How Much Is A Small Bottle Of Bacardi Coconut

loneliness

I come from another world, another neighborhood, a ' other solitude.

nowadays I try to create shortcuts. I am no longer yours. appearance of mutants.

biologically me the cable, with the idea that I am made of biology.

piss, ejaculate, I cry.

first of all we must work our ideas as if they were manufactured.

I am ready to arrange the molds, but .. the loneliness.

the molds are of a new subject, I warn you. were merged tomorrow morning

if you do not have this effect on the day of the term, it is useless to pass yourself

is useless to look ahead, because the front and back. the night is the day .. and loneliness.

the first laundromat on street corners are unperturbed,

as red or green lights.

detergent cops will tell you where you will be able to wash what you think is your conscience. and that is nothing but a bundle of nerves that serves as the brain. .. and so lonely.

despair is a superior form of criticism. for now we will call it happiness.

because you use words that are no longer words, but a kind of conduit through which the illiterate have a clear conscience. but .. the loneliness.

of the Civil Code we will discuss later.

for now I want to encode the incodificabile. I would like to measure the well of St. Patrick of your democracy. I would like to immerse myself in absolute vacuum and become the unspoken, the void, the lack of clarity for non-virgin.

clarity, me, me I keep it in the shorts.

[text by Leo Ferre, translation of anna maria castles ]

Coleman Reverse Polarity

opposition

ok, now the PD is no more, but let's not forget that there is always the Christian family. It ends. And sometimes even the Vatican and Mentone.

Bedspreads Like Urban Outfitters

So Fucking What

who knows if I ever find this film ?

Complete Denise Milani

when we were (the road / home)

He woke in the night in the cold, stood up and broke more wood for the fire. Among the shapes of the branches twinkling embers glow orange. Blew on it to revive, and poured out the wood and sat cross-legged, his back against the stone pier of the bridge. Heavy limestone blocks stacked without mortar. Above his head the structure of brown iron rust, rivets driven with a hammer, shingles and wooden planks. The sand on which he sat was warm to the touch but the fire was beyond the bitter cold of the night. He got up and dragged more wood under the bridge. He stood to listen. The baby was not moving. Sedettae beside him and stroked his hair and tangled. Gold chalice, good to house a god. Please do not tell me how it ends. When he turned back to look at the darkness beyond the bridge was snowing.

[from The Road by Cormac McCarthy ]

Someone called it a road movie in reverse. Home has the gift of simplicity. There is this family living in the countryside, where suddenly open highway. there is nothing else yet there is everything. I call it a film masterpiece.