Sample Of Permission Letter To Use Songs

Day Tripper

Rome in July is a hot weather. The facades of the buildings will explode in the face, flooded with sunlight. The colors are lost in the white light, and form geometric shapes of bright light, which intersect with the black shadows of buildings, forming a picture made of broken shapes, light and shadow. Similar to the Nung river in Apocalypse Now, the road winds through the city like an electric cable, but at the end of my journey Colonel Kurtz there's no waiting, only one office of circosrcrizione, with its cool shade and the screams of dozens of people waiting for identity cards, which require a change of residence. No horror, then, can no epiphany, no dissolution only the routine of an average citizen, a number to take to put a signature.
Within the office of the town, where I expected the loud voices of other people like me. An old woman undone, with a 'unlikely hairstyle, standing behind a glass door, shouting information to the right and left, while others are crowded around with the sheets in hand, ask questions, from all the surrounding . The lady seems overwhelmed by the crowd, some have gone behind the door, I'm afraid that will not make it, I fear that succumb to the demands of citizens frustrated. I see it disappear for a moment behind the backs and heads of the users. But just when I think it's a goner, I see the crowd pushed back by angry shouts and insults. The woman comes out from behind the mass of people, such as when Bud Spencer shakes off hordes of bad guys with a cry hoarse and manly. The employee, in the wake of his newfound aggressiveness, as a kind of warrior god thunders against cazziatoni colleagues running around the door without bothering the user, while others crowd behind me pushing to enter.
The picture you have in public is always the same: two hours and a half hours in the morning and two hours of the afternoon in odd-numbered days. A lot of people with needs as diverse as it is normal that takes place in a big city. Three officials in an uninformed and incompetent are left to mix with users, while two run from room to room, showing off an air distraught and helpless.
After half an hour since I got hold of the module that serves me, the woman at the door announces the closing, they close the door, we pull over a tent and then heads to the machine that distributes the numbers, pompously called turn-o-matic ", and with the frown of those who are doing their jobs conscientiously, and began to pull out of the car all the remaining numbers. When a latecomer, I do not know which door to enter, ask to take the number, the answer can only be ultimately inevitable, dried, as only highly dysfunctional in an office like this you can hear: "I'm finished."
About an hour after the end of the monstrous turn of two and a half hours, the district does not get any more.
When my turn came to receive the document, ask the clerk three copies of the paper. She raises an eyebrow, sideways glances at me and then says sarcastically: "Of course, I make ten!" And bursts into a fat laugh. Time for action: five minutes slow. Accumulated frustration: over the alert level.
I leave the infernal boomy and pockets my scooter carrier broke through with 125, parked in the sun. The seat is likely to leave me a hot branding on the buttocks with the texture of the jeans. Reversal of the powerful medium and I'm back on the road. While across town at two in the afternoon, incattivito by recent events, I drive aimlessly at the sun dazzling, half-conscious, as if in a trance.
The heat is starting to give me head, quivering air that rises from the asphalt I see emerge, like a Fata Morgana, Brambilla minister who wants to ban the Palio because there is "ashamed" in front of foreigners. Instead she created the site to know our country is not a disgrace, where "beaches" is translated "Plagues" in French, and that "plagues". It is a shame the unemployment rate in Italy. I'm not a shame the relationship between state and mafia. It is a shame that all this does not seem to exist for our politicians. No. 'The Palio of Siena. Fuck.
Boredom. I do not know why else pushed me to find a sense of discomfort to the average citizen. Create relationships between events, the source sound of a name, read the wreckage left on the roadside as a metaphysical map of lazy, self-destructive and irresponsible, to explain the absurdity of a district office, the grim silence which surrounding the killing of state. Reading the signs, find the meanings. Activity counter that soon brings you to the block of brain function, because you know that this is uncomfortable for most of us, the best of all possible worlds. So I can only imagine a dull, yellow, trumpet crazy that impinge upon the development of my glass, which shattered the screen on which is projected this story slow and sloppy.
The sweat slides down my forehead on the glasses, tarnished view. From the heights of heaven, I seem to see Alf, the friendly alien nosed proboscis, which I called from the zenith. It kicks, smiles and invites me to climb. I realize that it's really him, holds out a hand and greets me with his characteristic "aaaaaah". I smile, I grab his grip hairy, and he lifts me, takes me in the heart of the sun, where everything gets lost in the warmth and white, where it burns everything.

