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Needless to deceive the few glimmers of warm light, the dying summer, it is autumn now, and I feel the cold air evening. This air restless and deaf and dumb hissing at the windows.

are days that I write and every time I seem to lose a part of me, I rip that vein that I saved from mild depression. Depression no-write. Pass the minutes on the phone, hours of conversation at dinner parties, the partyes organized the photographic research, the difficulties of being companion, and then I go back to literature.

Sforni sentences and pages almost every night, scribbled notes on a pad with closed eyes, while the world outside my room sleeping. In the morning they are not that childish scribbles, geometric shapes and symbols, indecipherable, try to remember and fill in "fair copy" in the diary.

Who knows why God kisses me in the middle of the night.

I should work on an article, but my head is elsewhere:

1. I wonder about human relationships

2. all'inaffidabilità think of some categories of trade

3. I have a overly poetic sense of life

past about 90 minutes, the time of a football game without recovery, looking at the ceiling and trying to give me answers, I feel a little / huge empty

1. I miss terribly the brilliant philosophical conversations about life (...)

2. I need to see my first psychologist

3. I fear, smiling, I left very early

said / wrote this, I leave my blog with a thought, no less pessimistic than many of my others, and that is the belief that no one cares for anyone else. We are selfish. No exceptions. The more pure altruist is one who helps the next to compensate for his need to give, to feel accepted and at peace with himself. With the illusion of having a clear conscience, you can sleep peaceful dreams.
And so ...

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Comments on poems year 2010

-1st place in poetry contest No.10-"Cloud hostile" by Anna Bonnanzio

There is something in the poetry of genuine, first of all a simple and systematic use of metaphor "breath of froth." Simple and reasonable pace inside, clean the work of versification essentialized, net.

2nd place in poetry contest-No 1 - "Little Mice" by Antonio Pellati

The image of lemmings, small rodents and to avoid overcrowding and lack of resources in their area is inhabited intentionally thrown from the cliff is effective for the purpose of compliance with the theme of the competition , the following is review of damage caused by man deaf to the voice of nature.

3rd place-poetry-contest # 5 "The Mermaid" by Leila Spallotta

simple and consistent in itself, tends to stand on an internal rhythm of music and meaning, valuable for the propensity to "subtraction "in view of the search word to

4th place-poetry-contest # 12" This sea helpless "by Giuseppe Di Vincenzo

The language tends to courtly, presents a body of images in the most effective ' metaphysics of light burst in the sky that shines through and clarifies the damnation of destroyers down the condition dell'inabissamento human values \u200b\u200bin the darkness of the killings, the innumerable events of entropy.

5th place in poetry contest-No 9 - "Me and the Sea" by Gianna Braghini

walk on the shoreline, which introduces the theme of pollution that are followed by images of hyperbole in bottles and plastic bags and turbid waters, is a poem that seeks mainly in conceptual effort its "necessity" of poetry.

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Cloud Hostile - The year 2010 ranked

In my mad rush

against windmills

glimmer of peace is to reach you,

sea.

Ribollita

in the days of the blackbird

seething tonight

in hot weather in July.

Under a moonlit sky,

star and fire

between your breaths of foam

my secrets of the heart.

But a cloud

hostile to dampen the charm :

you and I

defenseless creatures

distorted and wounds

dall'insensibile

human greed!

"Bonnanzio Anna" (Aprilia)

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Like lemmings run to the cliff.

No one asks or to take initiatives.

E 'began quietly with someone who has taken a

and the many who have followed them without a reason.

... And the others who have moved because it's wrong.

... And those who seemed to be bad.

... And many who were suspicious of experts.

... And those who can not stop progress.

... And those that progress standard and there to do

together we shaved the ground, dried lakes,

created deserts, rivers cemented, wiped clean air.

We liquidated the brain and conscience.

We painted the black sea.

Everyone shut up in his little selfishness

without raising his head from the crib,

without thinking about whether there will be a tomorrow.

And now it runs with great speed and

who stops is overwhelmed and mocked.

will jump off the cliff without even understanding

and damage that will be the last: pollute more.

