oggi ho. gli occhi stanchi.
oggi ho. voglia di mangiarmi labbra unghie dita intere.
I have today. stomach ache.
are home alone, and again for a long time. main reason for this, my stomach ache. Cheddar, I basically spent the imagination in cooking.
never been, I, a magician of the kitchen.
not hardly write.
I do not know why. are not one of those situations that could be called "so empty that they have nothing to tell," or one of those from "non-creative period." no, because creativity is not. writing for me has always been so spontaneous, writing for me is the best way to communicate what I feel.
therefore, why I do not want to turn the word? the root, seems that there is a basic desire to give me attention, and attention mean more than just see them in the mirror, a tear hairs, scrutinize for possible spots, (s), comb and so on. no, that's it. give me a minimal attention, wondering how I am.
know what I think? that I am avoiding to avoid questions and their answers.
ok, so this seems to be gone by the way, of being left in the alleys between the usual doubts and controdubbi. But no, it's a different tone.
I'm off, I'm just lowering the volume.
pity that I ultimately do not want to.
know what I'm doing? I'm censoring.
ever happened to me lasciare chiuso il muji così a lungo. sono mesi che non ci sputo inchiostro. ci sono scritti che poi, sul blog, non ho mai riportato. cose che potrei definire più intimamente personali, non per il contenuto ma per il clima che ne fa da contorno.
beh, queste cose che potrei definire più intimamente personali dove sono finite?
provai, a scrivere, mesi fa. terminata la pagina sentivo da quelle righe un distacco tale che richiusi subito il taccuino. non sembravo io. quasi più recita che ipocrisia.
che cosa triste.
quello è stato il mio ultimo scritto, su quel taccuino. e ho quasi paura a riaprirlo .. come quando, tra la vergogna e l’imbarazzo, non sai più come affrontare un amico dopo una lunga e sonora litigata. you care .. but time does not satisfy all wounds, differently from the way they want us to believe.
Well then, what to say. all these words to get where?
anywhere. for the enjoyment of the same authenticity with which I've always written, and that tonight, without any pretension, I tried .. in this hole, knotting, which is my stomach now.
because I prefer to accept what I have?
not want to be a stupid question, of terrible flawed.
but I wonder, because frankly I do not recognize much, because there is some 'self-restraint in this and I do not know what part of me has claimed.
the thing that makes me more fear is that the other, the other part of me, accepted it.
oggi ho. voglia di mangiarmi labbra unghie dita intere.
I have today. stomach ache.
are home alone, and again for a long time. main reason for this, my stomach ache. Cheddar, I basically spent the imagination in cooking.
never been, I, a magician of the kitchen.
not hardly write.
I do not know why. are not one of those situations that could be called "so empty that they have nothing to tell," or one of those from "non-creative period." no, because creativity is not. writing for me has always been so spontaneous, writing for me is the best way to communicate what I feel.
therefore, why I do not want to turn the word? the root, seems that there is a basic desire to give me attention, and attention mean more than just see them in the mirror, a tear hairs, scrutinize for possible spots, (s), comb and so on. no, that's it. give me a minimal attention, wondering how I am.
know what I think? that I am avoiding to avoid questions and their answers.
ok, so this seems to be gone by the way, of being left in the alleys between the usual doubts and controdubbi. But no, it's a different tone.
I'm off, I'm just lowering the volume.
pity that I ultimately do not want to.
know what I'm doing? I'm censoring.
ever happened to me lasciare chiuso il muji così a lungo. sono mesi che non ci sputo inchiostro. ci sono scritti che poi, sul blog, non ho mai riportato. cose che potrei definire più intimamente personali, non per il contenuto ma per il clima che ne fa da contorno.
beh, queste cose che potrei definire più intimamente personali dove sono finite?
provai, a scrivere, mesi fa. terminata la pagina sentivo da quelle righe un distacco tale che richiusi subito il taccuino. non sembravo io. quasi più recita che ipocrisia.
che cosa triste.
quello è stato il mio ultimo scritto, su quel taccuino. e ho quasi paura a riaprirlo .. come quando, tra la vergogna e l’imbarazzo, non sai più come affrontare un amico dopo una lunga e sonora litigata. you care .. but time does not satisfy all wounds, differently from the way they want us to believe.
Well then, what to say. all these words to get where?
anywhere. for the enjoyment of the same authenticity with which I've always written, and that tonight, without any pretension, I tried .. in this hole, knotting, which is my stomach now.
because I prefer to accept what I have?
not want to be a stupid question, of terrible flawed.
but I wonder, because frankly I do not recognize much, because there is some 'self-restraint in this and I do not know what part of me has claimed.
the thing that makes me more fear is that the other, the other part of me, accepted it.
.. hopes for the future or simply fears today ..
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