Keep Full Bed Slats In Place

Tufts aware of isotopes in hand, pulsari nuclei, neutrons and quasari

dendrites, axons and synapses of the undersigned often suffer from what happens in the outside world (when the outside world to understand also my body, as at one with what is commonly called the mind, I can not perceive it as something alien part ... but that's another story whose protagonists Plotinus Descartes, neuroscientists, philosophers of mind, soul, mind, AI and flowcharts, and for now it is better to put aside ). What happens in the outside world, what usually comes from all swallowed, digested, assimilated, accepted. In what sense is affected? Here, it happens often, very often, lately more and more often - but in truth I was going even when I was nine years old - that I (whatever that means "me", but that's another story) feel about me the weight of external reality. Now, external reality, we all know, is a lightweight, external reality being almost everything that is not me (which is really so, unless you decide to embrace solipsism ... must say that this is another story? ), so it is difficult to imagine that, at least, I do a little 'head hurt.

A supernova explodes, hairs on the nose of a vervet, dreams of a cat who lived 3400 years ago, tweed jackets and flared trousers, mathematical theories and hypothetical alien civilizations, colonies of ants and hundreds of billions of galaxies, hypertext and critique of pure reason, Kant and the skeleton of the cosmic dust, stomach ache and electromagnetic waves, sex, flowers, pop art, big bang, space-time, determination, the shells of nuts. Again, the teeth, the plastic the past, the flavor of an apricot, the expansion of the universe, evolution, involution, the thoughts of a dolphin, Sacher torte, antimatter, death, a female pterodactyl and litter, biodiversity, watches digital pulse, molecules, bubbles, the primordial ooze, fine sand, photons and bacteria, rendering, DNA and Arbre Magique, petrol engine life and the ocean floor, hair, a bat and the barrel of a gun, keyboard of this computer, my hands, nails, sugar icing, birth, comic books, origami, the chimpanzee, the brain of Mozart and that of a serial killer, movies, unlimited semiosis, structuralism, theories, practice, words, language, dams, flood, flooding, overdose, overflow .

In Veda and Purana external reality, as it presents itself to our consciousness ( what the hell is the conscience? ) is called the Veil of Maya (Schopenhauer then popularized this expression). We do not live in true reality, the whole universe is illusion, appearance. We are enveloped by the veil of Maya that we preclude the vision of what is really real. But what is really real? You can pierce the veil of Maya? At times, while others prepare the coffee, make the nap, they attack Iraq, elaborate mathematical formulas or play darts, while yawning, make love, smile, kill, beg, come, writing, dreaming, while the river water runs without the slightest ripple, I happen to feel the presence of the Veil. Every thing, every single thing in this world, everything I've learned to take for granted, it stops being normal becomes strange, crazy, unbelievable. Everything. I am an alien. You are the aliens. There is nothing that is not alien. Gape. And if it was all a game (a kind of The Sims on a cosmic scale)? And if I was a guinea pig? Why do people around it seems to me not to notice anything? They are part of the game? Am I the only victim? What is the truth? And so the idea of the Veil of Maya, however suggestive, is still too little. The reality is incredibly complex and strange to what a human mind can even remotely comprehend. What to do? Give up? Dying to 79.12 years, with irony? Study the matter, the microparticles or verses of a poet and forget the vertigo of overview ? Become like Philip K. Dick in the last years of his life, crazy trying to figure out the impossible ? Or become superficial and / or cynical and respond to those who put themselves these questions (how many? we are dying) saying that blowjobs are just mental? (What have you against giving head? Bigotti!)

A life without research is not worth living, "said the good old Socrates. And Jostein Gaarder , a couple of millennia (and broken) after:

"Imagine walking through woods. Suddenly, the path before you, see a spaceship. It is coming out of a tiny Martian starting to stare ... What do you think such a situation? It does not matter, does the same. Rather, do not you ever think of yourself as a Martian?
is highly unlikely that you will come across a creature from another planet. In fact, we do not know if there is life on other planets. Instead, it is possible that you come across yourself. One day suddenly you stop and think about yourself in a whole new way. Maybe it can happen just as you're taking a walk in the woods. I am a strange creature, I think, is a mysterious animal ... It's like if you woke up from a long sleep that has lasted for years, just as happened to Sleeping Beauty. Who am I? you ask. You know you're wandering around on a planet in the universe. But what is the universe? If you happen to think of yourself in this way, you discovered something mysterious like the Martian was telling you about earlier. You have not met a creature that comes from space, but you look inside yourself and you've seen as a strange creature.

