Yudhisthira

Gogol Bordello gig Hammersmith Apollo

2007-12-10T03:40:00.000+01:00

Last night Lucaman, Niko and I went to Gogol Bordello gig in Hammersmith Apollo, London. There was a mad story that had to go on, cuz of course we felt a bit gipsy inside. We got to the place with some rhum into da stomach and as soon as we got into the huuuuge arena and noticed that we could not jump down in the dance hall from the sits we had we realized we had to invent a genial great escape. We tried all fire exists but they all brought us outside. So we went back to the dance hall entrance and I managed to jump in (very naughty). So I get into the dance hall and the guys get back upstairs find the fire exit get the fuck out and get the fuck in again from the dance hall fire exit that I opened for them from in.
ahahaha.
And then just - three hours of the best energy a music group can ever give its audience.
Thanks Gogol Bordello - never stop your supertheory of supereverything cuz you get me joyful.

and I promise my marriage will never end up like this.

However we did end somehow fucked - we were wet as if we had just came out of a bath. We, thus, took our tshirts off and kept only sweaters on.
When we went back into the tube we, therefore, did our 'loundry'.

Have you ever been to American wedding?
Where is the vodka, where's marinated herring?
Where is the supply that gonna last three days?
Where is the band that like Fanfare.
Gonna keep it goin' 24 hours

Ta-tar-ranta-ta-ta
Super taran-ta taran-ta ran-ta ta

Instead it's one in the mornin'
and DJ is patchin' up the cords
Everybody's full of cake
Staring at the floor
Proper couples start to wonder
That it's time to do
People gotta get up early
Yep, they gotta go
People gotta get up early
And she'd gotta boyfriend
And this whole fucking thing
Is just a one huge disappointment

Ta-tar-ran-ta

Nothing gets these people going
not even Gypsy Kings
nobody talks about my Supertheory
of Supereverythings!
SO be you Donald Trump
Or be an anarchist
Make sure that your wedding
Doesn't end up like this

I understand the cultures
Of a different kind
But here word celebration
Just doesn't come to mind

December 07 column for Kazin

2007-12-06T19:18:00.000+01:00

‘This is not a bar’ – bears an old wrecked black door on Sclater St, a cross road of Brick Lane.
Suddenly, with a squawk, the old door opens and a funny jovial face twinkles from behind: “Come in, it is a bar!”
Jenny and me look into each other’s eyes, say “why not”, and walk in. A whole mysterious world opens up for us: the black painted walls are decorated with the most improbable objects, from crucified teddy bears to mannequins decorated with bondage and all sorts of ornaments.
Behind the bar counter – which is actually a overturned closet – is an old Jamaican man all formally dressed up; brown hat, glasses, tie, brown coat and a soft groomed white beard. He would be the perfect grandpa I never had and looks like a rose among rabbits, completely out of place.
We get some rhum and coke and start chatting with some guys. Behind us is an amazing fireplace with a real real fire – not like those fake gas fireplaces that every London’s house bears as totem.
The place looks a bit as those cabins hanged on the peak of a snow-covered mountain in which people love to spend New Years Eve.
But there is no snow, no mountain, no new year, just a bunch of highly differentiated drunken people with a different skin colour and sight.
The atmosphere is of the most intimate ones – only candles’ light illuminates people’s smiles and chats and I, inspired by it, find myself wrapped into political and humanitarian conversations with people I never met before but – it seems – I knew from a past life.
Sip after sip Jenny and me surprise ourselves drunk and while turning on others we notice that the whole place is an ensemble of laughing happy people. It was long time I didn’t feel so good, I feel like screaming of joy. All problems seem to have disappeared because I have found the place I have been searching for too long in London. Pubs are always full of loud drunk violent people that cannot even talk to each others because the volume of music is too bloody high – so, in absence of communication, they end up beating each others up.
Clubs are cool, of course, but also the most alienating places on earth in which a crowd of droids move all in the same ways following a same music. I love to dance, but remember – dancing in London clubs is perfect if you wanna stay with yourself, only.
And then there is ‘this is not a bar’, a squat, an illegal venue but still the bar of my dreams, in which everything is permitted – painting around, smoking, chatting, dancing – and where the only rule to follow is socialization.
The whole alienation of the metropolis is cracked down in a 50 metres square – not even – squat. And I love that, tonight. When, from the main room I walk into the minor one I find Sean, one of the bar tenders, painting over a strange object – something like the back of a white skin sofa or head support of some hospital’s bed - and I am still wondering what the hell was that thing.
However, Sean was writing ‘this is not a bar’ on it, using a mixture of oil, spray and acrylic colours.
He then turns and give me the only brush available. I go on painting a landscape of London and writing some other funny sentences such as ‘new culture of peace’. While doing that I hear I whisper on my neck “this is so sexy” – obviously this has been what I heard after too many rhum and coke, reality perception is twisted and sphongled. I turn and encounter a weird charming man with big 1980s glasses and a typical British style of speaking and moving. He picks up the brush and while saying “it is so sexy to see a woman painting” paints a kind of teeth plate. I open my mouth (after having recognize that symbol which decorates many walls of East London) and say: “Wow, so it is you who paint those teeth around!Why do you paint teeth?”
“I love teeth I think they are so attractive – and I got arrested so many times because of following my passion.”
I feel a mixture of surprise and joy – I just met one of the most famous graffiti artists of London. I had been wondering months upon the identity behind those teeth graffiti and now the mind who creates them was there, in front of me, smiling from behind his huge glasses.
He goes home and I start meeting new people and people I had met in other occasions too. It is incredible how East London can pick up the same dynamics of a village when squeezed into ‘this is not a bar’ squat.
The old black painted bricks of the place even remind me of the tavern of my home town and they contribute with making me feel at home. Because this is what ‘this is not a bar’ bar makes people feel like: being into your house living room. Obviously a bit of a revised one – but with a bit of imagination, using as base the fireplace, sofas and wooden floor of it – you can really feel embraced by peace. People in there are peaceful, maybe because they are not forced to scream in order to exchange some ideas. This is why every time I walk out of it (most of times when sun is rising and a new day is greeting the city) I feel like a pirate with a new plunder – it being a new strategy for stop poppies cultivation in Afghanistan, an artist showing me her amazing sketches or a Japanese break dancer planning his trip to Venice. It had happened, then, that at 5 in the morning of a Saturday I ended up doing make up for the actresses of a music video. All boosted by ‘this is not a bar’ creative vortex. Our present, while passing our nights there, is history. Soon or later the Council of London would make ‘this is not a bar’ not a bar anymore, abandoning its skeleton among skyscrapers.
But our memories, as puckish ghosts, will make him company – for ever.

fifth column for Kazin

2007-11-28T23:53:00.000+01:00

My name is Oliver and I am an urban explorer.
You must all wonder what does that mean. Well, my favourite hobby is going around cities and exploring abandoned places. What got me into it is the attraction towards the derelicts that our progress leaves behind. I do not know if you ever entered an abandoned factory – the atmosphere that reigns inside it is simply surreal. It is an artificial place in which different stories had happened and the weight of all the activities that the place hosted give an identity to the place as a defined being. There was something of post modernity in the fashion of building huge sumptuous lofts in old factories. There was an amazing beauty in seeing features of skyscrapers and old houses face to face. But now, today, in the London that is getting ready for the Olympics there is something sick about building up. I live in Shoreditch, east London. Off Shoreditch you find Brick Lane – what was called few months ago the new heart of London. Now, this is a heart that is hosting the best experiments of postmodernism in terms of architectural rearrangement of internal spaces of old fabrics. Brick Lane was in fact the biggest area of brick factories of the city. Today it is a place that hosts the coolest pubs, clubs and venues. The last derelict buildings are about to die. In the whole area the massive wish to build more and more is condemning to death some gorgeous houses. One of those, located in front of the Tea Bar, that is on its last days. They have already demolished a third of it. This is the case in which an urban explorer gets into action. Digital camera and craziness is all an urban explorer needs. Then is just him and the space to explore. Up on scaffolding we were two urban explorers getting more and more emotional the more we would climb up the house. We then reached the roof and spoke to the house. “We feel sorry you will cease to exist in a week time”, my friend said.
From the roof the panorama it was breath taking. But there is something of an immense beauty and an immense ugliness at the same time: the new skyscraper of London. Behind it is the cucumber of Norman Foster. However the new skyscraper will be massively high and it is already facing the sky in a way no other buildings do here. All glass and height. Simply glass and high as if we are transparently admitting our wish to touch God. And to do that – look how funny – we are destroying our memories, our roots, our small old houses.
Bricks. Why should we keep using bricks when we can just do a steel and glass stairway to heaven?
Let’s do a bet. Go to pass your fingers on an old brick wall and pass them on a glass wall. Brick Lane against Moorgate. Try the difference. Feel the texture. There is a weird smell of history bumping out of the humid bricks of old houses. On the other hand the glass will tell you much – a bit of an artificial perfume. A rose from a garden against cheap and chic by Moschino. Both amazingly poetic. When I go back home and I watch the pictures that I took during the exploration I just feel good. I have some memories trapped in my computer. I can print them: the building (a creature) will keep living in those images. Memories. Memories. And memories can become a creature again in the form of a picture. I dream of a big open air exhibition around the whole of Hackney in which my pictures will be printed as big as the huge advertising of Intimissimi and in stead of naked women posing there people will walk the streets and see the buildings that once where there. Imagine…Imagine a time in which the City of London will be composed of glass – only glass – and the walls of it will be decorated with huge pictures of the old brick buildings. Such a high poetry elevated to the sky. In the dream of scratching god mind I will hope to see the ghost of hackney road’s old buildings (that will be all demolished in few months time) elevated on the wall of our skyscrapers. Because we have to scratch the sky. Get up to god. To the minor god of a multiple multinationality of a big mixture of all cultures and all dreams. London is a bit of this: a mixture of all dreams of all humans. And I. And I love to explore that tunnel.

London Tattoo Convention 2007

2007-10-10T22:15:00.000+02:00

mo coppoletta family business

London Tattoo Convention 2007

2007-10-10T22:00:00.000+02:00

A great artist

London Tattoo Convention 2007

2007-10-10T21:47:00.000+02:00

I have got my new camera, Nikond40....and there we go

2007-07-02T22:47:00.000+02:00

I am becoming smoothed by too much studin'

2007-05-24T20:48:00.000+02:00

messenger conversation between me and vlora

2007-05-12T18:43:00.000+02:00

I was telling her something but she was busy and she told me to wait. But look how it came out.

me: "I would love to have more time to read these globalization stuff more in depth. But I don't have time."

vlora: "wait"

fourth column for "Kazin"

2007-05-12T13:15:00.000+02:00

Tonight I was bored of London and human beings.
I went into a cool place on the corner between Old Street and Great Eastern Street: there are scaffolding around but the owners are that creative that they folded with wood and graffiti.
You pass by there and feel the urge to get in.
However, I had pass in front of it for a whole year and never entered, I waited for the right occasion.
If you pass by, do it soon – not like me.
Then you enter and you are suddenly embraced by one of the most incredible places I ever been to.
And you feel you are not bored of London anymore, and you think that human beings could actually be captivating.
Big television cables are used as ceiling and among some old sofas there are artists and short wooden tables.
On a wall there are pictures of Africa, while on the opposite some intriguing maze like paintings.
On the side of the counter a small space for the dj is created with walls done with old broken computers.
If you follow the cables you get to a big basement of four big rooms full of art installations and weird people playing improvised music with guitars, violins and clarinet flutes.
I sat there with a friend from Nazareth and I started telling him about London. Look at us, I said, we are here and we pretend not to see all these interesting people surrounding us. I would love now to talk to them. But we never get the chance, because everyone in London is supposed to live in his small world. London is a universe of small worlds. You can meet everyone, but you do not. We walk everyday elbow to elbow and we pretend to be stranger, we pretend that that physical contact did not take place – that physical contact is not a contact.
But this is absurd, people are alienated and their only way of surviving is becoming more and more alone – more and more stranger to others.
If from one side people are trying to gather together they do it in antisocial places like clubs, for example. And they take antisocial drugs, like amphetamines. Synthetic drugs belong to a synthetic world and a synthetic music of which London is the empire. An empire of loneliness.
Too much together but nothing gets shared. If you actually go and walk the streets of London you will get a lot of sights, emotions, sensations, smiles from people but all these contacts are sudden and when you lie down in your bed at night you feel full but empty.
So I thought we should create in London a different place – and there is one up in Kingsland Rd, the Melange Collective. But, I think, we, Londoners, we should create another one.
There are too many clubs in London and they are all so standardized. It is impressive – synthetic world with synthetic sensations people are searching their souls but they get it lost again by taking amphetamines in prisons – clubs.
If you actually think about it you might have fun dancing in a London club but after a bit you will feel just the four walls of that artificial cage of fun and the sweat of people.
So, I think we should create a new place. I had a vision of this new place. I want a place in which people can gather together and not be bored of each other, in which the creativity of each of us will come out and shine of uniqueness. I want a place in which you do not need to take an amphetamine to find your soul because you will be there to donate your soul to others. I want a place covered up in art.
And now I tell you how.
It will be a place that will have not real walls. It will be build up with old screens of computer and from the outside it will be just covered with a particular metal foil. Around there will be a garden with coloured lights and their colours will reflect in dozen of imaginary lullabies dancers.
Then from the inside each computer screen will have a different video art record and the whole place will just look like a harmony of colours and images. The floor must be just wood and the ceiling, oh, I would love a glass ceiling to see the stars out of it. I do not want any clocks because the time should not be counted in there. Music will flow among screens and huge speakers and people will dance happy. There should be a basement all white where everyone can paint on the walls and around, play, do theatre or whatever installation.
I would love people to know that by building such a place, we would avoid the dumping of all our old computers to the third world.
I would love to see people happy because of this, I would love to see people understanding that our objects do have a soul too. That we cannot just use a computer and when we do not like it anymore we dump it to Nigeria. One day, that computer will come back to us. He will knock at our doors.
I would build a disco labyrinth done up of computers and leave the Third World clean.
I would love to see Londoners happy to dance inside a labyrinth of computer and souls, and smile, hand in hand.

