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.