[...] I want to make a point: even if the philosophical questions concerning all human beings, not all become philosophers. For different reasons, most people are so taken by the things of everyday existence that deals with the latest thinking about the place.
For children, the world, with all that it offers, is something new and amazing. Not so for all adults, most of which perceives the world as an ordinary event. The philosophers are a noble exception. A philosopher has never managed to get used to the whole world that, for him, continues to be absurd, yes, enigmatic and mysterious. Philosophers and children have shared this important capacity. We may well say that a philosopher maintains the delicate skin of a child for life. Now you have to choose, dear Sophie, you're a child who has not yet been able to "get used to the world"? Or are you a philosopher who swears he does not ever get used? If you shake your head and you do not feel neither child nor the philosopher is that the world has become so familiar that you do not wonder more. "

Pictures micampe

How does it feel to be a bat? You try to be something a neuron? Yes try to be something a few billion neurons inside a skull? Two years ago, more or less, while way home after buying bread, I imbattutto in a stray dog. In my life I have met dozens of stray dogs. This time, though, I behaved in a strange way (ie in a way that, in our society, it is usually labeled as strange ). The dog began to stare, and I only answer I stopped and I did the same. I've fixed. I got lost in the eyes of a dog for an indefinite time. A scene indeed quite ridiculous, I agree. The fact is that I was trying to figure out, fix it, what the hell goes on in my head (yes, I wanted establish telepathic contact with a dog ... so what?). He probably thought something like "hunger - food - yum," but this I'll never know. We were facing each other, but our minds were light years away. That dog was like an alien, an entity strange, incomprehensible. What proof that an individual dog, now (assuming he is still alive)? What feels, perceives, thinks right now while I'm sitting comfortably at your computer? Two years ago, around the same time, I tried to look into the eyes even a mosquito (yes, in Catania is not so strange that there are mosquitoes in December). How do you look in the eyes of a mosquito? What life for a mosquito? Mosquitoes, flies, ants, worms, mice ... where do they live? In what world? And when that happens to die? Reincarnate into something else? It's all about karma? Dolphins, trees, viruses, microbes, people, dinosaurs, inert objects, live objects. What will be our next reincarnation? No? The absolute and inconceivable anything? Something is wrong. At times I try to convince me that there is love and freedom, that we are surrounded by good and that our world is a multifaceted and multi-colored paradise that has been given by some benevolent deity to make us happy. But it is not. The trouble is that it is not even a monstrous inferno generated by the case, a black prison from which escape is impossible. No, it is ying and yang is not, is not black and not white. What is the truth? It is perhaps a mixture of both? It is the Tao? I do not know. Do not just use the fuzzy logic find or to understand something about Zen. I repeat: the reality is incredibly complex and strange to what a human mind can even remotely comprehend. It is the strangest of the Tao, Buddha and Allah. More strange formulas of physics, the philosophical ( there are more things in heaven and on earth ... ) and the Christian God. But is this a good reason to turn their backs on the search and look at the sisters Lecciso * on TV? (Yes, maybe yes.)

* How does it feel to be a Lecciso?

Briggs And Stratton Governor Spring Dia

That's Entertainment! (Ray Gelato I Love You) Oh ...

Oddiosantissimoreverendissimodiavolidellinferno! Want to know what entertainment? The real entertainment, the total and absolute, that has nothing to do with regular entertainment? Ladies and gentlemen, is entertainment Ray Gelato. Yes, it's called just like that (no, it is a stage name, but the his stage name, and it fits perfectly). Ray Gelato is a saxophonist, a man, a singer, a very funny name, a jazz musician, an Italian-American English, a bench, two braces, a nose, two eyes, thin, a wonderful character. The impersonator of Robert De Niro in Raging Bull , practically Jake La Motta of the collective. Delirium, riot, one thousand hosannas in the highest and in the bowels of the earth for this man and his Giants.