Frostbite Swollen Fingers Treatment

Desert. Estranged

In memory of Manuela A Yemeni writer Abd al-Wali Muhammad

The road winds like a snake, the sun was hidden by a thin layer of clouds, and the heat that heralded in all likelihood would have been a hot summer.
My friend drove in silence, his eyes fixed on the road and occasionally shook the ashes of a cigarette through a small opening the window.
I watched the fields to my right, the white houses that darted to the side, the red-tiled roofs, some tool shed, garages. Another city flowed before my eyes in the distance as I thought of all the cities that I left, all the reports I stopped.
- I turn on the radio?

He mumbled those words as mumbles who holds the filter of a cigarette between his lips, or as someone who does not speak for a long time and slowly takes the ability to articulate.
- No, thanks.
- Whatever. Besides, you know ... you like to hurt you. The

glanced sideways, I did not know exactly what to say. I looked the seat between my legs, then pulled out the bag of tobacco and rolling papers. Rollai me a cigarette. The bright and took two big gulps. I did not know what to say. I really liked it hurt me? Leave and leave this life was to get hurt? I decided to turn on the radio. There was one of those melodies Sanremo. The piece he knew he had heard, I was unsure if it was a rip-off of The Cure or some other group eighties.

- Bella shit - he said - put a cd.

I rummaged in the glove compartment, including lighters sold out, empty boxes of records and documents of the machine.

- CCCP or Nick Cave?

- Make. So they both know by heart. I inserted

CD Abattoir Blues, while the machine was spinning fast on the highway. Pines disappeared behind us, and the heat increased, as we proceed southward.
- This country kills the ability to think and over time dulls the senses and suppress brain activity. Every day that passes we're slower, more dumb and more deaths - I murmured.
- Are you who are pessimistic. And then, once you're in America, I want to see how you do with the food of shit. And then look to neighbors, there is full of crazy!
smiled.
- We are the fools. It is crazy waiting for the bus for forty minutes and then relentlessly attacking a poor driver who makes only his work? It 's the road system that does not work, are the financial statements of companies that do not work, but we do not give a damn. We care only to the first insult that we happen before, instead of trying those responsible. We are so, instead of changing the system, we prefer to vent our frustration on the first that happens, maybe while we're at the wheel. We like to be doers, and that is why we are tolerant of those who prevails. Because if we were in his place, we would do the same thing.
- Of course I would do the same thing, forced to swallow shit, sooner or later you are tired, and when something happens that does not benefit you can earn.
- And you think this has good effects on society?
- No, do not say they have a good impact, but it's also normal that in a system based sula abuse, you also take advantage of it sooner or later.
- Sure, and then continue to consider the public good as a private interest: the copier becomes my office copier, your place in the queue becomes my place, the budget of the country becomes my budget, then there wonder if things go to hell.
From the road now you could see the sea. We left behind the Maremma with its green pastures and filavamo at full speed towards Grosseto. I want a beer and grabbed one from the ice behind the driver's seat. The can was cold, so I passed on the front in an attempt to refresh.
- You want some '?
- Thank you.
drank from the can while I held the steering wheel, then I passed it.
Out the window I saw small villages perched on hilltops, surrounded by magnificent medieval walls. I imagined what treasures of art and history were kept in the sacristy of those small towns in the distance.