exhibition of Gamelo Azuro

2007-05-11T00:46:00.000+02:00

2007-05-10T23:33:00.001+02:00

Poetry of William Blake

LONDON

I wander through each chartered street,
Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
A mark in every face I meet,
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

In every cry of every man,
In every infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forged manacles I hear:

How the chimney-sweeper's cry
Every blackening church appals,
And the hapless soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down palace-walls.

But most, through midnight streets I hear
How the youthful harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born infant's tear,
And blights with plagues the marriage hearse.

wisdom - communication is wisdom

2007-05-10T02:05:00.000+02:00

"Socrates asserted there was a third, even deeper way to discern truth, and this was through dialogue. It was his conviction, carried forward by Plato, that the deepest way to perceive truth was neither through revelation nor through science, even though he honored both these pathways. For Socrates, it is when seekers come together and discuss the profound questions of existence in a spirit of deep inquiry that the truth is perceived most deeply. It was this perception that informed how Socrates conceived of wisdom itself."

This is what I mean - why we never sit down in this LondON to discuss the profound questions of existence?

2007-05-10T01:00:00.000+02:00

I am bored of london and human beings.
Is this normal?

I am bored of this standardization of place of people of speeches...
I am bored of going out and seeing not-social human beings I am bored of seeing mad faces I am bored of seeing non-communication.

I am bored - so bored that I miss Italy and my village as I never though I could.

Developmental Psychology exam

2007-05-08T19:30:00.000+02:00

Tomorrow I will do my first exam at City: developmental psychology.
I fell weird towards this psychology....I think I should invent a new science that integrates globalization.

antrosociopsychoglobology

2007-05-07T16:15:00.001+02:00

Free counter

arte povera - rubbish

2007-04-28T15:38:00.000+02:00

Last night I did the biggest painting I ever did.
With a curtain found on London's road.

lorenzo's tattoo by Amanda Toy

2007-04-26T19:37:00.000+02:00

we knew Amanda is a genius.......

2007-04-25T18:23:00.000+02:00

fucking english fucking english fucking english.

read this and tell if I have to read this things in a such complicated way at 17.24pm.

for here as elsewhere it is by no means necessary that the freedom of man be reflected in his emotional life as comfort.

and if

2007-04-25T17:24:00.000+02:00

do u ever think of a life with no clock?

who is Yudhisthira?

2007-04-22T22:09:00.000+02:00

I just realized is long time I have this blog and never explained from who it was inspired.

I took this piece about Yudhisthira here:
http://www.prabhupada.com/king.html

In the great epic Mahabharata, Maharaja Yudhisthira, the son of Dharmaraja is the embodiment of all good qualities. For this reason, he is often referred to as Ajatasatru, one who has no enemies. In many conversations Yudhisthira reveals his deep understanding of the Vedic scriptures and their practical applications. One day while living in exile in the forest, Yudhisthira finds that while attempting to drink water from a lake, all his brothers have been killed by a mysterious Yaksha (a celestial entity). When Yudhisthira arrives the Yaksha challenges him to answer all his questions or else face the same consequences as his brothers. These questions-answers are like Vedic sutras, short, pithy and practical and deal with piety and religiosity.

Yaksha:: Who is really a helpful companion?

Yudhisthira: Steady intelligence is a very good friend and can save one from all dangers.

Yaksha: How can one acquire something very great?

Yudhisthira: Everything desirable can be attained by the performance of austerity.

Yaksha: What is amrita (nectar)?

Yudhisthira: Milk is just like nectar.

Yaksha: What is the friend bestowed upon man by the demigods?

Yudhisthira: Wife is such a friend.

Yaksha: What is the best of happiness?

Yudhisthira: True happiness comes as a result of contentment.

Yaksha: Why does one give in charity to brahmanas, artists, servants and kings?

Yudhisthira: For religious merit, prestige, maintenance and protection, respectively.

Yaksha: Why does one forsake friends?

Yudhisthira: Lust and greed drives one to forsake friends.

Yaksha: What is the only food?

Yudhisthira: The cow is the only food, for the milk that she produces is used to make ghee (clarified butter), which is used to perform sacrifices, pleased by which the demigods give rain, which causes the grains to grow. Therefore it should be understood that the cow is the root cause of all kinds of food.

Yaksha: What is the king of knowledge?

Yudhisthira: Knowledge pertaining to the Supreme Personality of Godhead is the king of all kinds of knowledge.

Yaksha: What is ignorance?

Yudhisthira: Not knowing one's constitutional duty.

Yaksha: What is the best bath?

Yudhisthira: That which cleanses the mind of all impurities.

Yaksha: What is real charity?

Yudhisthira: Real charity is protecting one from the onslaughts of material nature.

Yaksha: Since dharma (virtue), artha (profit) and kama (desire) are opposed to each other, how can they co-exist harmoniously?

Yudhisthira: These three become congenial to one another when one has a virtuous wife.

Yaksha: Who is condemned to everlasting hell?

Yudhisthira: When one promise a brahmana charity but upon his arrival refuses to give him charity.

Yaksha: What make one a brahmana, birth, learning or behavior?

Yudhisthira: It is behavior alone that make a person a brahmana. Even if one who is expert in the four Vedas, born of brahmana parents, but whose behavior is not proper should be considered a sudra.

Yaksha: Who is pleasing?

Yudhisthira: A person who speaks in a pleasing manner.

Finally the Yaksha asked Yudhisthira four questions of great significance:

Yaksha: Who is truly happy?

Yudhisthira: One who cooks his own food (is not dependant on anyone), is not a debtor (does not spend more than he can afford), does not have to leave home to make in order to earn his livelihood (does not over endeavor for material things) is truly happy.

Yaksha:What is the most wonderful thing?

Yudhisthira: The most amazing thing is that even though every day one sees countless living entities dying, he still acts and thinks as if he will live forever.

Yaksha: What is the real path to follow in this life?

Yudhisthira: The best path is to follow in the footsteps of the pure devotees, for they are the actual Mahajanas whose hearts are the sitting places of the real truths regarding religion.

Yaksha: What is news? (that is What is real situation in the material world?)

Yudhisthira: The material world is like a frying pan. The Sun is the fire, the day and nights are the fuel. The passing seasons are the stirring ladle and time is cook. All living entities are being thus fried in this pan. This is the real news of what is happening in the material world which is a miserable place full of ignorance.

These questions and answers cover a wide gamut of instructions from being successful to pious to religious. Pleased by the answers of Yudhisthira, the Yaksha who was none other than Dharmaraja (the father of Yudhisthira and the embodiment of religiosity) revives all the brothers of Yudhisthira and offers him many benedictions.

my beloved 'triestini'

2007-04-22T21:54:00.000+02:00

I miss u so much small creazy ones from Tetris - keep going.

saturday

2007-04-22T21:51:00.000+02:00

my first date with maz---- the happiest girl on the planet :)

my tattoo by Zendo

2007-04-20T21:00:00.000+02:00

finally, after two years a picture of my labyrinth^^

a-manda toy

2007-04-17T02:14:00.000+02:00

la mia giulietta si e' fatta un tatuaggio da Amanda Toy che indovinate un po' chi glielo ha disegnato??
Iooooooooooooooooooooooo

sono super onorata, la foto e' terribile presto ne postero' di migliori^^

2 UWCs in London

2007-03-22T14:46:00.000+01:00

me and ayana in london^^

new column for Kazin

2007-03-14T00:10:00.000+01:00

It rains.
Heavily rains, tonight.
I walk this rain with my head down –soft like a ball of butter which risks to melt when water touches it.
The hood of my sweater does not cover me enough; tears of the sky are running down my eyes while I smile in the darkness of this electronic City constellated of shining dot.
I raise my head; I decide not to care about water.
Don’t you ever think about how stupid we are about rains?
We are always so worried of walking under the rain, because we can get wet.
Because our hair will be in disorder, we will feel cold, we will stink like dogs.

If you listen rain, there is something absolutely magic about it - when it crashes on asphalt with that sound, something that shines of uniqueness.
The sound of rain is a wet sound, when it rains like this if you keep the eyes closed and you just focus on the sound it seems like a lot of spot of whipped cream is crashing on the street, on the walls, all around, on your head, on your shoulders. Sciac pluf sciac pluf sciac pluf sciac pluf.
The most amazing thing though, if you stop being scared of the drops of this heavy rain and you watch them, is the colors reflected in of them.
The electronic soul of the City is all there, in the red, blue, green, yellow stars that shine in the drops of rain.
With head-down you can catch only the amazing fractals on the movement in which the drop touches the street and melts in the anonymity of a wallow. Like tears of a minor god they disappear in the acidity of our indifference.
But look, if you are courageous enough you can raise your head; your face will be under the direct falling of the rain and you will see a different world.
The falling of the rain in the City….. it is electronic: a minimal symphony.
Every drop seems dancing following a dj, a techno dj, the best techno dj, a creator, the creator.
I feel like drink it all, this minimal water.
Suddenly awareness rises in me: this water, so magic, in drops that break down on the street in fourteenth reflections like crystal balls, so sweet in its poetry, it is acid.
Cars are running on my way, smog enters my lungs. I feel pain. Above no starts, and not because it rains. Above only a smiling glass moon, and then all around advertisings, huge panels of advertisings.
I am in the middle of Old Street, I am suffocated by acid rain and capitalism.
There is no corner of this street, so poetic and old, left with no corruption. They try to kidnap my mind along every step.
I feel trapped between beer Stella Artoise, Micra car, McDonald’s cheese burgers and the last model of Intimissimi.
Are we free?
A watch people passing by, they are all scared on the rain. None is watching here, none wants to drink her. They don’t care if she is acidic, they don’t care if they cannot breath on the road, they don’t care if McDonald’s face covers up the façade of beautiful palaces.
For a moment a dream crosses me: all of those people being different. All those people throwing away their hats, their hoods, their umbrella and get drunk of sweet rain.
This is a vision in which people are not afraid of getting wet, are not afraid of walking, of running, of dancing under the tears of our minor god, the tears of our planet.
It is a weird dream; from my eyes it shines on the grey windows of Old Street. It seems to me that the road answers me, she holds and pick me up. I feel embraced be the old features of her architecture, it seems that all those broken glasses and those red-grey bricks of the street want to rebel to those advertising that try to cover their ancient beauty.
I would like to see all people on this road now with me start drinking the rain.
Start drinking the rain and stop using Shell, stop buying Nike, Tesco, stop producing waste.
A dream from which I don’t want to wake up.
All this I saw, in the rain of London tonight.

@cecilia anesi

from peace reporter web site

2007-02-14T16:05:00.000+01:00

Iraq - 12.2.2007
Pregiudizio omicida
La persecuzione contro gli omosessuali in Iraq è sempre più dura. Si mobilitano le associazioni all'estero

scritto per noi da
Cecilia Anesi

Saddam era un sanguinario dittatore, ma a differenza di quanto avviene nell’attuale “democratico” Iraq, l’omosessualità era tollerata. Dalla sua deposizione e capitolazione, le esecuzioni di gay, lesbiche e transessuali sono all’ordine del giorno.