This time the event is not even an hour passed. I have not had a new EMD, but something completely different: I was entertained as never before for three hours straight. Mass entertainment, mentally and physically from my head to the navel dendrites. Bob De Niro's double-Jake La Motta, accompanied by three musicians, singers, London (sax tall, trumpet, trombone), an Austrian pianist, a drummer and a bass Scottish dinonsodovese with the devil, he did something truly spectacular spectacular. Giuseppe Maria Theresa and my cousin, a couple of weeks ago they had fallen asleep listening to jazz and sophisticated mathematical guitar Rudy Linka , this time we are triggered. Like everyone, however. Old men and babies, without exception. It was a festival of swing music, mambo, mozzarella cheese, but my mom maritari, sing sing, Josephine Please No Lean On The Bell, Just a Gigolo, Pizza You, You wish ago and I know on the American. A dip in the '40s and '50s, in the heart of Little Italy. The irrepressible, unstoppable, irrepressible, mythical Gelato Bollente that melts me / made us laugh (cabbage, I did not laugh so much - uh - from very time) with his fantastic Italian one thousand Catania gras gras milla Sischilia I pallo little Striptease , with its mimicry, his grimaces, his duets with alto saxophonist Alex Garnett (really funny, I swear I thought I find it hard to keep from falling off the chair and roll on the floor laughing), made us dance, sing, amazed us with solos are amazing and brilliant, has upset the ten minutes that the drummer was vacated and turned the drums in a jazz Mental Dimensional Vector *, delighted us with his twirls and movements clumsy and graceful at the same time. In a nutshell: we have entertained so divine. That's Entertainment (I also said Jake La Motta). Good grief, you even managed to turn into these lines and get over 78,332 other post in my head for some time (my blog entries has a lot more mental than real) but because of the cows time ** I have not written ( For example, what about Donnie Darko , beautiful film I've seen a few days ago and on which I much to say). I'm just sorry to have forgotten the camera, but me and Ray we'll meet again. Ah, Ray Gelato I do not run away anymore. We eat over and over again, complete with swing and mosarela above, you can sure of that.

* What the hell is a vector of Dimensional Mental Jazz?
** What the hell is a cow's time?

Titus Motolite Size Recommendation

EMD




The Dr.Psycho says I'm a genius

Find out what you said about http://psycho.asphalto.org/test/ .

Goldfish Has Growth On Head

Three hours, three hours only. It is only three hours from ' event. Stanley Jordan and Jeff Berlin together, cheek to cheek, eyes look against, against electric bass guitar. High-calorie juice jazz, sparks of vibrations that still pass through my body, from the back of the tongue, from the toes to the inch eyes to the ears. I can hardly read the words on the screen, the pixels in the middle I see their faces. Jeff, the God of bass guitar. Overflowing in all directions. Our first meeting was dazzling last February. In recent months, will put on ten pounds of flab. He probably decided to expand beyond measure her belly so that we can rest on the bottom, or the strings to vibrate to the rhythm of his navel.

Jeff Berlin, the undisputed King of the electric bass. Standing still, motionless. It is a marble statue, holding down on his stomach, his glasses on his head, nose, mustache and chin on her head. Then fixed Stanley Jordan, looks at him with loving eyes, the winks, and whispers something explodes (no, not as Terry Jones in The Meaning of Life Monty Python). Sparks of music everywhere, loose cannon, the chaos in harmony, harmony in chaos. The Jazz.

Stanley Jordan is the opposite of Jeff. Before the concert in many wondered what was the meaning a duo of musicians as diverse. Too different, seemingly irreconcilable. At first glance it seems that they come from two planets light years away. Stanley is lean and hyperactive. He takes guitar in hand and began playing as soon as is overwhelmed by his own music and start dancing. Dance with your hands on the ropes, his head swaying, her body becomes elastic. Then, suddenly, the dancer with the guitar and bass with the big-bellied Buddha is watching. For a split second, everything is suspended, time stops, my breath too. Among the public, those buildings are still yawning with its mouth open, those who put their noses with their fingers remain paralyzed in the nose. Then the thousandth of a second goes by and the unbelievable happens. The music of Jeff and Stanley to join together in a perfect alchemy. The two are very different but complementary, as black and white, yin and yang, ketchup and fries, day and night. Take Mozart, Yesterday, the anthem of Italy and Stairway To Heaven and pass them in the blender jazz. They put the juice in the microwave and they blow jazz. Collect the scattered pieces and reassembled them with jazz super attack.

Everything is perfect. The yearning of Stanley's guitar alternates all'istrionismo bass Jeff seamlessly. Every now and then stop, go to the microphone and screams as each other. I do not understand anything. I forgot my camera on record mode for 27 minutes in a row and register my tennis shoes flapping in the throes of an epileptic seizure. Everything ends too quickly. The public stands up and the divine duo took the stage for an encore, a b and even a quater. Stanley sits and plays the piano with his left hand and guitar with the right. Then silence. The crowd, the comments, the noise of steps toward the exit of the theater and jazz that continues to reverberate through my synaptic connections. Gate arrival and find their . No more abstract entities, and divine, but normal human beings who spent signing autographs with cramps in my hands. I remember having a camera and forces Rosario (Rosario who is?) To make me the photo you can see below.