- You see, in Italy we say that eighty percent of the world's artistic heritage. But there are things that are left over from earlier times and other stuff done, like all Roman antiquities. But we, Italians, what we are leaving this country? Take a ride in the center of Rome, and you'll see that falls to pieces. They say that we too many cultural assets to defend, and then invest in cultural heritage! You know how many jobs could be achieved? But no, if you go to visit a palace or a ruin, many times the guides are volunteers or low paid people. Low-paid graduates like us. We studied a lifetime trying to get a good job, and instead we face slew of unpaid internships, access to teaching is locked, and in the meantime go on English teachers who can not utter half a word. Not to mention how they are considered students. While still a student, I have spoken of all colors. I was an idealist, I had my feet on the ground, I did not understand anything in the world, that I was stoned books on the brain, and he told me the people as a solution to immigration, sought to kill them all.
- Somewhat radical. The truth is that people want the fixed place, wants to be like our parents who worked for a living in the same place, and maybe retire at forty-five. So they can spend the rest of their lives in their living rooms full of Ikea Thun animals and trinkets of wool from fifty-five €.
The deep voice of Nick Cave spread from the speakers, filling the cockpit of his melancholy: "Can you hear what I hear, babe? / Does it make you feel afraid? "
- Watch them are in their fifties now, I think of my or your parents. People completely bored by life, who has lost all hope in change and only repeats that yellow, green or red are all the same. And then going to vote for? Old eyes cleared, neurotic or supporters of the "fabulous seventies" now deliver our critical faculties to the Church just as forty years ago, was consigned by the Communist Party or the DC. Now they are like broken records that repeat the same phrases: "You young people have no ideals," "You young people do not have initiative," but do you know the way it was in my day. " Well, you know what I think? That they have no critical sense. Do not have ever had.
- I only know that we have collected all dystopias of the twentieth century literature. From Kafka to "Citizen Kane", from George Orwell to Huxley, there is no writer who was not summoned by the foreign press groped for a definition of the state in which we find ourselves. Besides, it is since I was a child I have the feeling that something is wrong. Like a David Lynch film. The shot is in full sun, and yet you know that something gruesome is about to happen. Through the window, scroll saw
cultivated fields in the distance of forest patches dotted the hills, crowned by rows of pine trees while offering their leaves in the sun of midday.
Every time I passed the Lazio countryside come to mind the ancient legends and myths Rome, and I seemed to see before my eyes: a nymph resting in the shade of the Centaurs over there who galloped down the hillside, and everywhere the spirits of nature that interfere with the dreams of some unwary traveler.
- certainly in Italy there are many things that do not go, but I think there you will find an ideal world? In America, any asshole can buy a gun to the supermarket, and then you saw them too documentaries of Michael Moore, think only of the health system they have, and tell me if it feels right.
- It 's where you're wrong, I'm not looking for any ideal world, but only for a job. I want to have the opportunity to earn a living with fruits of my work, my research. My lab has closed, and if I say good for the next contest I find myself inside three generations of unemployed people in line for a place. I have thirty-three, do you think I still have time to invent a new job? I spent nine years to become a researcher and now what should I do? Throw out all the air and recycled in a job which I know nothing? I'm sorry, but I will not kill a system that eats the dreams of the citizens and shit eco-monsters of cement.

