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Pain Sobriety

is not always possible to judge the intensity of pain by crying. Sören Kierkegaard

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If you look at everything that is sold, you will discover how many things you can do without! Socrates

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messages understandable

I think the church should be understood, first listening to the people, its sufferings, its needs, problems, letting the words bounce off the heart, letting them suffering of people resonate in our words. In this how our words do not seem to have fallen from above, or a theory, but will be taken to what the people live. And bring the light of the Gospel that bears no words strange, incomprehensible, but talks so that everyone can understand. Even those who do not practice religion, or who have another religion. card. Martini - The Republic - March 16, 2007

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Inequality

In each case the cause of the revolt is the inequality. Aristotle

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thought they were the other

The collective nouns are used to get confused. "People, public ...."

One day you see us, thought we were the others.

Ennio Flaiano

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Boldness

There is one elementary truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: the moment when one is working hard, too then providence moves. Infinite things happen to help him, things that would never otherwise have occurred ... Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic. Start now. W. Goethe

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The company's gross

The Civilization of guilt and shame society: reminiscences of a few hours of greek high school less boring than usual. But it does not live in fifth century to be drawn into question. At least I'm always an unnecessary reason to feel guilty: a long chat, not to be a lesson that I do not care, giving the hole a nice stranger. It 's a sin to speak, is a not to mention guilt, guilt is a lie, but tell the truth, act, suffer, be heard, not to be heard, to be spontaneous, be cool.

E 'destabilizing.

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So much to write

And I have the gift of synthesis.
But I do not have.

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Label

Tag me if I cancel. Sören Kierkegaard

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Quotes

"The cradle rocks over an abyss, common sense tells us that our existence is only a fleeting glimpse of light between two eternities of darkness . Although the two are identical twins eternity, the man of normally covers the prenatal abyss with more calm than to contemplate that which is directed (at about four hundred heartbeats per hour). I know, however, a sensitive young man who tried something akin to panic When he saw for the first time some old family films in a few weeks before his birth. He contemplated a world virtually unchanged - the same house, the same people - and he realized then that there had existed at all and that nobody mourned his absence. "

V. Nabokov - Speak, memory.

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communism to democracy, oligarchy (the monarchy) and to any constitution is the need to take care that no one raise in power enough to overcome the right fit. Aristotle

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The appropriate measure, too, is the law?

But if a tyrant (or a bunch of morons, even democratically elected) and usurps the power to prescribe what people should do, is this a law? Alcibiades

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A fable without a moral

people, sooner or later, cease to be missed.

I can not say exactly how, or why.

I could not even tell when it happened or why I have not noticed before.

The absence is no longer blank .

Everything flows and we return to flow.

End of story.

A forgotten statue in a park in Milan.

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letter signed and sent

least once every two to three weeks, full of high hopes, I ask myself the objective of regularly read magazines and newspapers. To keep informed about current events, to know what happens in the world is important. Because if we do not know what's happening in the world we can not talk about it, and if we can not talk, we can not (try to) change it. But every time is tough. It 's hard to read about a journalism often not informed and does not plan to do so, because more important than truth and opinion and make news, create a scandal, to devour. It 's hard to read the news of this humanity without tears, without disgust, and without a big question mark on his face. Just a question, because frankly I do not know exactly what would be the questions. And every time I throw away the newspaper before you finish it, because I do not think I could stand another Brevini on a rape on a political scandal, on phone or on the last fight-with-dead for the queue at the cash bar. I try to ask if you can change something, but the ways to do and people think I look so old, so complicated, so deeply rooted: an inextricable tangle. It 's a question of mentality wrong for logical social ill, and there is no solution, perhaps this is human nature and all attempts at moral and social elevation were not merely attempts to force something rather artificial part of us from the Stone Age. I am not in charge. Wait until it passes: a few days, with a little 'courage and full of high hopes, I come to a newspaper stand and try again.

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Doubt

THE BELIEVER - I am a believer, man, plagued by doubt that God does not exist.

the atheist - I worse. I'm an atheist, sir, plagued by doubt that God, however, there really is terrible.

Achille Campanile - Tragedy at two bars

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never accept the hard truth:

" Sounds easy, but it is not
almost never
not a mystery is revealed

When you think: 'I do not see '

not going to miss the true love. "

lightness I want, I want to carelessness.

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For my torturer, Lieutenant D.

I have slapped
- no one had ever done -
electricity and
your fist
and that language from hooligan
too bloody for us to put blush

a locomotive all night in the belly
rainbows before the eyes
was as if I ate my mouth and drown
I had my eyes

hands everywhere and a great desire to laugh.
Then one morning, came another soldier resembled
you like a drop of blood
your wife, Lieutenant,
put sugar in your coffee?
Your mother dared to admire your good wax? You
stroked the hair of your kids?

