recently are not very fit, but ... They are rather weak and fatigued.
The sun beats down hard and it looks like from up there and feel the copious and verbose services follow the news on what is hot these days and what could be ... I trust in the post-industrial ennui in which messages, designed to create new needs, they become paranoid and we wear out in pursuit of throwing a no-self rather ridiculous and violent.
I light a cigarette because smoking kills "is the only thought that goes through my head and I care little step beyond, and back body and soul in the heat of the sun continues to topple him.
television now speaks of everything alone, we had a fight at all, the day he stopped to show me the vicissitudes of the "insane" (I do not want to be an actor, but who invented it) that it go for a stroll on the Emilian plain, shouting "E 'marinoooooo arrived!" because it deprived me of the equally stupid rebellion I had left to answer "Who fregaaa! The marine us there we have it all year and that ham, now produce in the lab! Other than aging."
Meanwhile all this convoluted meningitis (or rather what is left of my brains) my most intolerant and made sure way to find refuge in my digital alter-ego.
Puuiki is quiet and does not appear on the radar no one, except my yellow ball which seems to indicate an avatar plagued jaundice.
I realize that I bruised the fool again, yielding to sleep walking and jumping like the opening of the exhibition of Maxsyd Mandel ... Kaji poor, defenseless target for all my iniquities and biological ... I confess ... still sleepy despite the many hours of sleep (very refreshing) I make two steps, languidly, with muffled step from noob I wander to the land. I
appears before a number di fotografie, non mi soffermo a contarle, sarebbe superfluo, ma mi soffermo a soppesare quello che mi piace. Mi scuso con chi mi reputa un buonista, o una fatina buona del cazzo ma mi riesce di vedere solo il lato che piace a me. Le critiche e le silurate le lescio ad altri.
Faccio la tara su di me e comincio a vedere una bella, bellissima profondità di campo. Come un bel respirone di pancia, fluido e potente.
E sento già il campo pulito dagli "spiattellamenti".
Oltre la fotografia, dentro la fotografia, ci vedo un gran bel ritratto di una realtà che, a prescindere dal luogo geografico in cui è stata scattata, è tutta italiana. Un po' Santa e un po' Puttana. Sullo stesso piano, sullo same level.
Sensualtà of forms, the beauty all around, a waft of perfume and smells of our campaigns, sounds and real words, old age and youth, the best portrait of a country that would not forget, proud of its past but is not able at times to make it emerge. What I see is the shining example of interpreting and translating by 'the Italian vulgate poetic and true.
the next post.
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