The machine was spinning faster towards Rome. I drove in silence, savoring the last hours in the company of my friend. I was silent, not to betray the violence of my emotions. Advancing toward the capital, breathed a strong mixture of water, resin and dry grass, and I knew that he would try all the beaches in the smell of America, without ever finding the same, and I also knew that our relationship would continue through the screen of a computer Skype connected. He, too, would become an electronic presence, like other friends before he found a few birthday party over the loudspeaker and the video of a laptop. I knew what he believed in his dream, as he had studied and worked, and how much he had learned what he wanted to leave his job. But his laboratory was closed after two three months, and all his knowledge, would not have been anything to anyone. If it would be taken away, like a precious plant seeds to be planted in a land more fertile, and where he had worked, it would be advanced in the desert.

Skin Indentations On The Face

IMPOTENCE

The greatest misery of man

is able to do so little

for those he loves.

B. Pascal

Seagrams 100 Pipers Scotch Lamp

The stormy sea. You can not fight against the sea, you can not win the fury of the elements by force of arms. Maybe that's why mine have started to hurt. Sooner or later the sea has the upper hand, and his blue body of water covers you. Everything you see is a roof while sinking of water that leaves more and more, while all around begins to get dark. Increasingly dark and sink, my heart beats fast and you feel in your ears, anxiety rises even more and the surface of leaves. Only then will you realize just how strong the water, hard, tangible, and dark. You wonder how the fish can live in such a hostile element, and as you sink their lidless eyes staring at you, and it hurts their eyes, because it is the blank look of the inevitability of fate. Yes, because when it sank after a while 'you can not breathe, and there's no way to fight even against your body wants to breathe at all costs, and does not care if breathing water or air to breathe and enough, and then starts absorbing water. Do not you hear salty in your mouth, you hear only the impact of the liquid in the mouth, stomach and then finally into the lungs. You fill with water and then you think that you loose in the sea, and then you think that it is not so bad, and you think you destroy you in the blue giant, but the problem is the while, the while, the time between the first puff liquid and the last thought that crosses your mind, the time that passes while you see the sky disappear behind the water, and depth that moves forward without showing points of arrival, without even the consolation of knowing where it touches the bottom.
Someone said that we are creatures of land, but this is incorrect, the earth is the only point of support of our feet, but the man is and remains a creature of the air, we are made to breathe air, not land, who the fuck said that we are creatures of the earth? Fish breathe water, so they are aquatic animals, the air we breathe, the air so we are animals. The fact that we do not fly like birds, in my opinion, is not sufficient to deprive us of our citizenship Pet aircraft. And then, without land, also militate where the birds lay eggs? A sign that the whole theory of the elements has to be redone.
Someone said that when you die review all your life, your life in a second, looks like a fucking spot. Even now, I'm dying, I think about slogans and I die, I console myself, is only a matter of minutes. Stop. I make jokes like Bruce Willis action film, but they are terrified.
I was born in the 80s, when guys wore their bandanas and eight hundred watches on the arms. When it was all colorful and invented the neon lights. When were jackets with wide shoulders, and even a simple municipal employee seemed Mazinga, when the Berlin Wall separating East and West more clearly into good and bad, when it was tivvù and Uncle Creepy Tales from the Crypt When were the glam rock and big hair, and it seemed as if everything glittering last forever. Listen to the last album of Guns N 'Roses and it talk about it. Stop number two.
Children of the 80s have grown up listening to Madonna and Cindy Lauper, saying, "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" and Madonna at the time still had eyebrows attached. Then there was Rocky, who broke his ass to everyone who took cartload of punches in the face but then always won, because he put us to the heart, as well as the face. Stallone was also Rambo, who was traumatized by a war and kill you all because they would not give him a job, and then he started a war against the world ended and the sheriff shot him in the balls. Who was born in the 80's grew up knowing he was special, he grew up playing with the Master, the "Masters of the Universe" and what remained of the secular and democratic ideas advocated in the previous two decades. But while all lost the burr on the pictures of Cindy Crawford were preparing the 90's, the period of grunge and adolescent depression. We were depressed because we did not become the star, because we understand that there is a limit to who can take punches in the face, because even if you shoot the sheriff lodanno you do not work, because we realized that the beautiful ideas of our fathers had turned into bigotry and careerism, because we have stopped wearing jackets with wide shoulders and then we realized what we were kids. The Berlin Wall has fallen, along with many other walls. Colonized by three hundred years have poured into our capital, and everyone was afraid. People have stopped walking the streets because there were the "Moroccan". At first I thought it was a Moroccan trade, such as "shoemaker" or "stick", then I said no, it was a job, the job of the Moroccan "vucumprà.
But we who are born in the eighties, we knew we were special. And then we found out to be for real. We can work for two hundred euro per month in places called "call center", and kept at thirty years from our families by continuing to ask for money as kids, postponing our fulfillment until a later date. Paraphrasing Ginsberg I saw the best minds of my generation wasted, squandered on corporate unpaid internship with the promise of a fixed-term contract that never comes. And then I saw the best minds of my generation to go abroad for good, where at least there is the idea of \u200b\u200bdevelopment. In my country I have seen the disappearance of the industry, and I saw monsters cement deface the most beautiful beaches in the world, because in my country go forward only manufacturers and scoundrels. Better if the two categories are covered by one person. Agriculture is already gone some time ago to make room for the industry, and what remains and survives thanks to the illegal hiring immigrants. But all they want to send home. Everyone is talking about protecting the family, but then bring the following to their former foreign caregiver.
I lunge, fuck, and I do not know where I'll end up. I sink and I can not breathe and now I can not even stop to think about life that I lived, even now leaves me thinking that it could be better, different, a place that I deserve to be star of law, that I lived in extravagantly but above all fun, that I would woo a woman doing the moonwalk. But then Michael Jackson was undone as a form of Madame Tussaud in the microwave, and then he died that all his dreams was just a brand. I'm
drowning and I see black, the deep swallow me and I would think again, I would have said half of what I think, I wish I'd done a third of what I imagine, but I can not, it's too late, and the deep sea is rising, I swallow. It 's dark. It 's late. It '...