Sim (with the term dreaming of a serial killer who has just found his victim)
in the company of Jeff Berlin, whose T-shirt and sweat the electric bass have merged in an ecstasy of love

gloating after living EMD (Experience Music Final) bouncing back to my car. Giusi turn on the radio to a station at random. There are three words Valeria Rossi. After two seconds (the time to say sun heart love ) Giuseppe and I feel the noise of the car crushed under the wheels of the car.

Single Pregnant Women

If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail

I have a terrible headache.

It's funny thinking about the irrelevance of such a notation. Not only on a cosmic scale the headache of a human being has no value - or no meaning, in hindsight - but I myself, now nearly annihilated by this terrible pain in a few years re-reading the sentence in bold, try a slight movement of rice. (In a hundred years but no, but that's another story.)

I'd love to know the inventors of blister case of colored Cibalgina Two Fast and take a dig for giving birth to such a huge idiocy and congratulate them for having created something so pretty.

Wedding Program Honoring Deceased

This sentence is not self

Organization is the key to success, or so the pundits say.

The post is finished. Go war peace.

If You Dvr Will It Count In Ratings

How to write a post of 8650 characters without saying anything

Memo: withdraw the September 2004 list of memories. Has not brought anything good, damn this month. Caught tons of confusion, anguish, fever, delirium, distress, madness, annihilated by the collective gullibility, dall'idiozia individual staff from schizophrenia, poor Sim was sucked into a black hole of multiform hallucinations that has literally crumbled his personality generating an infinite series of multiple identities. The distinction between real and imaginary is gone, and within the connective tissue of the open stretch marks are actually bigger and bigger, glimpses of the terrifying void that swallowed all that was order, harmony and certainty turning into a shapeless mess of unanswered questions. In other words, I was Malino. Imagine if I thought to update the web-log ...

On second thought, however, there was something good. This event, like Sirius in the sky, shines and illuminates the darkness of the desert just past thirty days. On 18 September I made my official entry into cares -list (a mailing list of the most prestigious in the World Wide Web, founded and run by a famous mad scientist ) email with the beautiful presentation, which I reproduce below, which I am really proud of (sic ):

Hello, I too I'm a fan of Senefrega Chis , drummer Jam Mank. I did not think there was a mailing list devoted to him. Do not believe it once, long ago, when I still had not discovered this mailing list. Now we believe, of course. I mean, if I did not believe now I am an idiot. You may not believe in something you believe in? When not believe it, but I was not an idiot, just do not know it existed. But are you really sure that if I did not believe after discovering that there'd be a fool? How dare you? Oh God, not to exclude the possibility that I am writing this email just pretend _facendo credere_ existence of this list. If so, I'd be an idiot or not? However it is not, right? This list exists, and I believe it. Oh, do not misunderstand. Once, long ago, I did not believe that there simply because _immaginavo_ that could exist. Are not devoid of imagination, though. I have great imagination, I swear. Ok, I swear it's not enough to have much imagination to dimostare to have. Shit, if you would like to prove it. But I say, what kind of assholes ... is welcomed as a newcomer?

Fuck
Sim

Is not that wonderful? (I go before you: no, it is not.) Do it like me, you also subscribe to the list-who cares, the mailing list of read and dell'inclito frequented by gamblers, loan sharks, prostitutes, and fancazzisti classy. See the world through new eyes and the quality of your life will improve in no time. (For the record, I am writing in November 2003, I sent three e-mail backward from 2385 I read. That's why I'm always Malino .)

September was a month forget, I said. October is also a horrid months, however, began auspiciously. You should know that I, for many years now, are literally obsessed with a movie Overtime, one of the masterpieces of the divine Martin Scorsese. My Favorite Movie , no doubt some (second Brazil the heels and try to overcome it, but to no avail). My identification with Paul Hackett, the film's protagonist, is total. I am him ( Sam Lowry, the hero of Brazil, has for several years to oust Paul from the throne of my alternative identities, but there is nothing to do). Well (drum roll), the news of the month is that after a long and grueling wait, overtime is coming out in dvd . Yes, home-Warner have finally decided. The audio in both English and Italian, is a poor mono, but this is irrelevant. The DVD contains in fact the technical comments of Martin Scorsese, Griffin Dunne (Paul Hackett) Amy Robinson (producer), Michael Ballhaus (director of photography) and Thelma Schoonmaker (editor), plus previously unreleased footage, trailers and making-of variegated. I go into raptures at the thought.