Bersagli indifesi. Il numero di uccisioni di gay da parte di fanatici religiosi è in continua escalation, segnando con un’ulteriore profonda piaga quella terra sofferente. E’ una vera e propria “pulizia sessuale”, organizzata dagli squadroni della morte della polizia irachena, che durante il giorno si veste da ufficiale e di notte da esecutore. Una crociata morale per la purificazione che non è riservata solo ai gay, ma a tutti gli “infedeli” che infettano la società con la loro ‘depravazione e perversione’. Grazie a un’interpretazione gratuita ed estrema delle regole della Sharia, vengono aggiunti alla lista dei colpevoli tutti coloro che commettono “crimini contro l’Islam”. Tra questi, ascoltare musica occidentale, portare pantaloni corti o jeans, bere alcolici, vendere film, lavorare come barbiere, la danzare, avere un nome sunnita, commettere adulterio e, nel caso delle donne, anche non coprirsi abbastanza o camminare non accompagnate da un uomo.
Alcune volte commessi da poliziotti-miliziani sciiti, altre da ecclesiastici fanatici, questi omicidi sono segno di un livello di barbarie inaudito.
Questo governo e questa polizia corrotta non proteggono le giovani vittime del traffico di film porno gay, che vengono ricattate con la pubblicazione di video e foto nel caso in cui si rifiutino di collaborare. Purtroppo questo materiale, se pubblicato, porterebbe all’esecuzione di queste vittime da parte delle milizie sciiti.

La mobilitazione internazionale. L’organizzazione britannica per i diritti umani Lgbt OutRage! sta lavorando con un gruppo associato sul territorio per salvare questi perseguitati, seguendo un lavoro clandestino di attivisti gay a Baghdad, Najaf, Karbala, Hilla and Bassora.
Lo scorso novembre in un distretto di Baghdad sono stati assassinati cinque ragazzi gay che lavoravano per questo network della salvezza: Amjad 27 anni, Rafid 29 anni, Hassan 24 anni, Ayman 19 anni e Ali 21 anni.
A giugno scorso, due ragazze di trent’anni sono state mutilate e uccise nella loro casa d’aiuto a Najaf insieme a un bambino che avevano salvato dal traffico della pedofilia.
Il quattordicenne Ahmed Khalil era stato accusato di crimine di corruzione della società a causa della sua omosessualità. In aprile del 2006 quattro poliziotti che portavano le maschere di Badr lo hanno ripetutamente crivellato di colpi a freddo. Wathiq, 29 anni, era un architetto omosessuale, rapito a Baghdad lo scorso marzo. I suoi genitori hanno pagato la somma richiesta di 11mila dollari Usa alle milizie del Badr, sperando di salvarlo. Invano, poiché pochi giorni dopo il corpo mutilato e privo di testa di Wathiq e’ stato ritrovato.
Wissam Auda era un membro della squadra irachena olimpica di tennis. Il suo sogno era quello di giocare a Wimbledon quest’anno. Era stato minacciato per la sua omosessualità. Il 25 maggio 2006 gli hanno teso un agguato, lo hanno fatto uscire dal veicolo su cui viaggiava per giustiziarlo senza pietà. Colpevole di cosa? Portava pantaloni corti. E tutto questo sotto gli occhi di un posto di blocco militare nazionale.
Uno studente d’arte di 23 anni, Karzan, ha una storia simile a quella dell’attore Bashar, 34 anni. Entrambe le loro famiglie sono stata giustiziate perché non volevano consegnare i figli alla giustizia.
E ancora, Nyaz, una dentista di Baghdad di 28 anni, è stata costretta a rinunciare alla sua relazione con un’altra donna e a sposare un vecchio mullah amico di Moqtada al-Sadr. Pena la vita di tutti i suoi famigliari. E’ questa la democrazia che il Medio Oriente dovrebbe felicemente accettare?

Chechnya (Russia) - 07.2.2007 allah's lever

2007-02-08T04:16:00.000+01:00

from peacereporter.net

A Chechen pensioner rides twelve thousand kilometres towards Mecca.

An incredibly brave Chechen pensioner has ride almost twelve thousand kilometres by bicycle in order to reach Mecca, passing trough Chechenya, Daghestan, Iraq, Israel.
Among the main faith principles quoted in the Koran there is the pilgrimage towards Mecca. It is compulsory at least once in life for every Muslim that has the possibilities, physical or economical, for it.
Dzhanar-Aliev Magomed-Ali, 73, never had the occasion for it because of the atrocious war that is going on in his country since 1994.
He never had enough money for it too, because money, for him and the majority of his fellow citizens, are usually merely enough to survive.
The man had renounce about the pilgrimage already, when a dream suddenly changed his life.
“ Mi mother appeared to me, and she told me to go to pilgrimage”, Dzhanar said. “ In my dram I had explain her that I could not do it, I did not have the way to. But she answered me ‘ you have got a bicycle, haven’t you? Use that!’. So I decided to leave”.
Pilgrim on two wheels: this is how his journey started.
From Urus Martan, few kilometres away from the Chechen capital Grozny, Dzhanar began his trip on an old purple bicycle. He ride for about twelve thousand kilometres in ten weeks, having a tortuous way. He was obliged to change his itinerary several times every time he was pushed back because he had not the required visas.
“ In Iraq I argued with the American troops, they would not let me pass and the even throw my bike down”. It could have gone much worse, considering that in order to reach Mecca he passed trough some of the most dangerous places of the world.
On his bike he had stuck a green sign, the colour of Islam, with the legs of his journey: “Urus Matan - Grozny - Khasavyurt - Makhachkala - Baku - Teheran - Baghdad - Damasco - Mecca - Medina - Jerusalem – Urus Matan”. His dream got real.

Haji Dzhanar. A crowd of relatives welcome the return in Urus Martan of the courageous rider.
From now on he can add to his name “haji”, the appelative that can be used only from those who went in pilgrimage to Mecca.
He is happy but exhausted. While parking his dusty bike in the garden, he told his friends:“It has been a very hard trip. I would not leave anyone free to do it again.”

one nice morning of this february in london

2007-02-05T00:44:00.001+01:00

goswell road

Hoy, LA PATRIA YA ES DE TODOS.

2007-01-17T01:06:00.000+01:00

a new hope for latin america?

may one day latin america be free of the word america or america be named in another way....

may one day the world follow light

Desiderata by Max Ehrman, for a good 2007

2007-01-17T01:01:00.000+01:00

DESIDERATA

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

me and renin

2007-01-15T02:17:00.000+01:00

.....remember light?

2007-01-15T01:01:00.000+01:00

it a new day since seven minutes....

and i have a weird unknown feeling in me...
it s logn time since i am not writing something concerning me on this blog

but tonight
a sharpen knife cutted my heart, deep inside a pain
woke me up

a journalist
sometimes shoudl report even those small sensations given from everyday life experience....

everything began when i went down the stairs to see my friend W. that was suppose to be studying...

so I sit and we chat for a bit, then he shows me a movie he did of the new year's eve. fantastic. and then he goes like ah I ll show u also the one I did for J. , and I yes yes show me please.
The movie is a succession of black and white images of this perfectly nice face, an angelic but evil face....and her sight her black lips are telling you come come and kiss me....the song in the background just pushes ur heart smaller and I ....I feel like crying.
Romantic, maybe....U know Kusturica was singing maybe u r Juliet but I am not Romeo...
here the situation is reversed---he is Romeo, she is not Juliet---- The injustice here it is not families hating each other and an impossible love....here the situation is Juliet being J. same initial letter but this J. is a Juliet whitout sould....
she is a robot, she s a cold human being that forgot the soul to deep in a well scared to risk to loose it....and now, poor J., she cannot find it anymore.

W. come from one of the most hot zones of the planet, in which suffering and killing is the order of the day.... however, he is sweet,however he gives love, however he is amazing. However he is warm, warm like an army of soft sunrays huggin ur face......
he is an explosion of joy
he is
alegria
and she
she did not understand what is she loosing cheating on him
she doesnt know who is he
she does not know Romeo was there for her and she
her pride
her complex of attention
her impossible mania of making all men horny...

J.....J.....who r u?
how can u sleep at night knowing that

you made a guy who survived war and is so full of.......violence
to erase with love
suffer?
how do u feel now, J.?
do u have a counsciousness? Did u ever used it before?

But this is the clash of two culture
the middleastern one
and the subculture of United Kingdom

in which
in this desert of dry souls
this girl
thinks to be a queen
and she is
she is the queen of the emptiness

in which vortex did u loose ur sould?
how can u sleep at night?

they think to be humans

they are only plastic puppets.

one day the puppeter will come
and us sons of a bastard god will be save
in his embrace

last night at 5 a song was telling me REMEMBER LIGHT
WHEN U SLEEP REMEMBER LIGHT
WHEN U DREAM REMEMBER LIGHT
WHEN U R AWAKE REMEMBER LIGHT

REMEMBER LIGHT.....

xxx journalist's best quotes

2007-01-14T23:22:00.000+01:00

manuale di sopravvivenza per stranieri- if u encounter a bitch this is what u should say:

"tell her to watch out when she lits up a cigarette because she could burn her mustaches"

pointing her mouth..."honey, you forgot to shave...."

If i meet her again i ll open her hand put there a pound and tell her honey go to buy a personality cuz u haven't got any.....

i love xxxjournaList

second column for Kazin

2007-01-14T23:13:00.000+01:00

Just the smoke of the London fireworks, I could see.
Further, there was hope.

I had written on a paper something.
At one point I realized-- that was the moment, I was entering a new year. That was the moment. I took my lighter. The wind, however, was blowing against me. And the paper was trying to escape, with my message, from my fingers. No. I had to be strong, determined. Lighter, again. The flame still was just a silly sparkle, I could see it, derisive, reflecting its evil smile in her eyes. She was in front of me, struggling with her tiny frozen hands to keep that whisper of fire alive. Then, as suddenly touched by a genius she turns towards the human ocean that was surrounding and embracing us; a weird ocean which we belong to and of which we could see not the end.
Just people and people. And people.
And she, sudden, she turns towards another drop of that ocean and she asks: “may I have your lighter for a moment, please?”
The guys looked at her doubtful, then one said of course lady, but he kept staring at us.
He looked eastern European, big stature, hard sculpted face. A perfect quadratic smile.

She smiles, of one of that smiles that open up your heart as that solitaire red roses in winter.
With her emerging from it the ocean tasted only of snow pierced in red.

My paper finally burn, so does hers. Our bad things of the past year are smoking up in the cold sky.
The guy gets back his lighter. I briefly look him again and I can’t help not seeing the images of that dissidents and soldiers that are still having battles in the not forgiven forgotten Chechnya.

I turn around and I leave my sight fly upon this ocean of flesh, of persons, of stories.
Some are smiling, some are drunk, some are happy, some are stoned. But some, some are special.
In them I read the end of a 2006 that had been hard, had been rush in its cruelty.
I see a Nepali, I see a guy from Waziristan and one from Balucistan hand in hand dancing for the victory upon war. They represent the gift of this 2006 peace progress.
Just in front of them, though, stands a beautiful girl who is amusing everyone with her belly dancing. Few girls have the same nobility of movements. But look at her, her face is wrapped in tears. She comes from Lebanon, where the characterizing conflict of the year took place.
I see two guys who are deeply attracted by her, however they are screaming at her witch, bitch. Their feet are linked with a chain, one come from the States the other one from Israel.
I can’t help a bitter smile.
There is a group of crazy people just behind her, I might belong to them.
They are playing like mad ones darbukas, and singing “viva viva Palestina”.
All of them clapping hands, all of them beating feet on the asphalt, all of them shaking bodies.
The faint hope after the disengagement of the settlements has now degenerated into a potential civil war, but only a far away voice seems remembering it. This old Italian song is cradling the spirits……I can only hear oh bella ciao, ciao, ciao.
Maybe it is a reminder of some guerillia for peace.
On the right of this Pandora mixture vase I see two Iraqi embracing each other, they are crying…not in the hanging of Saddam the Sunni and Shiia found a resolution.

I climb a pole and from up there the crowd shows its immensity. Just a bit further from that group there is another bizarre one, everyone is celebrating this new year. Will this 2007 give some rest to Afghanistan, raped and left in its cul-de-sac by the Nato? Will this 2007 leave Kashmir less wounded? Will Japan, China and Taiwan look at North Chorea in a more friendly way than the atomic one?