"Antonio Pelle" (Ardea)

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The siren year 2010 - year 2010

Into a crescent moon, the silence

whispered by the wind.

Barefoot to trace paths

suffocated by shell rot,

crushed by the fury of the sea. I

helpless in a dream now, my

waiting for a ship that crosses fairytale

oceans away

crystalline

like snowflakes.

I'm here as a siren call for Ulysses

away with my hand on this side

embraced a dream.

"Leila Spallotta" (Vellore)

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III classified This mare helpless, I

sleeps tonight the sea, I watch face

tacit and watch it.

Ah, if he could understand those who loves you! Building

I sat listening to the lapping of

undertow

me comes to mind when I played the child

sandcastles

and saw them breaking wave unexpected.

Today questionable is the fate of the heart ...

and see, see what you are wretched

front of the human filth. Although

in spite of yourself, my eyes

in thy womb the flower blooms.

A sudden light from heaven ....,

immortal mirror universe

beyond, including massacres gl'immondi

man sinks his tomorrow ....;

thus suspended from the soul looks

its spectral image.

"Giuseppe Di Vincenzo (Ardea)

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2010 ranked fourth and the sea - V

I want to see sea \u200b\u200b

why I am here, facing each other,

I just try to love me.

hear words from the sea,

master of my carelessness,

prompter in my theater,

use the same script, always the same every year.

Mirror ocean glimpse

not my crack written by the years.

Every time I see it is a great emotion,

my helpless soul is renewed.

Now he runs his eyes on a bottle with no message,

traps of plastic bags to unsuspecting fish;

already walking on a bed of rotting sea, wave

read an infinite sadness

for the few resources defense.

man who does not love, who does not love his children,

the hand that blesses him.

"Gianna Braghini (Vellore)

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Lapsus The wait

This shot is an example of "Freudian slip".
The writing on the body of the model would have to be this: http://miriamdenicolo.blogspot.com/2010/08/simona.html

while using my Chanel Rouge Passion on the cleavage of the beautiful and unsuspecting Simon, I noticed that he wrote the wrong phrase! (Laughing to no end). The funny thing is that Simon wants to know which "friend" would have to take!

addition, photos of an anonymous Venetian ...

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(photo by Jan Saudek)

When life, as it were public, is contrary to the feeling intimate and private, the risk of suffering is inevitable. Tragic.

Many of our beliefs than other people, they are based (alas) on preconceptions and prejudices, or the mere appearance. Obviously, no one bothers to ask a drug addict because you drugs? " or a girl in the street 'cause I'll prostitution. " By bringing these extreme examples mean that the real concern for the other, is something very vague. And this "other " , it will be difficult with a lot of vague neck sign writing "I suffer, help me."

overwhelmed by the thought that no one has the their lexicon, these people throw themselves at the total shambles, through forms of self-harm (clear call for help).

Who is stronger (at least apparently) manages to hide the tangle with ease and confidence within. The facade will be the same as always, maybe people happy and well disposed to the other.

I myself have come to the conclusion that without masks can not be live. Much better to close the door with three turns of his own emotions, rather than allowing the thieves to come in and do stuff.

My life has made this even more difficult, the premature death of loved ones, friends over for some kind of serious reasons (...), the balance of power with men. And it gets muted, inevitably.

And at times like these, when thoughts are elsewhere (and if they go elsewhere sinking deeper into the dark, damn), when you know the night before you will be another sleepless night, would be a scriciolo six years of struggling with a Barbie doll clothes (me in six years I used to do other tasks, but flying over) and think if you put myrrh or incense in the censer. Nothing more. Both continue to receive caresses by unknown hands ( even when already talking about "relationship") that will only see a pretty face that turns its back and the tears that are to sail.

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disillusionment

There were those who wrote novels with cafes , I limit myself to the blog this evening, after the four-stained cups of the day.
After several mental ruminations, I came to a thought, that is, given my chronic distrust, will come in life, to one of these conditions:

1. I will be alone and without a real confident that give myself and my experience

2. I I will seize the beautifully sit with a lot of "thank you" after a smile.

Only God knows, of course, if I live long enough to be able to arrive at least at the junction of these roads.

(pictured Anne Sexton)