Another new aspect of Vendemiaire / Brumaire: the mini-facelift of this LJ. Mini because, unfortunately, does not allow poor LiveJournal.com a free account to freely change the layout of your blog. You can choose from a dozen ready-made templates and just change some features. The reasoning behind this choice, perfectly within the enucleated FAQ , is simple and straightforward and can be summarized as follows: EU idiot. It's already so you do not get paid, if you want to be served and revered Schei's exit, if not silent, and pipe. (Here, I feel guilty. In fact I like LiveJournal, I agree with almost everything that is written here and if I had € 10 million would not hesitate to devote entirely a. .. no, this is actually not. ) I'd like to build a blog as I say, without restriction (remember the episode of the Simpsons where Homer designs this fantastic car? I wish I could do something like that), and indeed have already done , in the distant past, but I am fond of * to this place and I'm not going to go back to the blognomade, so I'm pleased with the mini-facelift and live happy. So, after months of honorable service, the old title of this blog ( admired and imitated by malmostosa , which is no small thing) is to be retired, replaced by a feel closer to my current (yes, I'm just Malino ). The image that replaces the Sim in mystical ecstasy, however, is a snapshot of Northern Exposure, the best television series of all time, won two Emmy Awards, shamefully ill-treated in Italy the poor fools who make the schedules RAI and Mediaset, and those idiots who have decided to tie a bland title: A doctor among the bears. The kind you see on the left is Joel Fleischman, the protagonist of the show (the third largest parade nell'hit of my alternate identities), that right is Morty, a moose.

Want to know why I identify with these three characters? Well, look After Hours , Brazil and Northern Exposure (to the episode The Quest ) frequentatemi for ten years and maybe you'll understand .

* Not true. In reality they are just lazy.

Pyle Blue Wave Subwoofer Any Good?

Les paroles seules competent higher. Le reste est bavardage.

Age Anne-marie Mediwake

Islands seagoing

Time passes, children grow up, mothers whitening, vision becomes blurred and the memories begin to fade. In the large triangular island the days are all alike and the dullness of daily life takes away the lifeblood of memory. E 'right to speak again of my week in the troubled and understanding of offshore islands before it's too late.

Island sea-number 1: Linosa
Linosa You should know that the word is an anagram of Isola N., and N. Asylum (Which of course, being an anagram of asylum island and vice versa). Is not it great? Linosa Among other things, besides being a beautiful island, also has a beautiful asylum. Every day, crowds of tourists, mostly Japanese (with a microfotocamere) are crowded around the little pastel-colored wall that surrounds the gingerbread house where the children linosane spend happy days in the winter months. In summer, the asylum is desert, and this helps to make it an even more striking, with its roof and windows of marzipan icing sugar. Almost hear the clamor of children playing with Barbies and girls who build spaceships with Lego. Yes, because Linosa gender roles are reversed: men are all wearing skirts housewives and flannel (and nothing above) and women are all masons wear tank tops and greasy (and anything below). Many sociologists and economists have tried to understand how the heck do the island's economy to stand, all being only housewives and laborers, but were unable to cope with them. The inhabitants of Linosa also have a huge belly with no navel, and their eyes in the form of Mandarin Chinese have no eyelids. Do not have sexual organs (women differ from men only through clothing) and reproduce by parthenogenesis on the first Sunday of each month. I'm having a long tail and articulated that they use to dust and be tickled. Only use motors to move the muffler and smashed bikes from the early twentieth century.

Better stop, before malmostosa ask if I'm writing this post a prey to the fumes of alcohol (hic!) or under the influence of a new synthetic drug sballosissima. The truth is that not everything I wrote above is fictional. We will not say what is true and what is not, I trust in your wisdom.

Linosa is a small volcanic island. The town has only 400 souls (in fact the people are 500, but 100 have sold his soul to the devil), and turns in less than five minutes. The quasi-island tour, however, is done in just under two hours (but this I told ). Once you have toured the country and the near-island tour, the tourists remain two possibilities: 1) turn over the thumbs. 2) choose a set and take a dip in the cleanest sea in the Mediterranean (scored for the second consecutive year Legambiente five sails, the equivalent of four stars of Mereghetti for movies).
Obviously, if there is a lot of wind, it is preferable to the option number 1, to avoid risking his life. The problem, however, does not arise, because Linosa summer there is not even a breeze, except once every 6500 years. Well, the chance would have Giuseppe and I giungessimo island exactly 6500 years after the last terrible wind storm. We spent a wonderful two days, days where we have improved our ability to turn over the thumbs. Days when our cheerful insouciance was not the least disturbed by the presence of a cute little mouse gas cooker in the humble cottage where we stayed. Unforgettable days, made more cheerful and lively roofs roofless and sea force 7.