These questions are making me loose the equilibrium-- suddenly I feel my force vanishing.
I am falling down. And down. And around. And all that flashy ocean seems ready to eat me, all its wave just ready to suffocate me. I can just scream for help and wait for the crash.
And, surprise, the crash doesn’t come, I just see shots of movies.
They belong to the tragedy of Africa, they belong to the new hope of South America.
And I will only continue to fall inside this tunnel.
Don’t be afraid, she says while grabbing my hand, just dance with me towards light.

author: cecilia anesi

opening of 2007

2007-01-06T00:29:00.000+01:00

this is the moment in which our group of crazy singers and darbuka players and dancers had been stop by some belrussians.....who offered us some rasperry absolute vodka...eh eh eh

happy 2007!!!!

2006 closure

2007-01-06T00:28:00.000+01:00

INFECTED MUSHROOM

2006-11-26T22:14:00.000+01:00

the last words of a martyre

2006-11-26T21:57:00.000+01:00

'I would like to thanks many people.My doctors, nurses and hospital staff who are doing all they can for me;the British police who are pursuing my case with vigour and professionalism and are watching over me and my family.
I would like to thank the British Government for taking me under their care.
I am honoured to be a British citizen. I would like to thank the British public for their messages of support and for the interest they have shown in my plight.
I thank my wife, Marina, who has stood by me. my love for her and our son knows no bounds.

But as I lie here I can distincly hear the beating of wings of the angel of death.

I may be able to give him the slip but I have to say my legs do not run as fast as I would like. I think, therefore, that this may be the time so say one or two things to the person responsible for my present condition.
You may succeed in silencing me but that silence comes at a price. You have shown yourself to be as barbaric and ruthless as your most hostile critics have claimed.

You have shown yourself to have no respect for life,liberty or any civilised value.

You have shown yourself to be unworthy of your office, to be unworthy of the trust of civilised man and women.
you may succeed in silencing one man but the howl of protest from around the world will reverberate, Mr Putin, in your ears for the rest of your life.

May god forgive you fro what you have done, not only to me but to the beloved Russia and its people.

Alexander Livitikeno, 21 November 2006

this morning at 3.00 a.m. I felt an enormous energy coming out from the music of the infected mushroom i watched around.....a whole huge room full of people lost in this powerfull music, a great sphere of energy.... so i watched up, followed the green lights and I SCREAMED IN SILENCE I TOOK ALL THIS ENERGY AND I SCREAMED: WE ARE MUCH MORE POWERFULL THAN WHAT THE EVIL THINK, AND WILL MAKE JUSTICE. MAY LIGHT EMBRACE THE WORLD BACK.

Who wants Litvinenko dead?

2006-11-22T19:54:00.000+01:00

The whole saga of the “poisoning” of the ex-KGB agent Alexander Litvinenko is coloured by mysterious characters, such as the one of Mario Scaramella.

If you google this name, you immediately clash into Italian Citizen appellation by British media and the designation of academic by Kavkaz Centre.
However, carrying on searching you will find much bigger issues related to this name. Mario Scaramella is an important personality, official counsellor of the Italian Parliament for the parliamentary “commissione d’Inchiesta”.
Paolo Guzzanti, senator of Forza Italia, is the hinge that connects Mario and Sasha.
Both Guzzanti and Scaramella had been working for years at the Commission called Mitrokhin, which denounced the presence of 20 nuclear weapons under the gulf of Naples, apparently deposited there by the Soviet Union, during Cold War.
Even more traumatizing is the evidence of a radar antenna placed on Vesuvius, which accordingly to Mitrokhin report, could activate those weapons. A 007 movie could stop here, reality decided to go further. Mysteriously, Ukraine and Russian families are living close to the radar antenna, which is itself very close to a big Mafia villa.
And there other names that Guzzanti quotes. The first one is the one of Romano Prodi, who seems to be in deep relation with the ex-KGB now FSB system and Sovietic authorities till 1978. More disturbing, indeed, are the names of a long list of victims in which, after Anatoly V. Trofimov, general of the Army corps, and Anna Politkvoskaia, Aleksander Litvinenko seems to be the last drop of blood required to conclude it.
From these data emerges outstandingly the name of the FSB, confirmed by the typical use of poison in their curriculum of “justice-making”. The ex-KGB had a biological program called Fleyta, which main lab is known as Lab12, in Yasenov. It had been created in 1920 by Genrich Yagoda, a chemist who became the chief of Stalin secret Police.
Since that moment, the list of the victims of this death- bulletin is long and dreadful.
A heavy curtain is covering the eyes of the world from proof of this silent slaughter, but some time, someone, should wonder why people like Litvinenko are persecuted by this machine of death and corruption.

SHELLS ON BEIT HANOUN: A REGRETTABLE MISTAKE?

2006-11-09T16:53:00.000+01:00

I WILL SHOW HERE SOME PARAGHRAPS OF THE PIECE "WE OVERCAME OUR FEARS" BY JAMEELA AL-SHANTI, OF THE GUARDIAN
http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/story/0,,1942943,00.html

"This is Israel's tenth incursion into Beit Hanoun since it announced its withdrawal from Gaza. It has turned the town into a closed military zone, collectively punishing its 28,000 residents. For days, the town has been encircled by Israeli tanks and troops and shelled. All water and electricity supplies were cut off and, as the death toll continued to mount, no ambulances were allowed in. Israeli soldiers raided houses, shut up the families and positioned their snipers on roofs, shooting at everything that moved. We still do not know what has become of our sons, husbands and brothers since all males over 15 years old were taken away last Thursday. They were ordered to strip to their underwear, handcuffed and led away."

SO THIS PIECE LET US UNDERSTAND THAT MAYBE IT WAS NOT JUST SIMPLY A REGRETTABLE MISTAKE, AD MR. OLMERT SAID, MOREOVER IT SEEMS TO BE AN UNJUSTIFIED SLAUGHTER ON INNOCENTS: IF ALL MEN WERE AWAY, WHY THE ISRALI TANK BOMBED THE HOUSES KILLING CHILDREN, WOMEN, AND ELDERLY?

"We faced the most powerful army in our region unarmed. The soldiers were loaded up with the latest weaponry, and we had nothing, except each other and our yearning for freedom. As we broke through the first barrier, we grew more confident, more determined to break the suffocating siege. The soldiers of Israel's so-called defence force did not hesitate to open fire on unarmed women. The sight of my close friends Ibtissam Yusuf abu Nada and Rajaa Ouda taking their last breaths, bathed in blood, will live with me for ever."

AS, WESTERNS, SHOULD LISTEN TO THIS. AS, YOU, UWCs, LEADERS OF THE FUTURE SHOULD CARE OF THESE WORDS:

"But as though this occupation and collective punishment were not enough, we Palestinians find ourselves the targets of a systematic siege imposed by the so-called free world. We are being starved and suffocated as a punishment for daring to exercise our democratic right to choose who rules and represents us. Nothing undermines the west's claims to defend freedom and democracy more than what is happening in Palestine. Shortly after announcing his project to democratise the Middle East, President Bush did all he could to strangle our nascent democracy, arresting our ministers and MPs. I have yet to hear western condemnation that I, an elected MP, have had my home demolished and relatives killed by Israel's bombs. When the bodies of my friends and colleagues were torn apart there was not one word from those who claim to be defenders of women's rights on Capitol Hill and in 10 Downing Street."

STOP SHOOTING IN GAZA

2006-11-08T19:46:00.000+01:00

Palestinian politicians reacted with fury to the most recent attack. Atef Odwan, the Hamas minister of refugee affairs, visited the scene of the shelling, where there were deep pools of blood. “We cannot accept this destruction,” he said. “We cannot accept the peace process or talk about stopping resistance. They are trying to break the Palestinian people and its resistance and trying to force us out of our homes. But we have nothing to lose. We have no choice but to stand for our rights.”

Ismail Haniyeh, the prime minister, said that negotiations on a unity government between Fatah and Hamas would be suspended in protest at the attack. Ghazi Hamad, a government spokesman, told AP: “After this barbaric operation, Israel proved that it’s not a humane state. It’s a state that believes in killing, and therefore this state should cease to exist.”

2nd article for THE INQUIRER

2006-11-08T18:58:00.000+01:00

I COUNT!!!

Melting of Ice cups. Sea level rises. Rainfall patterns changes, alteration of the timing of seasons. Floods, droughts and Hurricanes. Extinction of plants and animals.

Is the first time in 10,000 years the words is warming so fast.
1.4°C -5.8°C is the global average temperature increasing by 2100. This will have acute impact on arctic systemsl, coral reefs and local communities. 150,000, is the yearly amount of people dying from climate change. The World Health Organisation says that this happens especially in developing countries, where poor people, in particular children, have less possibilities to adapt to climate change and all its consequences such as delay in harvest and ‘natural’ disasters.

25,000, is the number of the demonstratives that Sunday, 4 November, crowded, coloured and amazingly joined different political and religious view in the name of a common ‘mother’, the Earth.
Trafalgar square, London.
“I count--we can stop climate chaos”.
A picturesque scene, 15,000 people more than expected, everyone there to ask to all western Governments, and especially Messer Blair and Bush, whose face was blamed in all manifests, to take urgent action and stop climate change.
It has been claimed that is the first time that our town sees such a big cocktail of voices roaring for our planet, figure that shows how scorching is, in any sense, this issue for humanity.

READING ONLINE!!! review for city's newspaper, THE Inquirer, november:::we are going weekly!!!!!

2006-11-08T18:57:00.000+01:00

MY FIRST TINY SHITTY BUT CUTE WORKS......:

Author: Cecilia Anesi
Title: Spectacle or Art?

On Wednesday the 25th of October, I quickly crossed the main corridor of the Tate Britain (and I felt a bit guilt not to have the time to loose myself in that epically huge space) to spray my being into a unique visual milieu: the five rooms containers of the Turner Prize 2006. It is a very discussed and criticized prize, which sees involved four main British artists displaying recent and new works.
This year's prize fund is £40,000 with £25,000 going to the winner and £5,000 each for the other three artists, thanks to the Gordon's ® gin’ support. Channel 4 will be in charge of proclaims the winner, at the Tate Britain, on December the 4th . The Prize is awarded, since 1984, to a British artist under fifty for both an astounding exhibition and other dazzling presentations all along precedents twelve months. It is internationally acclaimed as one of the most imperative and prestigious awards for the visual arts and the news developments of contemporary expressions in the whole Europe.
But let me focus back on me. Me/ stepping into that mind-blowing space. A big glass gate/a step is keeping me away from the charmed imaginative reality created by the four artists. As soon as the gate opened I walked in, suddenly black words on a wall trapped my attention. It is Mark Titchner’s testament of How To Change Behaviour (Tiny Masters Of The World Come Out) installation. They are Psionic instruments – useful for the art of manipulating psychic abilities. The sculptures that adorn the space are called Admist magnet machine, the viewer must step inside, breath and focus: “your will, let the hidden torrent burst forth and the world be reshaped”. The artist is aware that the viewer is pushed to “live” his artworks, since is asked to do something that normally in none gallery is demanded nor allowed. He combines in an amazingly harmonious composition new technologies and old techniques, raw materials such as carved wood and new media such as “computer designed billboard alongside hand-chiselled quasi-magical contraptions”. His art is pretty focused on behaviour and tensions between different belief systems of our society, whether religious, scientific or political. The testament ends with “Do not believe in your abilities, manifest them”, facing an enormous poster that proclaims: Tiny Masters Of The World Come Out. Moving towards, the visitor will be welcomed from a totally different environment: the world of clay, that Rebecca Warren manipulates with her free creativity. The clay is sculpted with ideas of self-expression, gender, nature, while her bronze works explore the degradation of the established form, while her wall-based vitrines are profoundly different from the rest of her works and their raw-vitality: they enclose various detritus collected in and around her studio. The space that follows is decorated with Tomma Abts’ works, rigorous geometrical painting that integrate the rational and intuitive creative pushes of the artist. Among the white walls of the gallery, physical surface and the form fight and find their harmonic resolution. The viewer now had gone through three extremely different environments, and he will feel ready to step into the last one: the weirdest one for many, since concern video-art, video-installation and the re-construction of a show room. That is Phil Collins art, which investigates the ambivalent relationship of men with camera, camera as a tool of attraction, manipulation, revelation and shame at the mean time. He works on documentary, canal that shows the discrepancy between reality and its representation. “A cycle of no redemption” splashed on screen: the return of the real / gercegin geri donusu. Dark room in blu veiled – the visitor thinks he finally got rid of this bizarre art exposition, but he will find himself facing shady lane Production – a research office which display the pragmatic cathartic sentence that completes the entire exhibition: Turner Prize is Spectacle. It does not really matter who is going to be the winner of the money, in contrast important will be who will impress us, challenge our ideologies and preconceptions of reality, the artist who will turn our rationality into sensations. The winner will be, in the end, who will manage to caress in the most velvety and intriguing way the inner part of most of visitors.

