso legati come la nostalgia o il rimpianto. Ma anche non permette che la vita si offra in quella catena incantevole delle rappresentazioni, di holderliniana memoria, che è la catena sintattica: l’esaltante continuità di affermazione del mondo, di noi stessi nel mondo.
Nei testi di De Angelis, le infrazioni avvengono nel rispetto della parola, unità di significazione come elemento irrinunciabile di una Norma linguistica entro cui l’uomo comunica, anche all’altezza della dimensione estetica, e vive, ed inoltre di una relazione congrua all’interno del sintagma e della frase. Ad esempio, la non concordanza della persona (la sequenza non finalizzata delle frasi poiché esse hanno soggetti diversi per cui il compiersi dell’azione sembra differito e spostato) o la non concordanza di tempo (l’uso si potrebbe dire arbitrario dei tempi in una stessa frase complessa) sono figure che creano perplessità circa una presunta oggettività del referente senza però accanirsi a negarlo (eventualmente con un’alterazione della continuità fonica e grafica o con un’eccessiva sconnessione sintattica). Esse provocano, nel momento in cui impediscono all’atto linguistico di compiersi with wholeness and uniqueness, instability of the plane of signification. And coming to the point, there is reflected the theme of solitude is not an orphan. The paratactic
procedure then serves to clarify this condition. In fact, the apparent juxtaposition of necessity and feature set of superfluity of our being in the world, takes place the 'exact feel of a brain / no more land. "
"Matter / was only the subject, nothing / it was only matter. Watch, not watch, poetry / cobalt, father, nothing, poplars. "Is written in the face of the Earth (1985).

from magazine "minimal deviation", November 1986

How Much Is Perals Worth

A cat in my first novel, Aftermath

Pruzzo was so called because of a player.

When I found him, living with Sonia was finished recently. It was Sunday, was in July, it was very hot. I turned the balls. I was visiting a friend in Chianti, I had vomited on him all my paranoia. He had lunch together and had been drinking good wine. Around four in the afternoon came on. I turned a bit 'with the car, I kept the music loud and the windows wide open. I could not find peace. I arrived at Castellina, and before entering the village I saw the signs for the Etruscan tombs. What the hell will never, I thought. I decided to go see. I parked, there was not a soul was sad and lonely, I was sweating to do shit.

The Etruscan tombs were dug underground rooms with little light but with a few degrees less than outside. I went on trial and error, I was disappointed and bored. Then I saw something move. A species of mouse, a prick with his legs, a tiny thing in the darkest corner of the last room. I went and put me Pruzzo eyes in the eye. It was as big as the palm of my hand, everything lighter brown with three stripes on his back. It was muddy, his mouth full of earth and a red eye, swollen, ill. He trembled, seemed half dead. But it was nice like the sun, small and pure, was life. I fell in love. My freedom was over the first three steps, in the penultimate room of the tomb of the cock. Raccattai Pruzzo, I arranged it between his thighs and drove up to the first floor bar. They called the vet in the country, a man in his sixties, a bit 'hunchback and completely bald. He boasted of being a magician with the goats and sheep, but his cows remained strong. I did not understand what he meant, however, was very kind. He opened the study and visited the cat. Found him a very high fever, he said that probably had pneumonia. Gave him an injection of glucose, the prescribed three drugs and therapy he explained. Then he gave me a box of powdered milk and a bottle.

«È nato da poco, avrà una settimana», mi disse. «Sarà difficile farlo campare. Così piccoli, senza la mamma, muoio­no. Se vuole provare a salvarlo deve dargli da mangiare ogni ora, giorno e notte».

«Lo farò».

«Non si illuda. È molto probabile che non ce la faccia».

Mi sentivo crepare. Ma quella bestiola non sarebbe morta, non così presto, non adesso che aveva incontrato me.

«Poi, è importante che il gatto mangi, ma deve anche defecare», said the vet.

"I suppose."

'alone is not able to do so. When very small mother cat licks the puppies on the backside .... "

"What does that mean?".

