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Muscular Muscles Of A Frog

The laughter count for little if you have not wept together

I will always be impossible to read Plato, scream if I hear the ignorant who elects to law.

I will always be impossible to avoid grimaces of anger, if two friends are appealing to "harlot " smiling.

I never committed myself to love, you love me or hate me. It is normal for men and women love me, well some women just love me and the rest is prone to envy, jealousy, wickedness. Women who have taken refuge with me, warm, love, are light years away from mediocrity, hypocrisy, the lies. Sure why beautiful, haughty why intelligent, capable of such contempt for the petty, which is normal to hate you, these women do not compromise; triumph, all here.

For some men the complexity is a difficult disease to eradicate, for people who eat, drink most of all, they sleep, if they are lucky and find their friends (the ones that appeal to "Hey, whore ..") could also hope to copulate. For others, complexity, and excitement that you urge to live, is the instinct to the uniqueness, the need of the best, the desire to enter into a deeper contact.

Unfortunately the women's category (which I love, I would point out), I found the difficulty of some individual, in distinguishing the feel and reasoning. happens to be limited, therefore, be able to hear, say as an example the intimate moment in bed, to try sensations, but without the ability of reasoning. Feel it. The other category, however, has the dual capacity, and any activity is incorporated by the mind and body and in some cases involving everything becomes physically and mentally detached. Or vice versa.

I happen to enter in a precise, the first to write a letter, before a meeting, before making love, drinking a few sips or Colette M. Callas or Baudelaire and thus feel have a streak of to slip into that way. And I wonder when I hear some "outputs" from unwashed faces, what they do these to go that far? A sip of Coca-Cola and flat free? These who chew mouthfuls of food as a badly educated tomboys who chew chewing gum by the throat to see red. The truth is that shut me in every wish, every desire to touch, even the most banal, even that of the greeting (which almost never deny it). The truth is that I need stimulation, but only before these flames out, I racked my brains is the gut by contempt, I need stimulation and encouragement to persons who want to stand beside me and when I see with sadness, that these people around, some people that I love, I understand the weakness of men, beings, intelligence itself.

The weaknesses of other people's luggage is so heavy that they can see with the naked eye. Cashier in a supermarket in their places of beautiful girls giggle that pass, their laughter covered by those "biiip, biiip" of the boxes will be tears of 21.00, and come off when the house does not wait for anyone. Colored wigs that cover the lack of personality of a girl in a disco, at what age do not know, we lost count so many are the times that we saw, he drinks to forget, but forget what? The morning will be the same, only more dazed and with a breath unbearable. I, here in the quiet of my mess, just wait and watch their damage their degradation slip along with their years, while their friends say to me in chorus: "You were right. The complexity is better." And then the man who always ends up, melancholy, he stops to think, after the music stopped playing, sees the empty track, the "whores" will be in some dingy toilet (which they called by another name), the lipstick on the shirt off, and loneliness. The moment of ecstasy is over, the influence of alcohol and falls, what remains? The laughter count for little if you have not wept together .

insist on living but we do not know which way to go and wander uncertain, this way, for there, over the fence or through the hedge. Masters, masters of ourselves, free to plunge into the darkest depths and unexplored waters of the complexity or free float, because less work, less risky. I decided to go down, not see anything, I've chosen darkness, am a wanderer and changing wave, knotty, sensual and theatrical and a life like this is likely to fall in love.

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E 'today, this very day, at this very moment, that everything is clear to me.

Silence, the silence around the faces, at parties, the heads, the true vision of the imperfect world of things, now has a meaning, a light.

Here comes the Christmas spirit early, all lights and melodies and it seems so easy to give. In the absence of affection, an atmosphere like this, can do together. At home, now, the darkness. And the Christmas tree, and the red and gold on, then dark again. Walking in the warmth of the rooms, so bare feet, the belt of her gown that touches the ground, his face pale, his mouth in the morning, without color, without even a trace of taint in the immensity of silence. That 's what I love, that's what they are. I look around, in a house that I live every day, a house now, I seem to see for the first time. I think in the face of steep cliff which I have found over these long years, happy and crazy in the rush and terror of time, this time the enemy to me, to live a life of my unconsciousness or a life made up. A life still possedduta and heartfelt, a life of sorrow, a life where dreams see me alone, life captured.

From the windows, the golden reflection of the lights on and off, my face, peaceful, my mouth smiling. With her eyes closed in the kitchen, now I just want a sweet taste. The fire dazzles me, decided on a serpentine beauty, that warms me to drink. It 's a wonderful time and stuffy and I prepare something for only me and I could live a lifetime of these gestures.