33 Weeks Pregnant And Constant Sore Stomache

Ko-ko

Luke closed the door of the apartment with four quick turns of the key. The gray light of a new day filtered through the windows of the stairs. He turned and quickly threw on the steps leading to the ground floor. It was six and twenty, and he was exactly on time. By calculating the travel times of the means that would take him to work, would arrive on time in the office at eight-thirty.
He woke up angry, and would remain so throughout the day, just out of habit he tried not to think about it and so did not notice the fact that as he descended the stairs he was beating up on the railing with his fist closed.
While waiting for the bus watched the peeling walls of the building opposite the bus stop, also noted the sewer clogged with dirty water which flows emanating stench of sewage, and the faces hanging on Monday, struggling with boredom Sunday, punctuated by programs on the duration exaggerated, in which millions of Italians deliver their dull lives dreaming dreams that did not belong.
come to an end metro Battistini, from there it took half an hour exact terms of travel, then would take the line "B" to Laurentina and from there he would wait for an unspecified time the bus that would take him to the office , where he worked as a graphic electronic. Regardless of any injury Luca was not the classic "nerd", had a sleek, agile body and over time he learned to detest his work, which was to give shape and substance to the illusion of an era founded on the primacy of the image . One of his last tasks had consisted in the creation of a advertisement for a cosmetics company, where he saw a woman who like a snake broke the old and wrinkled skin of older people to be reborn as a comely and desirable twenties.
While he was standing in the subway car, pressed like a sardine between briefcases twenty-four hours and fragrances sick, watching a panel of the car hanging on one side allowing glimpses of the cables. Every time the train from a station off again, the cables made contact, emitting two tones are identical to the first two notes of "Also Sprach Zarathustra" by Strauss. He remembered that monkey of a hand, waving a bone, crumbled bones of other animals. Bone on bone, splinters, blows and violence, and then grunts and threats and even bones that break down bone. He went down to
Laurentina where a woman bumped into him with force sending him crashing into the escalator. The woman did not say "excuse me" and he was too sleepy to send her to draw, but the violent hatred. She allowed hatred and nihilistic end in itself that it is for every good citizen, and without even thinking about it led to his hatred of work, mighty hate silent fact of everyday frustration, armor and sword together.
joint office crawled up your badge, handing his identity anonymous alphanumeric goalkeeper plastic and silicon placed at the entrance. He reached his desk and starts the operating system. Once, many years before, was reassuring the shiny side of the monitor, user interface of icons that opened the door to the world of crystalline texture and wire-frame, but has long felt tired. Tired of quell'ostruzione carry around in your gut, and that feeling of being adrift, in constant search of a missing piece, drifting on a life without a face.
- What is new?
The voice of my colleague did emerge from his thoughts.
- Eh?
- I mean, that bruise is new? - Claudio said, pointing to his hand.
- How? Yes, I've done last night.
- Thai Boxing?
- Yes, yes ...
- Of course you have a lot of courage, but you see his face?
- No ... what? And then I said it a thousand times not to break my balls.
- Look Luke, I just want to get this you've already had two reminders for those fucking livid. But why do you do?
- I've explained, it helps me keep in touch with reality.
- Listen, and if tonight, come out of here, bring your ...
- I told you, leave me alone!
- How do you want ... Look dick, the chief of staff is coming, hide in the bathroom for a while '.
- Oh shit, but you see much?
- dick Yes, now go.
The bathroom light came on with a shake. The acrid smell of disinfectant gave him a headache. He looked the mirror for the first time since he woke up.
The nose, which had never been straight, showed a marked curvature to the left, and appeared yellowish. Cheekbone right stands a huge bruise bluish, while the eyelid of the right eye was purple due to a shedding of blood.