"You must take a cotton ball, wet it with hot water and stimulate the cat."

"How?".

"I'll rub on the tummy, and ass."

"Hog dog."

"Unless caca, explodes. There is no alternative. "

"I will" I said. I was sweating cold.

"It must also creargli a habitat similar to the mother cat. Put it in a kennel not too big, hairy with a rag wool. "

"Okay."

'Put even a hot water bottle, below. You must have a maternal warmth. The sign also drops. Give it to him three times a day, only patient in the eye. "

"Okay."

"It looks like a really bad infection, for me is blind."

sighed, catching my cat. I wondered what I had pushed in Etruscan tombs. I had not ever give a fuck about that stuff, and then you say destiny.

the Pruzzo marked my life. I did everything there was to be done, including things that I never told you. The nights, the bottles every hour, the hot water bottle, the drops the swab on the ass. Even enemas, those who take the children, because sometimes Pruzzo jams and cotton that did no good. I lived for him, there was no time and strength to do anything else. I told the world more ridiculous excuse for a cat to weaning. Meanwhile, lost weight and do not close my eyes without seeing his nose in front, his paws over his face.

One day two seemed Pruzzo were to die. I took him to the vet in Calenzano, a strange, more famous for hunting wild boar for his profession. Every time a shot was to my puppy and shook his head.

"I know who dies," he said.

Instead Pruzzo span. The better eye, and then came the homogenized milk, few hours of sleep, then the magical world of boxes and farting incredible stuff to evacuate the house, and then the awareness of the claws, the demolition of the chair and the curtains in the bathroom, his tongue everywhere, the stolen meat from the pot , the first races in the meadow, the first kittens to seduce and magical feeling of having done something great.

"Now die no more," said the veterinarian-hundredth the hunter shot.

I wanted to send him to fuck off. I knew all along that Pruzzo going to make it, because it was a special beast. With the style of the feline race, and the tendency to obesity Swine Breeding. Bello, my cat.

(from Women and mice , Fazi Editore, 2004)

After ten years in Rome, flag which was in season 1988-1989 Roberto Pruzzo spent a season with Fiorentina, picked up six more appearances to start playing some remnant of the race, in the playoff June 30, 1989, against Roma, at the cross Roberto Baggio , marked di testa il suo unico gol della stagione, che consentì ai viola l'accesso in Coppa UEFA.



What To Write In Sister's Wedding Card

Christmas in my first novel

Arrivai in centro verso le otto e misi la macchina nel parcheggio del mercato centrale. Uscii fuori, su via dell’Ariento, e Firenze mi sembrò cattiva. Una ragazza piangeva forte seduta sul marciapiede. Teneva la testa tra le ginocchia, affondava le dita nei capelli chiari. Un tipo camminava su e giù davanti a lei e scalciava una lattina. Il mercatino aveva già chiuso. Ai lati della strada restavano dei grossi carrelli di legno pieni di roba, coperti da teli verdi e incatenati. Passai davanti alla chiesa di San Lorenzo. Un piccolo camion della nettezza urbana spazzava i bordi della via. Faceva un gran baccano. Due uomini alti e grossi lo precedevano e colpivano i rifiuti con delle scope di saggina alte quanto loro. Sui gradini della chiesa un gruppo di africani cantava accompagnandosi con dei tamburi. Era l’unica nota viva nell’aria, l’unica che combatteva la spazzatrice. Il cielo continuava a mostrare i muscoli, senza far paura a nessuno. Forse a Pistoia avrebbe fatto due gocce. Misi le mani in tasca, il mio fiato fumava nel buio. Per aria c’erano ancora le illuminazioni del Natale. Erano spente, mosce, si godevano un filo di vento. Mi avvicinai some window and look at the prices of these shoes. I did not know whether to laugh or cry. I gave up and pulled straight.