2006-11-06T15:09:00.000+01:00

bonko da spettacolo....

manifestation I COUNT we can stop climat chaos, london

2006-11-05T23:51:00.000+01:00

a fucking palestinian.......

ah ah ah

just a bit of my pleasure with photography....

i am writing columns for Kazin, a sloven magazine. this is the first one.

2006-11-05T23:22:00.000+01:00

C.Anesi, 27th october, 2006

New cocktail: LondON.

A new smell

It has got a strange smell, London.
And it is all around. In every shop you walk. Hidden behind the corner of roads, ready to jump in your nose, in your mind and you loose your thoughts into it.
It is a smell of diversity. Of uniqueness. It is a smell of a freshly baked cake.
However, it is a bizarre one. A smell of many different flavours all at once.
And I, walking London, I only wish, every second I live, to taste it all.

London. It is very different from my
Home

All the violence I see
Smell every day
The only explosions I hear here are the beats of techno music Friday night in T bar.
And the only blood splashed around is the one in the pan when we cook some pasta.
London is pretty different from my home. But everyone will feel at home, in London. None is foreigner -- here. Tourists are foreigners, but everyone becomes citizen after two days of London. After living it a bit.
London is somehow like a woman to make yours. It depends all on you, how good are you in playing with her? She may wholly donate herself to you. Bit by bit every person who starts to live London will get in touch with her -- deeper and deeper.
Her soul is the most perfumed soul I ever been in touch to.
It does not matter what are you here, none ask where you do come from. My home? My home, in London, is finally the World. Whatever tonality, you are a London citizen; she has got the rare quality of being a home for anyone.

Since I left Gaza strip I found myself splashed across a completely new life, a totally different environment. The risk of being shot or killed from a bomb exploding randomly somewhere is just non - existent, here.
I still cannot rationally believe it.

Angels
Surround me

It is only two weeks I am in London and I already found a “family”. I belong to a program of scholarships that sees involved young people from both Palestine and Israel studying and living together at the same university. I am lucky to be here, I am lucky to give chance to dialogue, forgotten aspect in a time in which hope seems to have abandon our lands. After the Israeli Government action of this summer against Lebanon, get together and talks about an utopia known as peace sounds...vain.
But all this sounds more than constructive to me. When better than now young voices for dialogue are needed to get together and build a common testament of will?
When better than now the world need to see that is never to late to showing hope paths?
When better than now the conditions are fertile for stopping the absurdity of this conflict that is overlapping humanity?
It is very hard for me to wish to stop it, there are many injustice that has been played on Palestinians that I wish, inside, to avenge. Not on innocent, I don’t want other blood other violence other death embracing me. But how could revenge take place in those two countries rather than in a violent way? Violence generates violence, and us, silly men, keep the cycle on. I want to smash it into an end. I feel in London the parody of a peaceful Middle East can take substance.
When I walk the road with my new Israeli friends, when I drink a beer with my new Israeli friends, when I dance the whole night with my Israeli friends, how can I consider them enemies?
Sometimes I wonder. And Mumble. We are in London. That is the reason why we are safe: from ourselves from our stories from our societies from the evil conflict we are in. In London we are free, free to love each others. But then, back, we are not even free to meet each other. I wonder. And I answered myself. We have been uprooted from the context, uprooted from the tragedy we were living in.
It is like a play, all of it, now from my Londoner balcony I watch out the movement of humanity, of a vast mixed Humanity, a cocktail of cultures and beliefs and I feel it now inside like an explosion: the sensation of being a part of a whole.
World.
Of the same damned World. Still so beautiful, and poetic.
Loay comes. He switch on his cigarette. Smoke is playing with air. Or maybe is air playing with smoke. Pushing it up, down, laterally, away. Like our lives, in this conflict. We are watching people walking, cars running the road like crazy horses in a field, finally free after long rest. Every thing in London is moving, maybe London is: movement.
London is a dance.
Yeah, probably London is a dance, a freaky one.
And us, we, here, we are trapped in its perfume of continuing change.

2006-11-02T01:27:00.000+01:00

frammenti d'animo

è nato

è nato

frammenti d'animo

è completato

da vega, in data primo novembre duemilasei

gioite, gioite, uomini

private party 2 Wednesday ago in the House of Lord

2006-10-29T21:20:00.000+01:00

me and Hazem

after many many many
glasses of champagne.......!!!

madness in the halls

2006-10-13T18:57:00.000+02:00

a rattish ceremony.

i morti vivono nei nelle anime dei vivi, tu, matty, vivi in un'ametista viola

2006-10-12T19:25:00.000+02:00

it has been said like that, from an ancient wise roman...
deads lives in alive's memories....

and you?
where r u matteo?

I know
it's weird
what i feel in me
why crying....still, after a year?

for who I am crying?
and...
is it right to keep.....crying?

and
i will stop my tears this night
the night u died
in a glass of read wine
i will mix my tears with this rubin blood of the glass

and leave some drops down on ground
for u

i know u like
that strawberry flavourished clouds!

with love
con amore
per sempre

2006-10-05T16:49:00.000+02:00

and today

eyewitness from LEBANON Simon Assaf, a lebanese journalist recently returned from Beirut will talk about ISRAEL'S SUMMER OFFENSIVE against LABANON AND GAZA, and their defeat at the hands of hezbollah, and ask HOW CAN PALESTINE BE FREE????

at soas

lecture in lse

2006-10-05T16:46:00.000+02:00

about

will the war on terrorism become the new cold war???

after this

the quote of the day

"magari un giorno nasceremo tutti circoncisi" diego.

ah, londra londra

londra

2006-09-21T15:43:00.000+02:00

amazing people.
crazy people.

palestinesi, israeliani tutti insieme a sorridermi, ad inivitarmi a mangiare fumare bere tutti assieme. vita sociale. vita sociale.
sisha.
sisha.
e balli arabi.
e poi.
cipro.
molti ciprioti.
molti sorrisi neri, di breaker.
e indiani.
motli indiani.finiti. sono ormai londinesi.

e qualche, sporadico, italiano.
italo giappo
italo francese
italo

qualcosa

londra è un super coctkail

che sto assoporando sip by sip

2006-08-29T11:23:00.000+02:00

2006-08-29T11:00:00.000+02:00

ecco il gruppo degli stercorari e i nostri due capi (cappi della spasticheria di bordo): Messer Rosbif da Mediaterra Florentia e Messer Baronio Re della Merda

ragazzi mi mancherete!!!!!!!!!!

cena del terziere per festeggiare il 10°palio vintooooo alla faccia dei castellani

2006-08-29T00:14:00.000+02:00

CHI NON SALTA CASTELLANO E'!!!!!
BRINDISINO SHALLALLALALALààààà
E L'HA BEVUTO TUTTO E NON GLI HA FATTO MALE L'ACQUA FA MALE E IL VINO FA CANTAR!!!!!

E LA CORRENTE ELETTRICA E LA CORRENTE FORTE CHI TOCCCA UN MAREMMANO..............

PERICOLO DI MORTE!

PERCHè IL CAFFè VA PRESO....
ED AMMAZZATO.

controinformazione

2006-07-24T13:27:00.000+02:00

21/07/06 da Liberazione
Le nuove immagini su Piazza Alimonda

Le domande inquietanti cominciano dai primi fotogrammi del filmato preparato da Giuliano Giuliani con materiali agli atti del procedimento archiviato. Le foto e il testo mostrano la mattanza e l'euforia di agenti e carabinieri spesso travisati, quasi sempre con armi improprie brandite.
Fin dalle 9 del 20 luglio, nel comando cc di Forte S. Giuliano, dove funzionò una sala operativa parallela, c'erano in visita il vicepremier Fini e un suo deputato, ex maresciallo, con l'ossessione per i centri sociali.
Mezz'ora prima degli scontri, piazza Alimonda vuota ce la mostra una telecamera fissata sul casco di un carabiniere "nero". E' della Ccir, compagnia di contenimento e intervento risolutivo.
E' costituita apposta per Genova e la comandano veterani delle missioni di guerra. C'è un solo manifestante che viene pestato e trascinato come un trofeo. La telecamera sulla testa del militare ha dei sussulti impressionanti.

Si vede arrivare la jeep di Truglio, il comandante della Ccir. Nei fotogrammi non c'è alcuna traccia delle centinaia di manifestanti minacciosi. I carabinieri da via Caffa attaccano il corteo ma devono ripiegare. 70 militari super-armati "inseguiti" da una trentina di manifestanti.
C'è un vicequestore, Lauro, che si esibisce nel lancio di sassi. Sassi ed estintori non mancano in mano ai carabinieri o in terra.
Ci sono le due jeep, i defender, che pasticciano ma non sono isolate. Una, quella di Truglio va via. Sull'altra, apparentemente bloccata da un cassonetto, arriva un estintore, raccolto da un ragazzino col casco giallo. Rimbalza tra il tettuccio e la ruota di scorta.

Una mano di carabiniere mette il colpo in canna.
Carlo la vede, ha la testa che guarda la jeep, si china mentre le mani cercano quell'estintore.
Carlo cercava di disarmare quella mano.
La foto di Marco D'Auria rende ragione della distanza reale, almeno quattro metri, tra il ventitreenne e pistola puntata ad altezza d'uomo. Il primo sparo.
Il cittadino genovese che fotografa da un terrazzo in fondo alla piazza ha un sussulto. Sarà l'unica foto a venirgli mossa.
Ma Truglio, a due passi, dice di non aver sentito la botta. Come lui il carabiniere che guidava il defender di Placanica. Un display conta i secondi che ci mette la jeep per schiacciare Carlo in retromarcia e filarsela per Via Caffa semi sgombra.
Sei secondi. Il fiotto di sangue dice che Carlo era ancora vivo.

Perché hanno archiviato? Come è stato possibile? Sono state alterate distanze, tempi e traiettorie, sostiene il papà di Carlo. Ma poi ci sono anche altri misteri, i fori d'entrata e di uscita non sono compatibili con l'arma in dotazione.
Nei frame del video rispunta con evidenza la presenza di un altro uomo. Il terzo uomo.
Una pioggia di lacrimogeni cade intorno a Carlo che agonizza. Poliziotti e carabinieri lo circondano. Qualcuno, in divisa, lo prende a calci.
Un suo collega lo colpisce con un sasso che, nelle foto, passa da una parte all'altra della testa di Carlo. Un poliziotto e un carabiniere se le danno di santa ragione a pochi metri.
Tutto sotto gli occhi di Cappello che non dice nulla al militare che traffica intorno al corpo e lo tocca.
Arrivano Toni Capuozzo con una troupe di Mediaset e il vice di Feltri a Libero. Solo ora il vice questore Lauro, quello che aveva ordinato la prima carica senza ragione in via Tolemaide, recita la sua scena madre fingendo di inseguire qualcuno, e ce n'erano, che gli urlava "Assassini!".
"Sei stato tu col tuo sasso!", grida il funzionario a uso e consumo di una versione ufficiale fallita ma non meno paradossale e atroce dell'archiviazione.

Sito web ufficiale del Comitato Piazza Carlo Giuliani o.n.l.u.s.

2006-07-21T14:19:00.000+02:00

e chi

mi pubblica/

l'anima?

ce l'avemmo grosso

2006-07-11T13:24:00.000+02:00

SEMO CAMPIONI DER MONDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

RIDATECI LA GIOCONDA

CHE CE FREGA DE RAZINGE NOI C'AVEMO GROSSO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLL

---- non sto a dirvi il delirio che c'è stato due notti fa alla pieve-----

ALeGrìa

2006-06-22T18:54:00.000+02:00

ieri sera sono stata a roma a vedere alegria, del cirque du soleil.
uno spettacolo stupefacente che dimostra innanzitutto che la BELLEZZA esiste ancora tra le file dell'umanità, e che c'è ancora speranza.
uno spettacolo di una tal bellezza di una tale elevatura che mi ha toccato dentro dal primo momento all'ultimo, arte allo stato puro.
i 50 euro meglio spesi della mia vita.
ragazzi, ci sono state delle scene alla blade runner dii alcune contorsioniste che mi hanno affascinato da morire tanto da ispirarmi un copione di un nuovo blade runner....eh eh
e poi
la bellezza di questi corpi umani tesi al massimo sforzo eppure dominati dalla più alta armonia.
si capisce davvero che l'essere umano può volare alto, come i loro trapezisti.

arte?