He looked at his hands under the neon lights, he saw that had the usual abrasions on the knuckles and not heeded.
As he watched his face butchered was running his fingers over the skin by pushing a bit 'on the bruises. When the download of pain to the brain smiled, happy to be alive. That massacre was to be the result of the right hook that had knocked out yesterday. Remembered yet the impact, "tac" dry knuckles against the skull, the fist that had thunder in his ears, then the bright lights of the gym and then the smell of feet of the mat. He remained prone on the ground for five minutes before getting up, but he seemed like a much longer time, in which he had enjoyed the short circuit of its nerve fibers, the pleasure from the release of endorphins that dazed, reassuring touch body on earth. Then he remembered the opponent's hand that helped him to recover from the ground, his lips moving, perhaps to articulate a few words of apology. He spent the rest of the evening in his empty house, watching television, which broadcast programs that do not interest him. His memory had recorded something like 30-40 different spots, two of which were his work, commercials that someday they would overlook the forefront of his consciousness, into some kind of occasion. Maybe one day, at the wheel of his car, he said, "the natural essences of Ginko Biloba" without even knowing why. It remained seated while to fix all that garbage, he enjoyed the pleasure of endorphins in her brain, her pain into her face, her body was hers alone, and that reminded him of being in pain, and then still alive.
the morning he woke with a advertising jingle in my head, and had heard the news. They said the strong economy boosts, and that the crisis of the past three years was only a memory. Too bad that half of his friends had lost their jobs in those three years, while the other half had fled abroad. Many fifties the illusion that their clothes and their gold chains were unequivocal signs of well-being, while their children or unemployed precarious to storm the employment centers in search of jobs with monthly contracts. The reality hit high in the eyes of the people, but the screen built in twenty years of illusions was hard to break, and mediocrity is becoming more of a value to be promoted, while he was struggling not to get narcotized by the dream of someone else.
Many times he wanted to cry when he remembered what made him sad, if not take it anymore, when she felt alone in the world. The first hiccup saliva dark and dull on the throat, but this lasted only until the next billboard, which swept away the thought and kept back the tears in the stomach. Mostly everything you gave was the hatred, but we blame him? Sadness is a feeling delicate, which pushes for recollection and reflection, not easy to be competitive.
emerged from the bathroom just as the chief of staff was returning to his office.
Although the narrator of this story do not ask What went into Luke's head when his superior rebuked him. I do not know what could be the clinamen able to overturn the table of reason, bringing down the house of cards of the roles and social conventions.
I only know that Luke reached out directly to the face of his boss, who ended up on the ground from behind. In the midst of the gentlemen paralyzed in amazement, Luke sat down on his knees straddling the man's chest, and began to hit him. While butchered his face there was the splashing of the knuckles into the semi-liquid mixture of what had until a moment before had been a mouth. Mindfulness of Luke was totally like a monaco zen that sweeps away the dry leaves from threshold of the temple. He finished thoroughly destroy what until recently was a face, with patience, serenity and suitable method to compose a Tibetan mandala. He realized he had his hard cock. Grind to a pulp on his head was the best thing he ever did, and he was proud because perhaps for the first time in his life he felt like a real man, totally in control of his act and totally willing to accept the consequences of his actions.
When the police took him away and let him sit in the car, Luke leaned back against the seat. She fell asleep within minutes, with a smile on my lips, twining around the cars while their dystonia in a horn heartbreaking.