Just before the storm. Giuseppe (left) and Sim (right), seated on a low wall.

A house linosane. Note the water bottle at the door, left there to allow weary travelers to quench their thirst.

Giusi before the so-called natural swimming pool , according to tour guides a perfect place for diving and relaxation (a whirlpool sucked all the water every twenty seconds).

Tal Onofrio Scifo called Linosa Hawaiian island in the Mediterranean .

Giusi sunbathing under a palm tree.

The huge and sprawling conurbation of Linosa.

Without words.

The Champ Elysees Linosa.

Sim and Giuseppe at 6 am, in evident confusion (note the matching sweater - flip-flops) and a semiparesi face, ready to take the boat to Lampedusa. (In this other photos Sim and Giuseppe have come much better.)

\u0026lt;/ div>

Island sea-number 2: On Lampedusa Lampedusa
there is little to say. And 'much larger Linosa, is shaped like a cheese slices and is totally devoid of vegetation. There is an airport where thousands of illegal immigrants landing daily flying Air France and British Airways . The island is rich, the native run and slippers with gold Rolex Dolce & Gabbana, and the country could be more beautiful and taken care of Taormina and Monte Carlo put together, however, for dark and mysterious reasons, it sucks. Looks much like the more squalid suburbs the most squalid cities on the planet. The rampant illegal construction: even the sea is illegal, although beautiful (ha obtained for the second consecutive year Legambiente five sails, the equivalent of four chef's hats in the Gault Millau guide for restaurants). The people of Lampedusa are in all respects similar to humans, their reproduction is sexual and have a belly button (only have a head shaped like a cake, but you do not notice much).

The sea misuse of Lampedusa, made with six billion bottles of Evian water.

The beach of rabbits, where fine sand was made by crumbling six thousand tons unsalted crackers to the surface.

Giusi take a picture of the island of rabbits (I do not know how it was made).

Lampedusa Our house, complete with a garden.

you return home.

\u0026lt;/ div>
BONUS: porn-horror show that Sim to do with his sly, provocative look hairless belly.

Um ... the photo there, but I changed my mind.

Final Question: in these days drpsycho is situated in Catania and wants me to go out with him. I'd like, but my time cows * are anorexic and a bit 'I'm ashamed. Also I fear that you will not give it to me. What do I do?


* What the hell is a cow's time?

Caterpillar C18 Generator For Sale

AFI - IBYP! *

at the end as usual
follow the method of smoke and mirrors fog
val
katana and a glow in your broom

My Home. The basket of laundry. A colorful patchwork made of underwear, bras, shirts and pants. There in the middle: a red jumpsuit. Zen enlightenment.

Phase hypnagogic . Moment outside of time in which blend into a smoothie mystical horizon of reality and that of the dream, when you are not awake but still not sleeping, and thoughts arise without there being a I to dominate. In the hypnagogic phase I saw Gerry Scotti playing bridge with a punk platypus (can you imagine a platypus punk?).

Phase hypnopompic . Do not sleep more but you are still awake. A picture emerges from the back of my mind. The white table well laid, the glasses with a green background, the jug-jug on the saucer-vasocolmanico blue fuchsia, pink towels, double cutlery, water Levissima, embroidered curtains, windows in front of the building that you can see, the broken chairs, plastic bow-legged table, the carpet (it's a rug?) on the heater, the floor, the mysterious picture, a huge mobile that hangs on the left and lucid and the belief ordinate on the right, another carpet on the floor. The dishes are all filled except for that of the father. Flan with spinach and gorgonzola gratin or lasagna baked with parsley and rosemary? It seems real. Serenity. I take the jug-jug-vasocolmanico green and I notice that inside there is a little yellow thing that moves, like a lemon with two eyes. It has no mouth, but smiling at me. And 'Candy Darling ! - I think. Damn, I'm already awake.

rational discourse will return tomorrow tomorrow
harmony and lightness
tomorrow cheerful contentment
hic rex iacet sepultus inclitus dawdlerus in insula virtualonia

Humor is an affirmation of Dignity, a declaration of man's superiority to All That befalls HIM.

The friendly postmodern world. One day, when the latent telepathic abilities will be developed in me, I will understand. In short, none of you (except Arianna Moyevich Edenclaus) knows who is really Paul Hackett. Few people know the crazy obsession to live in a Kafkaesque world. Ok. Long life to men, women, dolphins, pterodactyls, aliens, Olympics, arbre magique, calcium, phosphorus and flossing. Long live the expanding universe and all that Ambaradan.