The sky outside is getting darker for a few seconds, the lights of the houses cold, distant, dazzle me, among the sounds of the bells I find myself, I'm still here, inside my home, I'm still here, I refuge. So to recognize the degree of happiness, remember that on a Sunday, if the emotion does not deceive me.

I love the sound of the silver spoon in the cup, while stirring sugar in tea, I love the sound of my plush robes touching Incatu furniture that step, I love the sound of paper in his hands, and flip through the pages of books, drunk joy, drenched in tears. Terribly happy. Terribly. No Happiness has the sound of a harp. Happiness is a "one" at random, is the "one" of an index of nearly a piano.

slowly explodes my happiness, I drink slowly and wait for it to end. I think, honestly, who would be able to understand it, even if I know the outline shape. I think in the end, what remains? -. Wipe your face, draw the mouth, staggering, it is still in the world who welcomed me, manipulated, bunt.

few remaining of this happiness, Serber, maybe I'll give a little in a letter, but his best is here, inside me, the absolute truth of this strange happiness in this small point of light where I feel only the echo of man I love, still here, barefoot, still here, hair down, even here, her head resting against the wall, even here, the cold of the door, while I feel that leaves me flat.

without complaining, just beyond the threshold, just outside of that light within the darkness and silence, far from everything, but with a hint of that wonderful changing happiness.

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Title: "Carrion (we're all the same flesh)"
and technical measures: 100x140, digital photography
Author: Miriam De Nicolò
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have always been convinced that diversity would have a hard time, as I have always noticed the exclusion of very beautiful girls, the game of "hide and seek."
A child who grows up with this "religion" despises most humans, contact with people become painful, difficult to open, to have friends, impossible.

I too have had the friend "of the heart" as a child, not without some embarrassment, the feelings I was always embarrassed, as happens when an unexpected compliment. And I have lived, I remember, the relationship of love with my peers, with a transport sincere, with a generous impulse, that only a mother like mine could blame. I was too good, too naive to be careful because you never know , do not be fooled, defends, do not come home crying ... And maybe I should listen to this advice, because the females I close, I always received a scam.

A mistreated dog becomes aggressive, fierce, a little disappointed becomes cynical, cold.

The image that in time I am made of women, was the synthesis, the representation, the embodiment of evil. Nothing more, nothing less. Women were creatures of my eyes furtive, shabby, profiteers, liars, and to be honest I've had the proofs in years, not only in childhood.

Why, was the question I asked myself, why, what I had done wrong, what was the real problem?

I was a little shy, diligent, always took top marks, educated, sharp, by the grace of mother nature's very pretty, by the grace of my very elegant mother (wearing dresses designed and sewn by herself) and good, mostly. This was the problem, my mother would say too good ...

Now in its depressing conclusion that compliance arose from the claws, one day, looking in the mirror, I saw the transformation, I saw a girl with the skirt, wanting to wear pants, a little girl plays with Barbie, part of a football team, a girl from the tear easy to defend and speak up. This is my law.

I have known many women in my life, met some girls train ride and forget after a couple of appointments, Donnette O spiteful as monkeys, that kind of girls envious of a pair of the most beautiful of them, and these are durations of the time greeting, self-absorbed thirtysomethings unable to hear, but perfectly capable of throwing up their misunderstanding of the little men, beautiful women, ugly women, skinny women, fat women, but what remains of them? I still wonder.

The beauty of women is that they are changeable creatures. All. And how change the destiny of a people starved, they change too.

Since I also female, I can deduce it is changing.

yellowed vision of the woman-devil has changed, the impersonality of some figures has become personal, the invisible has become an area in my room, some doors were wide open without me that I've knocked on, the mud is now sea. And all without that I expected, ALL, came as a gift bag to my "noncompleanno.

Now, in front of a tea, in a time of work, I find myself thinking "how nice to know someone so good, now, a statement confirming the phone ends up becoming a personal confession and already I feel I want to love this woman does not know his face.

The phone rings, the mail is empty, if there is a party are the first invited, if they cry, they want me at their side, because I want to have fun laughing is good for advice know where I live, the Women looking for me, it seems surreal. I do not see more roughness on their faces, for some reason, they are all beautiful in my eyes today. It 's like the saw in a different light, as illuminated by a candle. They are intelligent, romantic, complex, curious, disappointed, educated ... are women. Oh, how I love them!