Clearing The History On Direct Tv Dvr

Laughter perfect if

E 'know, for people like me who has a passion for anything that smacks of ancient, exotic and uncertain, that in the book "The meadows of gold" written by Arab historian Abu al-Hasan Ali ibn al-Husayn ibn Ali al-Mas'ud, have collected a lot of facts about the ancient world, even before the banner of Islam were to succeed in punctuating the sands of the Arabian peninsula, waving first in military camps, and then in the utopian city resulting from the human dream of establishing a universal order on this earth. The Abbasid Baghdad
was certainly a brilliant attempt to realize this dream, if it is true, as there is reason to believe that the palace should Caliphate, with its concentric walls in imitation of those of ancient Babylon, representing the orbits of the nine planets, with wagons with torches acts to walk the perimeter, simulating the natural course of the stars in the sky. At the center of this wall stood the palace of the Caliph, the vicar of the Prophet, counterpart of the Sun, the center of human existence. Al-
Mas'udi was probably the very embodiment of this shining civilization, and while it is true that it feeds his intellect hungry for knowledge, we must recognize the man paying for not only his country but the entire world, for the fortunes that the lot fell. Philologist according to the custom of the time, he was well accustomed to the philosophical texts of Plato and Aristotle, Al Farabi and Razi, the medical science of Galen, the mathematics of 'India and astronomy of Ptolemy. He also had a way to travel the four corners of the globe, reaching perhaps as far as China and Sri Lanka, collecting as much as he could of the customs and the genius of the people he visited, and then make a gift to the memory of humanity so that his text full of wonder as to insinuate a suspicion in the minds of historians dell'inattendibilità ill prepared.
Luck, or the case, wanted I imbattessi in an ancient incunabulum found among the sands of Mali, after careful consideration was undoubtedly due to the "Golden Meadows" illustrious learned Arabic, and could go to enrich his work with important new pages, which show through the words of an unknown traveler, the facts of a people located somewhere beyond the river Oxus, known today as the Amu Darya, in the Turkmenistan. From the ancient chronicles it is easy to imagine that the river should be the Arab nations for a more impenetrable boundary of homegrown Pillars of Hercules, because over the course of the Oxus to the traveler would have found the frozen north steppes of Russia, while to the east would have had to overcome asprissime mountains and arid, and then come Orrido Taklamakan Desert, whose name would mean, according to the Uyghur people, "If I go not go out anymore." E 'for the symbolic value of this limit then, that would at least recklessly groped to draw a map of the places described in these pages, and humbly rely on the memories and wisdom of the great Arab scholar. At
Mas'udi back then the words of a traveler, whose name is a philological puzzle, describing his experience as follows:
"From a camp near Tashkent, and after having consulted the heavens, We followed the path towards the constellation Taurus. By Aldebaran to guide us marched for seven months and five weeks to the Levant, until we came to a people excelled in the art of divination, so that their entire civilization is based on an oracle in book form. Within its pages there is only one letter, but only trigrams composed of symbols that seem elusive governed by their own logic. The cover of this book consists of two tables covered with small mirrors, arranged so as to break up the reflection of what there is in front, so that anyone who approaches the oracle to know the future, would see the reflection in the mirror first its uncertainty, and the second one at your dismay.
In this regard, I intend to bring a matter that concerns an ancient king of that land is said that they wanted to go to war with the unruly nomadic tribes that surrounded its territories, in order to place them all under the empire of peace and order, but fearing to fail in the enterprise. Therefore called the wisest among its magi, to query the oracle. The king said: I have to go to war with the tribes of the steppe to secure peace for ourselves and our children. Said the magician then consult the oracle, so you can find in your victory.
The king did as he was told, made the troops and called the generals, but upon leaving the curb doubt. I call him the wizard a second time, saying: In truth I perceive my intentions behind the failure. Said the magician then consult the oracle, so you can find in your loss.
The king did as he was told, disbanded troops and dismissed the generals, but in a few months, its cities were invaded and looted by nomadic tribes. He called it the magician for the third time, and said I want to be remembered for bringing peace to this land. Said the magician then consult the oracle for as long as you need it, and you'll know exactly what to do.
Months went by and the years, changed even the constellations in the sky, and finally the king went to war against his enemies. His troops were defeated, and he himself died in battle, but it is said that when he died, was the happiest man in the world and wiser.
asked what was the meaning of this story, and I said to the fathers of our fathers, hundreds of years ago, wanted to create this prophecy that the world envies us, because it is the answer to each question, the cornerstone of the heavenly decree, the intension of each extension. But the past eras and obscure the real reason why the oracle was created, so that today our people spend their lives trying to interpret the arcane symbols to steal the secret of creation, and yet we die from disease, hunger, famine, sorrow.
In truth the oracle does not give answers. It 'a system of signs that suggest the logic, but that does not preach anything. It was designed in imitation of the absurd created to flatter the man's mind and lead to frustration. Only when they fall patterns can develop the perfect laugh that shakes the very core of existence. Only in this way, Oracle has really all the answers. "Thus spoke the
travelers. And thus ends the writing of al-Mas'udi.
Since then much has changed, the old Baghdad lies in the sand, old Foggia new dream jewels, and other wisdom awaits, somewhere, to be brought to light, while oblivion covers the latest findings. The man continues to roll out its network in the world with holes to catch the sense of being, in the absurd nature of everything is indifferent to his efforts. As for me, I am now a prisoner of my own network, unable to grasp anything except through the words of the books along the back roads of the time trying to understand the present, always in search of meaning, always misled by language in Meanwhile, I forgot myself, the sound of my own voice.
Who of you has the courage to feel, I dedicate this my writing.

Why Are My Gums Greyish Then Red

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