* A Foolish Interlude - I Beg Your Pardon!

How To Wax Underarms With Wax Strips

Cows time * biorhythms have unpacked and I can no longer know when I have time and when not. Should I spend most of my time trying to figure out if I have time, but this would be a really too stupid to waste time (and I love to spend time in an intelligent way, whatever that means). I think it's better to ignore it, for one evening.

Where were we? If anyone knows a way to fool pick up the thread of a discourse of where were we? let me know. What does this with what I say and, more importantly, what I mean? I do not know, and I do not care.

Where were we? Ah, yes, to Linosa with flip-flops. I had promised myself to write something about the wind storm, the broken refrigerator, the rat in the kitchen of Mrs. Philomena satanic laughter, the cubicle of Lampedusa, the taxi-mafia Porto Empedocles, Venus on the half shell, etc.. etc. and I will. I love to go in order, but they are damn inconsistent, so do not follow any order and tell you everything randomly, shake each other's events. (The truth is that they are so inconsistent as not being able to be consistent in my inconsistency, then, paradoxically, I usually end up being relatively consistent. That's why still follow a certain order.)

The taxi-mafia Porto Empedocles: The plane is the best means of getting from point A to point B, if the goal and not interested in the trip itself (yes, I know, the real goal is the journey and bla bla bla). By now, if you choose to fly with any airline other than Alitalia to be paid very little. The plane is fast, quiet, painless. And then it is safe, much safer than buses, trains, ships, cars and teleportation ( Raymond Babbitt is not the same opinion, but never mind). The best way to achieve Linosa, regardless of the town, is to take the trip to Lampedusa Lampedusa Linosa and then by boat in two hours or so. However, I've always known this. Before giving my first cry so, while still revel in the amniotic fluid, I already knew. Sometimes, however, know something is good for nothing (I know that Berlusconi is an idiot, but he continued undaunted to be president of the board). A month before our departure flights of Meridiana and Palermo-Catania Lampedusa Lampedusa were already fully booked (if you decide to travel by plane, remember that you must book your flight before you even decide to travel by plane), so me and Giusi we were forced to opt for the TSA, the awesome alternative solution, namely: 1) Catania-Agrigento by bus (3 hours = 10 €) - 2) Agrigento-Porto Empedocles by bus (15 minutes, 1 or 2 ergo € at most, assumed ) - 3) Porto Empedocle-Linosa by boat (6 hours = 26 €).

BIIIP! Serious mistake to step 2. We did not put in the income of the taxi-mafia Porto Empedocles, a terrible criminal organization so as to fade branched and sprawling mafia, ' Ndrangheta, Camorra , yakuza and Chinese triads combined. Paradoxically, what allows this perfect organization to stand and prosper is the belief that deep-rooted and widespread disorganization here in Sicily is the norm. In Sicily it does not work next to nothing, and if something works, it works poorly or briefly. The fact that anarchy, neglect, indifference, and cronyism reign everywhere mafia would not cause surprise or in tourists who come from afar or in native gattopardescamente now resigned to this state of affairs. A single ship connects Porto Empedocle the Pelagie. The ship departs from Porto Empedocles at midnight, arriving at Linosa at six-thirty in the morning, again after ten minutes to eight and a half stops to Lampedusa. At 10 starts the opposite direction, stops at noon Linosa and arrives in Porto Empedocle at about 18:30. So every day and every night. No coach and no direct train Porto Empedocles the rest of the world. Who wants to go to Porto Empedocles must still stop at Agrigento, and who wants to get away from Porto Empedocles from Agrigento is by force.

Now, knowing the absurdity of the situation, it is my assumption has been that there was at least an efficient public service can ensure, especially in the summer, a constant and continuous connection between the city of Pirandello and that of Camilleri (now also called Vigata , as if this was enough to attract some tourists). The undersigned forget that Sicily should never take anything for granted. Giuseppe and I have taken the coach of 18.00 and, after a fantastic journey across half of Sicily (the air conditioning was not working and there were 38 degrees in the shade, the sun 40 and 50 inside the bus, behind us sat a nice lady, covered with a layer of scent often twenty centimeters, and the driver, obviously a bit 'tipsy, was driving in a zig-zag and change the radio station every 20 seconds) we arrived in Agrigento at 21, healthy, safe and ready to load our luggage on the first bus to Porto Empedocle. There, in the deserted square where the bus had downloaded it while my eyes wandered lost in the dust and silence in search of a phantom bus, I heard a strange hiss, as the seconds passed, became more acute and disturbing, almost deafening. For a few moments my mind was clouded and I almost go crazy: the hissing grew in intensity, seemed to come from the mouths of hell, it was excruciating and frightening. I was saved thanks to Giuseppe, who with a slap managed to get me back to reality. And then I understood. I understood everything.

