Herniated Discsvertigo

If I dive into you

if I dive into you
are many words in the background and

a loud noise.


"We're like crystal, It's Not Easy / With your love, Could you feed me"



twenty-four hours or so.
twenty yards or so.


what a man can believe what he has gradually built over the years?
what a man can resist seeing what is down gradually built over the years?


I basically think. I reflect so much, I mean all, all I know, right away.
every situation is scanned, passed through a sieve, filtering out what is valuable and what is waste, then realizing what I change and what not be affected at all.
and so grow. I grow within my four walls. make three. convictions of nearly well-structured, good-looking enough. say solid. There is growing inside. sometimes smiling.
impacts every new situation, against my four walls. make three. impacts, strong, against what I am for me. The situation is broken, scattered, and small solid square splinter inficcano hard and deep in my four walls. indeed we have said three.
would be harder to remove them out now that do not check much.
that's why I take them from within. I keep myself. the guards. the fact, as paintings, three on my walls.

what a man can believe what he has gradually built over the years?
what a man can resist seeing what fall has gradually built over the years?

was really nice home.
was really good before I did the whole fall.
I was naked in front of you. and you. and you did not laugh at me. I am that I smiled for us.


because there are other walls around.
this time they are four.
this time are not alone.

How To Find Out The Worth Of My Pearls

thousand grams of

end of December 2006.
reckoning, my dear. Just because you make a diplomatic turning point.

Good. Tiriamole then, maybe not out of the window, right against the wall.

Day. So these three hundred sixty-five
call, I believe, days.
Day.
Never have I known so much. I never touched a certain extent.
Understanding yourself will never be a final process, easily definable, repeatable cycle. The beauty of gray days, filtered through all the thoughts that I carry in my bag is just that. They steal my wavelength, I take back parts of me.
Every day. Different.

It's been so long since I felt like a colorful carpet of the province, a little 'less from when I looked down from the balcony instead of in the mirror, even less since I seemed to have finished the damned in the search for something.
Now time passes. It seems to me to be lonely alone. Distant.


I understand. What
me there is not enough. That the advice of his friends are always greener than you are by yourself. What a life to not only own ha un perché. Che una vita a pensare di essere solo è un po’ come il patè: si mangia, ma pur sempre fegato è.

Io ho confermato.
Che il mio peso è stabile sotto ai sessantatre. Che certe persone non sono dei numeri sulla rubrica ma delle vere parti di me. Che una gran golosità e il wafer bianco affogato nel thè. Che il mio spirito pessimista vive saldo con la controparte altruista da medicina trentatre.

Io non ho confermato.
Che certe cose cambiano solo con un perchè. Che a ventiquattro anni non si può morire senza un perché. Che i desideri sono un clichè. Che insomma certe cose non toccheranno sicuramente a me.

Io non ho capito.
Che ci faccio qui senza una perché. Che futuro ho senza di te. Che tipo di provincia avrà l’appartamento che mi comprerò da me. Che miseria persevera nell’esserci, ogni giorno, all’infuori di me.

Mi fa ancora male la testa.
Nel mio piccolo, dolcemente egoistico, mondo.

E’ curioso come io scandisca i periodi della mia vita.
Così … perché qualcuno c’è e quel qualcuno non è me.