The cathedral was very large and very powerful. It was half dirt and half clean, a piece of scaffolding packagers face an irregular network. There were a few tourists around, a few couples hugged, some homeless, three nuns, a couple of angry dogs. De slipped away 'Pecori and walked towards the pub. I walked calmly, there was peace, the windows of the houses were closed, light-television. Near Santa Maria Novella, a lady asked me if I wanted a little 'love. I looked at her. She was my mother's age, face marked by life, the trick to a different frequency, bare legs and swollen. I smiled. She also smiled at me, without shame, he closed his eyes and asked me a cigarette.

"I do not smoke, I'm sorry," I said.

"Blessed are you."

"It could stop herself, no?".

"Come over anytime, I'm always here."

We greeted each other with tenderness.

(From Women and mice , Fazi publisher, 2004)

What Happens When You Worm A Puppy

Tomorrow brings snow to Fahrenheit

With Alessandro Perissinotto my story (published for the first time in 2005 at Parma Noir - Writing yellow, Publisher MUP , this time thanks to Guido Conti) is now available online at E-Thriller [(...) Our free e-book can be read on a computer screen, flipping like a real book, or on devices portable (are optimized for iPhone, iPad, PDAs) to have them always at hand on the subway, train, in every little break. If the initiative Like you, talk to your friends, send around the link to our site and report it on social networking (...)].

As I wrote to Alexander, I believe very little in the e-books in general, but I sense them like a useful tool for short story. Okay, 'the speech would be long and complex, meanwhile, say that tomorrow brings snow is available here .

Is Baby Shampoo Good For Acne

Humanity to Fahrenheit, Radio Three, February 4, 2010, interview in downloadable mp3 here.

Mera Naam Joker Hot Scence

Humanity In my last novel does not cite any

has already started to rain. From the roof of the building opposite dripping streaks of black mold, which a safety harness in front. It is obscene, knows slovenliness and poverty, to postpone maintenance. The third floor apartment on the left, there are always white sheets stretched out, day and night, summer and winter. It is as if someone had forgotten there, or reaching up and tended to hide, to avoid being seen by me. Downstairs, Ugo s'affossa in the chair, two meters away from the television. Sixty years old, retired from a fortnight because of an injury. He drove bulldozers for a firm that worked with the City. He stood with one foot under a track. Now he limps, but little more than me, just gets worse during the visits. He is alone, abandoned like a dog, always. Never entered a creature in his house, not even a canary in a cage, not even the priest to bless. I've seen it many times masturbate in this precise location, without ever bothering to draw the curtains. He has a bird as big as a rolling pin, but he must be served by little in life. More top left, the house that is in my face, there lives a boy of about twenty years, alone with his mother. The father died a few years ago and left a small company of buckles and hooks of iron, the car payments to pay and certain debiti con i “neri” dell’agenzia ippica. La casa no, era già sua. Lui ha mollato la scuola e s’è messo sotto con la fabbrichetta. Non fa altro. Sta in fissa con il lavoro e con il calcio, l’unico svago sono le partite allo stadio, come massima trasgressione una trasferta. Donne zero. Si chiama Stefano. Spesso dà fuori di testa e se la prende con la madre, che si chiama Giada. Gridano che si sentono anche con i doppi vetri serrati. L’ho visto prenderla a schiaffi, afferrarla per i capelli, rincorrerla con la scopa. Una sera la scaraventò per terra e le piombò addosso e continuò a dargliele, sulla testa, sulle tette, sulla pancia. Afferrai il telefono senza sapere quale numero chiamare. Stetti lì, paralizzato con il cordless in mano, e continuai a guardarli. Pensai a quanta gente come me osservasse inerme da dietro le tapparelle, o forse nessuno, ero l’unico codardo. Pensai alla polizia e ai carabinieri ma poi chiamai proprio loro, in quella casa, e dal balcone vidi Stefano rallentare i colpi e smettere, alzarsi e passarsi le dita tra i capelli crespi, toccarsi le labbra, guardarsi le mani e incamminarsi di là, nell’ingressino, per andare a rispondere. Lasciai che lo facesse e poi riagganciai, e richiusi l’elenco telefonico senza appuntarmi il numero.

(da L'umanità , Elliot, 2010)