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I chose the English mistress, and not for his accent is

I chose "the lover English. "No adventure, but a film by Catherine Corsini, a love triangle from the tragic ending. The attraction, the passion, the consequences, he quotes the director, I always know where I can plot to" destroy "or" empathize " no accident that I came at the end of the film at different conclusions.

A lover you choose (I quote general reasons, and women belonging to different cases) the ability to amateurs, because of the need to escape from a monotonous life, for sexual attraction, out of spite, because her partner is out of town, because the sex-toys are gone from the safe.

The search becomes a betrayal rite, and the need to prepare in great, like the faithful wearing "the dress on Sunday" to pray in church.

A necessity that you end up loving and indispensable, a divine voice that drives going.

Lie case, when abused, a sort of vanity, one is pleased, it is committed.

Some women cheat for the sake of being "discovered" (by your partner / husband). Other

for the sake of being "discovered" the point!

hardly go wrong the name of a woman who was in bed. The most forgetful on post-it note of it on the back, directly on the other hand. Some even if the tattoo, but this is for sentimental (Oh mom, I've been there ... and the tattoo is left)

Women with many lovers, have few friends .. . do not have time for tea, shopping and gossip. Make purchases in the last minute lingerie boutique, with orders that they will look askance at the time and the choice of lace.

A foolish woman will always be single or happily coupled, "a lover becomes too challenging, you would miss the gossipy details of that district, out of envy, post photos and names on each of the pine country.

The faithful woman who is recognized by the behavior of the partner with friends and is sociable, friendly, affectionate and even "demonstration", in agreement with gestures, hugs etc.

The unfaithful woman will leave just watch.

The unfaithful woman is a child injury. Will care only to hurt those who have thrust.

An unfaithful woman must know how to talk to Boldini, as well as Poiret or Chabrol. Never to be prepared in front of an artist, their selfishness and egotism are the weakest spots ...

The hidden side of a woman in the bold trick, it is always tragic and moving.

It ends here for now ... because a little 'humor sometimes does not hurt!

(Baigneuse endormie - Chassériau 1850)
Alice Ozy, courtesan, mistress of the painter first T. Chassériau, jealous.
Victor Hugo will write this dedication: "Plato would have liked to see Venus out by the waves. I would prefer to see Alice get into bed."

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comes the stream of consciousness to which I must give voice, one that, like a hurricane, destroying everything: the certainties, the illusions, the small joys kept.

If I write, is not to list the hundreds of books I have purchased or to describe the cavities that explored my tongue. If I write is only to destroy. Destroy the disorder, the weight of the discomfort I feel with unnatural punctuality in certain moments of life. I write to try to lighten this burden, to digest it and accept it as it takes a child "disturbed."

explain it makes no sense, nor is it useful, as is the search for the "perfect story" for a writer, is not it more interesting the psychological aspect of the protagonist?

Love. I can not read a word, a word that I dislike, too abused, laughed too, too confused, too abstruse. Love and Affection: two parallel worlds. Who loves the fight. And fight against the beloved, his bloodthirsty enemy. The affection protects, is aware of its limitations. How can any couple in the world, weighing a relationship as "just"? Why do I see the "complicated", where everyone lives the "peaceful"?

Because I see the situation joyous and fun (meeting in a family with lots of children), where boredom scares girls of all ages? And why, conversely, where I run the greenhorn left? Run away from nightclubs, bars, where girls drink all night, as if they were truck drivers, but to no purpose, no reason. As if I to experience the thrill of wine, sharing the crown him with the man.

But what a man really wants? A woman who is only the mirror of his gifts? The woman is the mirror of a man, Francesca Woodman wrote on a photo ...

'd rather be his diary, the page that rely on weaknesses, secrets, questions, doubts.

But we are too strong for all this, too insightful, too smart, too wise, too critical, too mature. Everything is fine until you bring out their muscles, the size of the penis, amatory skills. The rest may not even be there. For the problems we are friends (of which not even know the name), to show off kamasutra position the night before, there are four friends at the bar (of which I barely know the name), as proof of the Kama Sutra is to pg.50 girlfriend (and here you are wrong if the name is a real casino). And here is summed up the "couple type", to which all Zabetta gossip, then rediscover one of them ...

(photo by Francesca Woodman)

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Editorial Fashion Editorial @

Editorial on " Free Stile"

Model: Danielle (Urban Management)

Make-up/Hair: Elisa Rampi

Styling: Hye Jin Lim

Photo: Miriam De Nicolò

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Danielle

Model: Danielle (Urban Management-Milano)

Photo: Miriam De Nicolò

A post soon the fashion editorial published in "Free Style", insert "Free".