2006-06-17T13:01:00.000+02:00

Rifiuti Preziosi
Firenze
29/05/06

http://www.rifiutipreziosi.eu/

I rifiuti acquistano un linguaggio espressivo universale e si trasformano in opere d'arte destinate a restare nel tempo: è la mostra Rifiuti Preziosi. Il Nouveau Réalisme e la cultura contemporanea, a Palazzo Strozzi (Firenze) fino al 30 giugno 2006.

Il percorso espositivo è teso ad attirare il visitatore sui mille oggetti, ritenuti inutili, che ciascuno di noi getta quotidianamente, ma anche e soprattutto ad avvicinare il pubblico agli artisti, di ieri e di oggi, che con quei mille oggetti hanno dato vita a vere e proprie opere d'arte.
Non arte-spazzatura dunque, ma spazzatura che diventa arte, grazie a un continuo trasformarsi delle cose, a un loro eterno riciclo, che porta quegli stessi oggetti a non morire mai: una bella prova di creatività per gli artisti e di riflessione per i cittadini comuni, chiamati a un uso consapevole dei rifiuti e del riciclaggio.

Una sezione storica, inoltre, proporrà le incredibili opere degli esponenti più importanti del Nouveau Réalisme, il movimento teorizzato da Pierre Restany, tra cui si segnalano le "Compressioni" di César, le "Accumulazioni" di Arman, gli "Impacchettamenti" di Christo, alcuni manifesti strappati di Mimmo Rotella.
Da segnalare, tra l'altro, la videoperformance di Lorenzo Pizzanelli che catapulterà il visitatore all'interno di un cassonetto virtuale, trasformandolo per un momento in un rifiuto tra i rifiuti, e il documentario Appunti per un romanzo sull'immondezza di Mimmo Calopresti, su materiale cinematografico inedito girato da Pier Paolo Pasolini in occasione dello sciopero dei netturbini del 24 aprile 1970.

caro amico ti scrivo così non ti scasso +

2006-06-17T13:00:00.000+02:00

Caro amico ti scrivo...
Italia
29/05/2006

Dopo la sconfitta elettorale Silvio Berlusconi ha scritto ai capi di governo di mezzo mondo. Con un unico messaggio: "Arrivederci a presto".

Da l'Espresso, il pezzo di Marco Lillo "Caro Zapatero, torno presto. Ti voglio bene. Tuo Silvio"

Sivio Berlusconi proprio non si rassegna alla sconfitta. Non accetta il risultato delle urne.
Lo scarto di poco più di 24 mila voti gli deve sembrare proprio una beffa. Ha detto e ridetto che vuole ricontare le schede. Si dice certo che il risultato "deve cambiare", come disse in tv a spoglio ultimato. Ma non lo dice solo in Parlamento o a "Porta a Porta". Non manda solo i suoi parlamentari a vigilare sul capannone di Castelnuovo di Porto dove è in corso da parte di funzionari del parlamento il controllo delle schede.

Fa ben di più.
"L'espresso" è in grado di rivelare il testo della lettera che Berlusconi ha inviato, in data 16 maggio 2006, ai capi di governo di mezzo mondo su carta intestata "Il Presidente del Consiglio dei Ministri". Un arrivederci a presto, appena ultimato il controllo delle schede, inviato l' ultimo giorno della sua permanenza a Palazzo Chigi. Quella che pubblichiamo nella foto a destra è la lettera indirizzata a "Sua eccellenza José Luis Rodriguez Zapatero Primo ministro del regno di Spagna":

«Caro José Luis,
dopo cinque anni mi accingo a lasciare la guida del governo italiano. Si è trattato di un periodo di stabilità senza precedenti nella storia della Repubblica Italiana, che mi ha consentito di varare 36 importanti riforme di ammodernamento del Paese e di sviluppare un'esperienza particolarmente importante e positiva nei rapporti con i colleghi degli altri Paesi europei.

Come probabilmente sai, per il particolare sistema elettorale italiano, nonostante il mio personale successo (Forza Italia è di gran lunga il primo partito italiano), la coalizione che guido è risultata globalmente maggioritaria in termini di voti ma minoritaria in termini di rappresentanza parlamentare. Come leader dell'opposizione rappresento comunque il 50,2 per cento del Paese e spero di tornare presto al governo dopo che saranno state verificate le oltre un milione e centomila schede annullate.

Ti ringrazio per il simpatico rapporto che abbiamo instaurato e Ti assicuro che continuerò a seguire con grande interesse il Tuo impegno per la Spagna e per l'Europa, auguro a Te e al Tuo governo ogni successo e resto a Tua disposizione per lavorare insieme a favore delle relazioni italo-spagnole e di un avvenire dei popoli europei basato sugli ideali nei quali entrambi crediamo.
Ti ricordo che hai un amico che Ti vuole bene!
Un forte abbraccio
Silvio»
Caro Zapatero, torno presto. Ti voglio bene. Tuo Silvio di Marco Lillo - L'Espresso n. 21

parole parole.....mammamia!

2006-06-17T12:56:00.000+02:00

Parole, parole, parole
di Mara Gualerzi
01/06/2006

Raccolta di frasi della settimana

GUIDO ROSSI:
“Capello è un ottimo allenatore, ma capita anche a lui di dire castronerie”.

BRUNO FERRANTE:
“Sono in dubbio se la Moratti abbia mai letto l'ordinamento comunale, provinciale o costituzionale del Paese o che sappia quali sono le responsabilità di un sindaco".
(riferito sempre alla rivale Letizia Moratti) “Chi non ha idee dà i numeri”.

ORIANA FALLACI:
“Se hai una pistola e ti dicono di scegliere chi è peggio tra i musulmani e i messicani avrei un attimo di esitazione; poi sceglierei i musulmani perché mi hanno scassato le palle".

“Prodi e Berlusconi? Two fucking idiots".

(sulla costruzione di una moschea in Toscana) "Se sarò ancora viva andrò dai miei amici a Carrara, la città dei marmi. Lì sono tutti anarchici; con loro prendo gli esplosivi e la faccio saltare per aria".

ROSA RUSSO JERVOLINO:
''Caro Berlusconi, ti dico: te ne puo' ghi', va' vattenne, ca nun ce sierve".

"Malvano farà un'opposizione con il coltello fra i denti? Vada a Roma a fare il senatore e ad imparare un pò di stile parlamentare. Non sia ridicolo, è un pò anziano per giocare a Sandokan".

UN COMICO AD UN COMIZIO DI GIANNI ALEMANNO:
“La Jervolino sindaco di Napoli? Ma per piacere, vada a Casablanca a farselo riattaccare”.

SILVIO BERLUSCONI:
"Prendete Buttiglione a Torino, si può fare peggio? È la dimostrazione che se non corro io, non c'è niente da fare".

"Quando era prefetto Bruno Ferrante veniva ad Arcore e mi baciava la pantofola cercando di sembrare un uomo tutto del centrodestra".

OLIVIERO DILIBERTO:
"Berlusconi non è contro la democrazia, non sa che cosa è".
Mara Gualerzi

ecco la poesia con cui ho vinto una nomina al concorso internazionale di poesia del castello di duino

2006-06-17T12:42:00.000+02:00

Seduttive fiamme ricciolute
Escono dalla terra
Balza così l’acqua dal rubinetto a piccole gocce irregolari e sparse
Alzi lo sguardo alle nuvole soffiate via
Noi, le nostre vite straniere.

Oggi
La tela è nera

E bianche lettere ornano i disegni della mia ostacolata mente.
Ho un bracciale metallico che stuzzica il mio battere
queste bianche parole, fuori
Neve, balla e s’agita nell’aria mi avvolgo nelle fiamme logore di un accendino, frastagliato calore artificiale

Ricordo ieri i guizzi delle luci della città di neve fare testamento nei miei scatti, scivolare nell’obiettivo
e pochi rimbalzi di sogni fotografici
delle tue nere corvine vellutate ciglia scavare la mia stabilità
di notte, avevamo deciso che era vietato bussare alla porta con del biancospino….

Tu, fuoco nella mia vorticosa aria
alimenti il terrestre dubbio di un’ acquatica sentenza
disperdi le mie capacità percettive, polline al vento…

fluttuo, come un pesce che rotola sull’umido terreno lunare
mi chiedo dove ho perso il verde pennello
avevo anche della vernice blu per dipingere i mari
e ho perduto la capacità della trasparenza per leggermi dentro
o forse solo

l’ardente certezza
del ciclico perdere il treno nel susseguirsi delle stagioni e stazioni
e tu,
sabbia d’oro tra le dita
la perdo senza musica
ne silenzio

non v’è pace in me
ho gli elementi scostati, persi, mischiati e sconvolti senza direzione
la tela é nera
le parole bianche
il fuoco trasparente
l’aria verde a chiazze castane
la terra blu di vernice
e l’acqua, l’acqua è rossa come un carcadé.

Vorrei solo intravedere la porta del paradiso e prenderti per mano, c’è una barca da cavalcare. Ho perso i biglietti. Devo averli lasciati nella tasca dei jeans, entrerò nella lavatrice. Forse c’è troppo vento, o il corto circuito potrebbe causare scintille. C’era terra sotto le suole dei jeans, ma mi sommergerà l’acqua se apro l’oblò. Basterebbe una raffica di vento per sopravvivere.

2006-06-16T11:12:00.000+02:00

2006-06-14T21:55:00.000+02:00

electro blog --- trst---

maggio

mentre noi eravamo persi in quel ti attigliano.

ecco le istruzioni del super infallibbbbile BUNBUNBUSH, su ordinazione

2006-06-13T21:48:00.000+02:00

3 giugno 2006 Bulagna

Cari Michele e Manuela
Auguri e figlie femmene , servendovi del Bunbunbush™ garantiti o fottuti!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Esponete le lenzuola, mascalzoniiii!!!
In ottemperanza a quanto è stato giurato stamattina, per grazia di Jesus Christ Superstar, e per volontà plebiscitaria, siete ora marito e moglie, in virtù della nuova legge appena varata dal governo entrante radicalchic in materia di PACS e affini.
Relativamente poi all’oggetto ivi donatoVi esso (shell) proveniente dal multiforme ingegno e tecnica altissima Nostra, potrà essere interpretato a diversi livelli:
Modalità d’uso:

1) Durante la luna o meglio le vostre porcate a base di miele crepes nutella e burro d’arachidi nonché meringhe al gusto di ‘ricchiette coi broccoli e pomodauri secchi, accompagnerà le vostre gradevoli nottate e quindi ogni cosa contribuirà all’innesco dell’amore quello vero, mica quello debole, ci tengo a precisarlo, come previsto da madre chiesa. Come vi accompagnerà? Ma è semplice, e cioè fungendo da arredatore (diurno e notturno) e da portacandele profumando il vostro talamo (o meglio coprendo le vostre puzze ataviche per aver mangiato nuddles cinesi nonché specialità lucane e peschiciane) .

2) Dopo che vi sarete scoglionati di questa passione focosa divorante e obnubilante e soffocante , sempre secondo madre chiesa e avallata dal partito della colomba , nel caso in cui, nelle vostre nottate stellate , sempre che franco e la nerina e remo vi accordino le competenze, decidiate di perdere peso (e v’ facess bbuon, aropp tutti ste magnate)potreste sfruttare Bunbunbush™ quale ottimo uterosaver (la nonna ne sarà grata s’è rotta ‘cojoni di diventà trisnonna sbinonna a manetta) .

3) Se caso mai dovesse succedere che il buon Michele diventasse director e sfondasse con un kolossal pro-bushit e quindi si riempisse le tasche di dollarazzi e decidesse di rinnegare tutto il suo passato da mangiatore di bambini e lampascioni nonché gli si facessero i capelli biondi e vestisse D&G, a questo punto, avendo raggiunto l’illuminazione Zen benedetto colui che gode e tace , Vi si può concedere la produzione di almeno 15 marmocchie nuoresi kamikaze D.O.C.G., e sempre che siano già maritate al momento della mascita con ricchi mercanti arabi e d egiziani di Sharm el Sheik, allora il nostro infallibile Bunbunbush™ muterà le sue qualità ultime in un potente afrodisiaco Maya. Ecco spiegate le danze di piccoli ominidi al di sotto del vostro ritratto: essi rappresentano le vostre abbondanti figghie femmene!!! Vi chiederete come! Questo oggetto possa essere di sì valore: ebbene, posizionate l’orifizio buccale in modo da consentire alla corposa muscolatura linguale di raggiungersi a vicenda e stipulare in tal modo un patto duraturo di elevata fertilità e fecondità, secondo l’antico rito Iznic.