was not a hiss, but a grin. The mocking laugh of a fucking taxi mafia (or Mafia driver): 130 kg, uncertain age, shirt open to show the superb generously delights of her breasts hairy, fake solid gold necklace and cigarette. A hideous demon that seemed to have been born from the imagination of Hieronymus Bosch or Kentaro Miura was there before me. It was real. And grinned. It 's been a while, but I felt that the time had stopped, I believed to have been condemned for eternity to contemplate quell'immonda creature. Until it, the Creature, he opened his mouth, showing a string of teeth from the undefined color, from yellow and green, like twisted stalactites. I thought that would gobble up, and instead spoke: carusi, please click the autobuss? viriti about the uttimu autobuss pì Pottu Empeducle was all'ottu and dementia ... (trans. guys, try the bus? See that the last bus to Porto Empedocle started at eight and a half ...) , he stopped to breathe, or rather to suck the air as a turbine with those blacks who had huge holes instead of his nostrils, he waited in the cold penetrated our bones and resumed: ... but vuliti, the more we will potto iu twenty euros. (translation but if you want, for twenty euro I'll take you there.) A spark in his eyes inhumane, and that grin again Mephistopheles. Desperate, distraught, annihilated, we have sold. Twenty euro. Ten kilometers. A quarter of an hour's drive. Meter off. I would rather go on foot or by hitchhiking, but we had too much luggage. There was no alternative.

course, once back, we found ourselves in the same situation. We were prepared, however, and we managed to save us from the clutches of another vulture of taxi mafia-calling to our aid with a fearless hero Tunisian blue van. But that's another story, the cows are tired and time * have become anorexic.

* What the hell is a cow's time?

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Taxi-mafia "that stuff"

Incredible, so incredible that they are kept dry and be deposited at the same time. A historic event: in this period of time * skeletal cows and stunted, I select from five net minutes to devote to the totem pixelated! Ok, I will see do not waste even a nanosecond (oops, I already did). I wanted to talk (or speak you, I speak , certainly not speak them)? Ah, yes, of Linosa, Lampedusa, and that stuff.

Linosa is small, very small, so small that if there are over a thousand people at the same time, it sinks. SPATATRANG, SBLOGLORG (the islands are sinking this noise, I do not know?) And goodbye forever Amen lush and remote island in the middle of the Strait of Sicily. Linosa is so small that I Giusi and we all turned in less than two hours. In fact do a complete tour of the island is impossible, because none of the four roads it runs the entire perimeter. What is certain is that we did about ten miles on foot, we started from the country (located in the south) and that we are going back to the country from the south, east, north and west of a piece. Another sure thing is that I would rather do almost-island tour with hiking boots or tennis, and I would have been content to do it in bare feet , like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, but absolutely not with flip-flops, so fashionable among the young men of this century. But no, Giuseppe, Baphomet in a skirt, I forced to wear those shoes filthy. Result: while walking the big toe of his right foot, shocked by the atrocious suffering, did seppuku and was detached from the body (that of the left foot is unconscious).

Damn, it's been already six minutes and fourteen seconds, and I have not yet talked about the wind storm, the refrigerator broke, the mice in the kitchen of Mrs. Philomena satanic laughter, the cubicle di Lampedusa, the taxi-mafia Porto Empedocles, of Venus on the half shell , etc.. etc. I will do when the cows are a bit time * 'fatter, ok? I know the wait sarà dura, ma cercate di resistere.


*Che cavolo è una vacca temporale?

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No, toasted

Sim: che giorno è oggi?
Zia M.: il 3 agosto .
Sim: sicura?
Zia M.: sì.
Sim: sicura sicura?
Zia M.: sì, cazzo, è il fottutissimo terzo giorno del fottutissimo ottavo mese del fottutissimo duemilaquattresimo anno, secondo il fottutissimo calendario gregoriano.
Sim: santo cielo, questo vuol dire che sono tornato.
Zia M.: sei tornato?
Sim: cosa?
Zia M.: eh?
Sim: che cavolo stai dicendo?
Zia M.: io?
Sim: no. Zia M.
here.