Invitation For First Year Death Anni

after hours

the morning and find myself a kindness not bashful

in my silences and fierce animal grateful



but you shut up and hold in the flesh
the cry of my claws digging into my
signs sprouted
not smile

not your
your skin is not that touch my hands


(watch them)
tremble slightly.

Death Watch Chapter Summaries

reading anna k.

now, I thought. basically it is all a matter of imagination.

emerges slowly. I hear the echoes of an interior elegant, feminine, different from mine. a strange feeling, like watching the world from the other side. no charm, no power (his threat so masculine, so fierce), but anxiety, sadness, time digging in the body, the memories. the feeling of someone who touches you. as it must be observed to feel and see with new eyes at the same time? tell, build double bottoms existence.

(we believe to exist, and those are just words that grasp)

here as well, such as the hounds throw syllables, seize the moment to sink. a merchant that I feel at times. give me sleep, breathing, hands touching, and I will give it back images, names, anecdotes of adolescence ever eaten, privateers and gentlemen that run in the gestures, the stories of those around me.

but then - sottosotto - the ash remains ever dormant. what you do not want to admit. what they do, who needs these tales egotism, without stupid grudge, of sea sand? boy castles, towers of paper pulled up from the fear of being king. but the words leave no odor and does not weigh on the skin.

(the feeling of someone who touches you)

afraid to let it be observed, not to be chosen. the shame of the naked trees when the leaves envy. but just looking at the naked trees that you know the strength of their structure, and these are not, will never be more than joints. as the words of a blind man who tells the tale of his eyes.

and nothing. take it that way.

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folquet @ 2010-04-13T12: 31:00

slept badly.
not tell me anything, I slept badly and I could bite the throat even Bugs Bunny.

(apart from this, today is the day of relapse) I woke up this morning

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sequelae. An Englishman in Oslo

and I heard the news to see if I was alive.
said yes.

but was tigiquattro.

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Gaslight Anthem and shoot like a stupid gesture of defiance thrown in his face the day.

returned yesterday from Oslo. there is no one in Oslo, maybe does not exist. but they have particular tastes, in music. I was in a club where they danced the big boys tattooed rockabilly with the shiny shoes and white socks.

girls are all beautiful. but nobody knows where they are. except in the evening when the club said - which is called Mono - is filled with Viking dressed as Paris of the fifties.

the streets have names that always end up 'gata'. there is also a named Torga parallel to Storgata . I swear. sometimes seems to be in Rome. at every intersection of streets, exactly axiomatic, a Deli De Luca faces a 7-eleven. in third place following the Narvesen. If you split the number of Deli De Luca 7-eleven and the number of Narvesen in a given block, the result is 3.14.

one evening, following the lead, we went to eat at a restaurant frequented by the working class. the customers all had long hair, were ruddy and strong drink. women, too. at one point, a man named Bjorn made his entrance with a guitar, he boarded a small stage in back of the room and stuck to sing traditional American folk pieces. classics, such as Me and Bobby McGee . everyone danced and were happy.
in museums, however, the captions are not translated into Norwegian almost never.

dominant ethnic youth is undoubtedly represented by metalheads. their sophisticated gadgets overlooks the street from several music stores, strategically located in deprived young people. right next to Deli De Luca, exactly. but I do not mind, because when I was little I learned that the metalheads are just looking ammore.
Norway is the country dell'ammore.

Desio, however, is the land of the furniture, CL and things you'd like to do and not do, that you should first learn to drive.