4) Raggiunta la completezza del nucleo familiare ed avendo assicurato un ricco matrimonio ad ognuna delle vostre figlie femmine e quindi avendo ottemperato i vostri doveri e quindi l’amore quello vero mica quello debole secondo madre chiesa ed essendo giunto al termine tale amore si sta seccando come un lampascione d’inverno ed essendo l’amore debole di per sé debole e secondo il nostro amato razzista papa o papà, come dir si voglia, sbagliato, potreste rivolgervi alla soluzione finale, ovvero ultima possibilità d’uso del poliedrico Bunbunbush™ se caso mai avete fallito nei punti precedenti, ovvero chiavarvelo in faccia (a lei) e nelle palle (a lui) finchè madre natura non provvederà a rimuovervi.

5) Oggetto pericoloso. Infiammabile. Infiammante. Focoso. Passionale. Radioattivo. Alto rischio contaminazione biologica . Cause verruche e malaria. Si sono riscontrati casi di intossicazione mentale, vaginale e scrotica. Nel caso di disfunzionamento dell’occhio destro potrete notare una delle controindicazioni più costanti: la cimorrea. Il morbo di Herr-Pish, La sindrome del Hans Kazzinculer. Rischio omosessualità elevato. Tenere fuori dalla portata dei bambini. Conservare ad una temperatura di minimo 1000°k. Agitare prima dell’uso. Si declina ogni responsabilità riguardo l’uso indiscriminato e incosciente del nostro elettro-(nel senso che è elettrizzante)domestico.

6) Si ricorda la gentile clientela che Bunbunbush che l’oggetto in questione può essere inoltre utilizzato quale:
- bidè
- sebach per pampini teteschi (con aggiunta di soda caustica)
- lavandino da viaggio
- masturbatore maschile automatico con sacca contenente da aggiungere, usa e getta
- vibratore statico per donna
- turbante da colbacco per danze sfrenate
- corona imperiale (non alcolica)
- sgabello (massimo comfort da campeggio)
- cavigliera
- lettiera per piccioni
- piscina per tartarughe carnivore non acquatiche
- vaso per piante carnivore del basso Venezuela
- portapenne
- fermacarte
- reggilibri
- lettore mp3 portatile (sostituto dell’ipod)
- calza autoreggente
- divaricatore
- collare per torcicollo del cane
- antenna parabolica
- schiaccianoci
- stritola formiche
- rasoio portatile
- marmitta catalitica
- digeridoo
- portacenere sciogli fumo

Severcazzo & Cecilietta Home made Lab ™

da trieste in bicicletta

2006-06-13T21:40:00.000+02:00

ecco per chi non lo sapesse sono stata vittima di un matrimonio bolognese (che in entità e grandezza è si simile ad uno balcanico, ve lo assicuro..)
abbiamo festeggiato due giorni, io ho però disertato con mio cuginetto severo al primo, il quale ci aveva guà abbastanza devastato da solo.
ebbene
questa foto narra il prologo del BUNBUNBUSH, oggetto dai molteplici usi le cui istruzioni dovrei effettivamente pubblicare per intero se non fosse che sono un regalo di strampalate nozze.
auguri per sempre MANU&MICHELE

VI VOGLIAMO BENE!!!!!!
(ps, viva le pancette e trieste in biciletta^^)

trabant & liberiin versi

2006-06-13T20:55:00.001+02:00

un pò di pubblicità non guasta per il mio bel dolce bassista^^
ragazzi chi si vuole perdere questi trabant i ?
strafanti? (per chi fosse peschiciano e mangiasse troppi lapascioni....)

bon vi bacio e per informazia vi lascio questo bello blog dove perdersi http://liberinversi.splinder.com/

2006-05-31T17:06:00.000+02:00

che sia l'inizio giusto?

sento solo il battere dei tasti

magari si

gremos dei!!!!

mo che sto in vacanza....

2006-05-31T11:39:00.000+02:00

now that I can consider myself in fucking holidays
the known proverb starts its influence on me:

bevo lasko finchè cascko
bevo pivo finchhè vivo

auguriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii piccola nutria diciannovenne

holidaaaaaaaaays

2006-05-30T20:12:00.000+02:00

fuck people, fuck!
I am in fucking fucking holidayssssssssss yessssssssssss yessssssssss

look
it's quite strange being in holidAy again, be free to read da fcking book I WISH, I WANT and not the shitty ones given by school....
so beautiful
so beautiful going around party again
free to feel free

4 my birthday?
well
big party in Montefiascone- vedesi stazione disagiata di attagliano-
- meet just for a beautiful case my loved Joanna in da train
- meet chantal, I like meet people i don't believe alive anymore
- panino e pivo
- insane trip
- insane station- how can u fcking recognize a station where signs are not placed?
- nice enrico's car full of beer and vodka
- my lovely friends angy leire etc etc
- d'n'b all da night
- starlight on da arms to better dance

e ricordiamoci robin che collassa e tocchiccia il pavimento-
lalla: robin che c'è?
robin: cerco il bagno
lalla: perterra?ù
robin: si, capita
lalla: vuoi andare al bagno?
robin: volentieri
lalla: andiamo al bagno?
robin: perchè?
lalla: perchè tu volevi andarci
robin: ah si certo

dopo 10 min
robin si sta soffiando il naso in vari versi con una cartina
lalla guarda robin
robin: eh, capita!

tutto va letto molto veloce-
come la notte

+ tardi

chuck si butta in terra pisto con cani - che di solito teme troppo- attorno e urla:
divoratemi, dai, mangiatemi, divoratemi allora.

lo alzo.

-3

2006-05-21T15:02:00.000+02:00

e cosi la triade della lenta capitolazione di questi due anni is taking place.
e scorrerà come i fluidi descritti nel gattopardo, cosi alla stessa maniera....sbatacchiata tra due esami e una cerimonia di chiusura.

però
le lacrime
si asciugano coi sorrisi
non v'è dolore in me adesso
rispetto allo scorso anno

sono pochi coloro che mi sento di stringere a me

sono pochi quelli che amo.

my labirinth

2006-05-11T21:42:00.000+02:00

http://six.flash-gear.com/water/wat.php?c=v&id=188639&k=40776953

liv a draw fa me loved opossum

2006-05-11T15:18:00.000+02:00

2006-05-10T17:32:00.000+02:00

I just got a tattoo by Amanda Toy.
Thora rosica rosica rosica, morover non ti vuole sposareeee ahahahahahah
mi sposi ora?

the world of the ib has problems...

2006-04-24T20:45:00.000+02:00

http://unicast.org/blog/599

2006-04-24T20:09:00.000+02:00

we will fck them with the gdc

8

2006-04-22T21:54:00.000+02:00

esame d'arte fatto.
si avvicina il p1 di wlc.....
e matematica
e environmental
e inglese
e italiano

ma matematica......
ormai è diventata una sfida personale non sono stupida e ve lo dimostrerò!
let's fuck them with the calculator rob ..........ehhehehehhe
we r genius

mostra d'arte

2006-04-18T20:28:00.000+02:00

il 20 aprile ho l'esame d'arte, poi dal pomeriggio si apre la mostra per un cinque giorni tipo...quindi se lor signori sono interessati possono venire a percorrerla.
da artist

zadaj da ne?

2006-04-13T14:08:00.000+02:00

http://nuvolefumate.splinder.com/

chek(chuck) it out

italia, il paese della cultura

2006-04-12T15:48:00.000+02:00

regà se ce fossero ancora li romani se starebbero a raccapriccià...

http://www.smemoranda.it/_box_home/baselista/artI5217.html

perchè se berlusconi, che tanto vuole imperare, fosse un vero Imperatore si capirebbe (io credo) questa affluenza di teste di cazzo che lo vogliono passionatamente alla guida dell'Impero d'Italia.

prima delle elezioni era stato detto: per la legge dei grandi numeri dovremmo vincere visto che per ogni testa di cazzo ci sono due coglioni.

giustissimo.

sapete quale sarebbe la vera risoluzione?
o castriamo il popolo italico - un pò estremo-
oppure iniziamo a basare questa maledetta società sulla ficaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
basta fallocentrismo
basta!
non vedete perchè tutto va male?
perchè siamo o coglioni o teste di cazzo....

ma dove sono l'armi, i fragori
i profumi de li tempi antichi?
gli imperi e la grande Roma?

2006-03-29T13:17:00.000+02:00

cioe regà ce sta n'probblema qua che tipo ne sta merda de stituzione ce controlllano tutto ma pproprio tutto, quindi me tocca scrive ne ste lingue strane tipo chiamate romanaccio e dirve che :
tedenunciammobruttatroiabianca che hai capito

chi capisce capisce
dal fronte della liberazione lemurica

sabato sera a trieste

2006-03-27T20:54:00.000+02:00

carissimi lettori prima di divertirvi con questo simpatico report vorrei solo ricordarvi di versare qualche lacrimuccia per me, poihcè sono successe delle cose scolastiche meritocratiche importanti nel frattempo: sono stata presa da Middlesex, KingStONe and CiTy mentre weStminster ha deciso che non ci stiamo + simpatici reciprocamente. inoltre sono stata occupata da esami orali di italiano both su leopardi e su io non ho paura, bella presentazioni, leop un burdel ma vabbè; ho fatto i due orali di inglese, non male dai. ora sto impazzendo per finire tutto di arte per il booklet maledetto quindi sto zappando 3 metri q. di terra e infilandoci mille bottiglie (200 cmq) per il labirinto di knosso in cui mi sono gettata, ah mia pazzia. ma l,a tragedia imminente cadrà su di me il 7 aprile, esame di world cultures about troppe cose che nn sto a dire....e du palle ho appena finito il cazzo di saggio sulla body art e manco il tempo di capire da che pate girarsi qua. ahhhh sento delle pulci in testa, a forza di zappare a ples....

vabbuò, su il tempo e il ritmo passiamo a sabato. allora, in teoria io, me stessa, chuck, nibor & derf dovevamo andare alla festa sfascio pericolo morte distruzione di giulia, mitica tastierista dei trabant, poi x difficoltà tecniche di cantiere è successo che tutto è saltato tranne la nostra spesa. cosa quindi successe? bhe ci siamo ritrovati in 4 a ts con spesa per festa...ecco, chi abbia voglia di conoscere con precisione i dettagli della lista della spesa vada sui commenti di http://www.trabant.splinder.com/, ecco dicevamo, cmq alla fine armati di due vodke siamo andati sul molo a dire cazzate a tutto spiano con lucine strane both mie e della città. c'era inoltre la gara di guancie rosse tra chuck e er derf che però alla fine ha vinto visto che le ha anche fatte diventare in 3D. E nel frattempo è arrivato Daniele e cosi la compagnia si è allargata e con essa le cazzate e la sbronza e il freddo cosi abbiamo optato per il caldo confortevole etnoblog. eccoci dentro, io che non so come mi sono trascinata l'illegale derf dentro e tipo sarà stata la sua presenza Inebriante o la musica sballo ma vi giuro ho avuto 10min di panico non capivo vedevo sentivo + un cazzo ero tipo fuori ma fuori fuori....
bon cmq mi ripiglio sbocco un pò anche in compagnia di nibor ma sempre con estrema dignità pensate che sono pure riuscita ad avvertire michelino che tutto apprensivo corre in bagno di uomini e butta fuori un tipo col pistolino di fuori per farmi sboccare. alchè però la situazione troppo esilarante mi ha ridato lucidità e non riuscivo + a sboccare e michele non capiva come mai poverino guarda un pò con che gente ha a che fare.... bon bon alla fine decido di ballare con giovanni cosi michelino poverino di arrabbia e cerca di fregarmi giovanni e ci balla lui sto lemure sottosviluppato ( o sviluppato sotto?) bhe insomma balliamo balliamo con musica davvero figa mentre nibor e derf sono tipo collassato into a corner.
grande cmq, grande anche la corsa to the car per imbottirsi di salame del re.
bhe si ringrazia il ppubblico, la città bella, la musica figa e il nostro amato autista daltonico.

e cmq, il giorno dopo ero vestita + formale che si può tutta lilla lilla e viola e verde minchia che figa eh?a ritirare la mia traga alut al concorso internazionale di poesia del castello di duino. Bon alla fine un'esperienza no?

un bacio e grazie S3B per l'ispirazione per la poesia.
ciààààààààààà guys

project week al CD

2006-03-01T21:43:00.000+01:00

è un appagamento totale e quotidiano al centro diurno di salute mentale di aurisina, ogni giorno sempre di +.
oggi abbiamo fatto il corso di cuina noi, e abbiamo preparato i pici, è stato fighissimo. La cosa + bella è stata quando Sara ha chiesto ad Andrea come mai era cosi bravo a fare i pici se li sapeva giù fare. e lui ha risposto: ma no, è la mia prima volta, però ho seguito quello che mi ha detto lei e in più ci ho messo l'anima!

martedì graz a muzza- 3 parte

2006-03-01T21:14:00.000+01:00

carissimi ascoltatori per chi volesse conoscere cosa capitò a cavallo tra la prima e la terza parte vada su here!
-muggia-muzza-muja- soad e posto di blocco robin con testa contro vetro giulia con testa collassata mezza nel baule io e angela mezzematte già che dicono cazzate a raffica e mik che poverino, guida. e tipo parcheggia. allora ci si inizia a vestire di mille strati e a svegliare giù, si fanno un pò di travasi alcolici e si parteeeeee. ovuque processione di gente che punta su muggia. gente che canta balla salta beve ride. e dentro muggia lo stesso, problema: ressa pazzesca e robin e giù non tengono il ritmo di marcia. E si beve duro e si salta balla mille volti sconosciuti che si rivelano amici di mik e tira di qua tira di la che tutti ci rapiscono la bella angiolina come il tipo uscito dalla poesia di Blake. Gira gira gira che ti gira in giro un divertimento che non avete idea alla fine si ritrovano i due sbandati, Robin e Giù, che si erano perduti chissà dove e ci si direziona su piazza Sballo. Da me sì chiamata per il casino che c'era, un carro con musica e questo basta per noi che, belli sbronzi e felici ci piazziamo sul cubo (pezzo di cemento della piazza) e indossiamo i nostri lemur-ego. Evviva i lemuri pazzi che saltano e perdono gli ociai e un pò vengono rimorchiati da tutti, vero Giù? Batte batte il ritmo su di noi attorno a noi e davanti uno dei + bei panorami mai visto tutta la costa buia infestata da luci colorate. Cosi si finisce che siamo rimasti una cinquantina, li sballoni, laggiù in piazza Sballlo a svarionare e si inizia a suonare bonghi e strumenti strani e birre vuote e poi...processione di ritorno cazzo sono le cinque e mezzo del mattino raga che mattanza si canta si canta con gente che non si sa sono rasta e ci stanno dentro proprio come noi fino alla macchina eeeeeee eehi baby UH AH I wanna knoooooooow if u be my girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! si insomma c'è anche qualche cosa di + in tutta questa serata, accadono cose romantiche stelle e albe a -6 gradi sopra trieste alle 6 del mattino.
è poesia.
portami via.

martedì graz a muzza -1 parte:osmica

2006-03-01T14:56:00.000+01:00

Na zdravjeeeeeeeeee muli^^
ed ecco di nuovo il terzetto Robin, Giulia e la sottoscritta che si allarga e abbraccia la bella Angiolina e si dirige a Medeazza, placido e sorridente, travestito somehow up, da morte, elfi, maschera bianca non identificata, signuuuora con classe e guanto rrrrosso. E così dopo qualche metro nell'impervia natura della scalata per lo osmica ecco che un tipo strafigo che sembra un capitano d'arme capelli bianchi e grigi che incorniciano un volto segnato dal sorriso della giovinezza, blu, piccole pozze blu in cui gettarsi e perdersi e poi le sue ruvide mani, grandi, grandi e strumenti d'arte. si perchè abbiamo scoperto che è uno sculture famoso di pietra carsica. figata. aspettava 'La signora' , beveva, rideva ed i bimbi si arrangiavano.... giusto cosi!bon bon iniziamo
con un litro e mezzo di bianco e tagliere framed by gente matta vecchia giovane bizzarra travestita di tutto e di più e io che penso mamma mia che gente matta in carso sono troppo dei fighi. Bon ricevo un bacio da un bel donnone finto e giulia viene rapita da un tipo sloveno da morir dal ridere che non l'ha + lasciata in pace e hanno ballato ballato e ballato. e poi è stata rubata da un altro, e riballato. e abbiamo ballato e bevuto anche noi tutti matti con tedesco sloveno e sardo e cazzo non potevi proprio parlare italiano il che ci starebbe bene come situazione se solo uno riuscisse a parlare quelle lingue strane.eeeee vabbè cmq proprio perchè ci ha visto il difficoltà Boris ci ha allungato un nuovo litrazzo de vin ( siamo sbronzi DEVIN-duino-), e cosi sul nostro tavolo di bicchieri ce ne erano 8 + altri 4 sul bancone. ma che dobbiamo, morire? Allora mando messagggino a michelino :'siamo in osmica aspettiamo un tuo intervento, urgono rinforzi'. e cosi lui emerge im vestaglia da nonno e ochaiiii o come se scrive un lo so e cmq minchia se faceva ridere, ecco ci tocca buttare giù l'ultimo shot di vino offerto e poi..................si parte per muggia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sAbato all'EtNo blOg

2006-02-26T18:05:00.000+01:00

e così la triade lascia la lugubre palude duinese per conducersi all'aperitivo camparoso al lasko pub ( catapecchia monfalconese) carburante. Auto baracca ma impianto stereo figo, stra stra, ed allora parte il ritmo dei bomfunk'mcs e io inizio a sdare vedo lemuri dappaeruttto nella foresta grande rave e arriva il gorilla che fa il dj con le teste dei lemuri e tipo Robin che inzia a starci sotto anche lui ma peggio del peggio giulia che ad uno stridulo passaggio elettronico giulia urla ahhh è schiacciata è schiacciata allora mi giro e la vedo che gesticola ma che cazzo c'hai giù? tutto bene? cosa? ti sta scoppiando la testa devo abbassare il volume si lo abbasso. lo abbasso. e giù 'ma nooo era la testa del lemur che scoppiava'. che dire, si arrivò cosi a Trieste. e giunsero i nostri eroi che si preparano del nice rhum e cola e si spogliano dei loro maglioni nn importa che fuori si pipa dal freddo loro sono fighi. si mettono le parrucche. tre bellissime grazie, una bionda una mora una rossa, proprio grazia graziella e grazie al cazzo (N.). Bhe entriamo ci tesseriamo di tutto e iniziamo a ballare scivolare come lemuri impazziti sulla pista da skate da culo e poi conosciamo gente salutiamo gente bho balliamo il gruppo spalla ci va giù duro o forse è solo l'alcol che sale, ehhhh nn dovrei bere ma succede cmq si arrivano loro, arrivano i Trabant. bella storia ragazzi, thora ti saresti divertito troppo e poi ieri ho trovato la immezzo una tipa che aveva mille piercing sono sicura che alla fine per lei avresti mandato in mona il nostro matrimonio....
Ebbene ragazzi ed ecco i Trabant, traban libre signori il deliro è in arrivo quando la tastierista se ne esce con la bella storia del giochino brasiliano impossibile da risolvere. e un pò spinta un pò di suo la matta giulia sale sul palco minchia wwwww maths studies non ce la fa a strecciarlo alla fine ci balla su e tutti felici perchè lei vince il bacio. Ah il bacio! Deve scegliere chi baciare...e n'do va giulietta? Bene intanto lei nn aveva capito bene che c'era questo premio quindi è un pò spiazzata però poi sceglie per srtumento figa la batteria figo il batterista bon vado la, pensa. bene cosi va la e accade il fattaccio. (chiudetevi gli occhi:P) E il cantante :' ragazzi....e nn si staccano!!!!' ahahhahahahah w i lemuri!!! poi vabbè nn proseguiamo che si va nel personale chi sa sa e evviva cosi, chi non sa si getta nella mischia e balla qualche dj matto e poi bevi e bevi che stai morendo di sete e poi scopri che sono le 3 e nn solo hai ballato e bevuto troppo ma c'è gente che abita a 100 metri da te e non lo sapevi ed è gente figa e ti dici porcaputtana non solo il mondo è piccolo, ma anche la dove vedevi solo la nebbia poi si accende sempre la lucina.
Bene, tutti che sorridono e ridono al porto di duino, surgelati. Capitan Findus e Pivo. Pet Pivo. esattamente. e poi una camera un pò + calda, come i croissant e sorrisi risate occhi che crollano sulle palpebre o il contrario, evviva Heleeeeeeeeen.
il tutto fa un pò doson crik e ci si ride su che + figa di cosi questa etno serata nn poteva girare.

bhe, w i lemuri nella giungla.
che domani questo cervello frastagliato lavorerà sodo alla projcet week.
vidimo se uskoro ( lo imparerò questo linguaggio strano alla fine)

trials exams

2006-02-16T18:05:00.000+01:00

lo sclero

la tortura inumana sotto la quale questo posto mi ha sottoposto è giunta ad un termine

tra giorni di 6 ore di sessione d'esame -______________-

droga gratis

2006-02-16T18:01:00.000+01:00

e per l'immensa esplosiva gioia di thora.....
mi sono finalemente forataaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

male zero

divertimento tanto

grazie brenno,che mi ha sottoposto all'esperimento del primo piercing in poliuretano sul mercato e lorenzo dello zyp che lo ha consigliato^^

bon, ho scoperto che un piercing al labbro impone una vita stra salutare
no alcool, no caffe, no the, no baci o sesso orale, no cibi troppo caldi, salati speziati per tre settimane...

accipicchia!!!
e miei dovrebbero gioire...

;)

nuovo tattoo

2006-01-26T20:08:00.000+01:00

per l'immensa incommensurabile gioia di thora ecco qua che mi è venuta la scimmia per un nuovo tattoo. Il disegno sarà un piccola ankh di 5 mm c.a. fatta molto semplicemente con un segno grafico fine.

ebbene
c'è un solo problema: non ne ho ancora decisa la locazione.
urge decisione
la scimmia chiama
si accettano consigli

darkettoni gotici per roma

2006-01-05T16:09:00.000+01:00

3 gennaio 2006
buon anno a tutti, innanzitutto.
e buon compleannp strife, il maghetto pasticcio più figo di tutti^+^
Gilda koala si è ko@lizzata e si è travestita da dark ( apparte hastur che è stata la nostra guida naturale). la mitica giulia mia ha cucito un vestito goth bello da morire e così armati di vestiario, accessori vari abbiamo invaso casa di mercurio e ci siamo travestiti^^
piccolo particolare non calcolato: sia il kube che il jungle che qualsiasi possibile locale romano dark il martedi è stra chiuso....
ebbene, cosic ci siamo vestiti e truccati da dark e dopo cena usciti a fare gli scemi a piazza navona.
risultato?
tanto freddo ma tante risate, bella compagnia e già nostalgia..
indi per cui la vera serata dark si svolgerà a milano a gennaio....
hihihihiihiihihiiihih

2005-12-30T16:25:00.000+01:00

anaujiram

2005-12-30T16:23:00.000+01:00

i suoi occhi,
l'hai mai guardati attentamente?

perle nere
infoltite dallo sguardo da lupo

nel sogno mi sono riapparsi
e la dorata sabbia sfugge dalle dita

avrei bisogno di un fine setaccio
e dell'intera spiaggia

per recuperarli.

ko@lizziamoci

2005-12-29T22:46:00.000+01:00

Il grande sapere koalico va avanti, cresce e si divulga.

aiutate i koala a conkuistare i mondo.

a me hanno appena pubblicato un racconto ( sulla sezione scrivere web web mania del premio letterario grinzane cavour www.grinzane.it) sui koala.

leggetelo, imprimetelo nella mente, divulgate il sapere dell'infinito.

c'è un piccolo questionario umano al quale vorrei sottoporre i vostri quozienti intellettivi:
chi è il ragazzino gobbo che vede l'infinito dietro la siepe?

..... e nibor?

2005-12-23T14:52:00.001+01:00

http://niborblogger.blogspot.com/.....

eh eh ce ne è per tutti^^
http://spaces.msn.com/members/barveni/
anche giappo....

http://spaces.msn.com/members/kyungtae85/

4d derfinator conquer of tha world

2005-12-23T14:40:00.000+01:00

how better honorate the derfinator?
finding people with similar names....
http://www.derf.net/

or better

http://www.derf.net/otherderfs/

but if this is not enough just hang on in the agenzia derf http://somosputos.blogspot.com/2005_11_01_somosputos_archive.html#113198844910461709

not happy yet?
bored people.....go to the derf city!!!!!!!!!!
http://photos1.blogger.com/img/87/940/1024/derf_03292004_web1.jpg

and dear citiziens, there is also the derfy derf phenomenon http://www.livejournal.com/users/guyver3/288348.html

2005-12-23T01:21:00.000+01:00

saluti da perugia

buon natale a mitra