Leila Djabali, Algerian poet, born in Algiers in 1940, captured and tortured by the French in prison in 1957 Barberousse

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devils and buffoons

who expects the world to go around the devils with horns and with the clowns bells will always be their prey, and their lure. Arthur Schopenhauer

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immobility

Even a stopped clock tells the time right twice a day. H. Hesse

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Any excuse for a killing (ie: the great, unexpected return of two wheels)

Here they are: they are again. A hot sun so this is making too much spring in February and no time to lose, you feel good without the sun without scarf and gloves. The bitter cold of a few weeks ago now seems a distant memory. Like ants with a drop of honey, such as women with the last dress on sale at 70% .. it took a few warm rays of sun to bring them back en masse and rage. Them bikes. Turn machine has become an enterprise considering the constant risk of smudging indelibly conscience and no criminal record. They acted quickly and silently this morning, feeling a reassuring warmth in the air, are now willing to battle stations, certain not to leave even a round or a discovery intersection.

So there was the nice guy he thought was a good idea to cross across the street just around the bend. But even more frightening is the lady of the unconscious boys-in-bike.

Mrs. Cycling is a double jeopardy: not only you never know what could be done, but even she knows. Loads of shopping bags hanging from arms and handlebars, with the basket full of bread and rack supported by the latest issue of Who and Novella 2000, the lady-in- limps bike (usually way) and swings from side to side dangerously. At a time when a car peeps from the beginning of the street, that's the lady part in the attack: a foot off the pedal and try to place it on the ground to slow down while the other continues to ride. Of course, the leg is too short and does not reach the road. So the lady-in-bicycle shall seraphic, defying gravity, more and more unstable and dangerously unbalanced on two wheels, skidding to the side of the road. Many are the questions in the mind of the driver to come: what will you do? Stifle or continue? But above all we will do it? It 'a snap: the machine goes and the road is free again. Thanks I do not know at what capacity the preposterous lady-in-BIKE able to recover the balance, to bring the foot on the pedal and continues as if nothing had happened. But one thing scares me even more: Gesture .

The gesture is nothing more than the threatening stick their arm suddenly to the right or left (on the heel of the medium). The gesture is always unexpected and compelling: it is an order that you can not subtract.

A man on a bicycle went this morning on the white line separating the lanes of the road when suddenly: the gesture. The terror in my eyes: When will run, but more importantly, where? Where?! Of course, cutting across a couple of lanes. In these cases, the yield is the only solution to quell'autoritario "Oh, I ride, then see you." We can not respond in any way: it is a card invincible ... praying that the brakes hold up.

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Contagion pessimistic

What immense burden of our fears. Ours, I would use this plural, because they are convinced that no one-to As can swear to the contrary-is immune. The fear seems the most universal of human emotions: what other state of mind, in fact, accompanies us always, every day, and unites us all, without distinction? Fear is part of us. E 'at the same time irrational, because we can not explain, and rational, because we can control it, defeat it, learn to live with it, curbed. I will not go into the details of illnesses or ratings (not that I need to explain that fear can have in different ways and at different levels): I think, as I write, only to myself and the fear of the future. The fear of not doing enough, not to realize a dream and not even able on trying to get-a-day far too many regrets. Not to be happy. being forced instead to settle: what will be, and whatever happens we will call it happiness. not, at least for me, constant anxiety that accompanies me breath by breath, every day. And 'subtle. He hides, he lets forget the thousands of thoughts and daily tasks and then, at night, when I least expected, crops up outside. Every time I'm amazed, every time that thought scares me like the first. I should be used, instead of every night and start again from the presentations: pleasure, my pleasure, what are you doing here does not t'aspettvo, I do, tell the future. With a degree of resigned serenity I started thinking of being ordered: the choice of not wanting to satisfy a standard is too high to hope for true happiness.

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Travel routine (ie: a style makes a difference)

rains. And it's cold.

The train will depart from the station a quarter of an hour: jeans, shoes, bag packed with books, jacket, hat. Got everything? I run to the track, I take breath, as always in advance. With the mini umbrella, I try not too wet, hard task but I can not do otherwise: it is the only size that you can kick in exchange, I had an umbrella along the forgotten somewhere within an hour. The train arrives and wins a place trying not to wonder what the hell are those gray-brown stains on the seat. I try to detach the water from the umbrella, I try to place the bag somewhere, I try to undo his jacket, and will not to find a comfortable position without put an elbow in the side of the airport (and vice versa). After half an hour of travel are sweaty, tired and nervous. And here I see her sitting nearby: high, precise, impeccably dressed. That seems so at ease sitting at the bar behind the house: high heels, beige raincoat, her hair in a queue, smile. Osa smile at eight in the morning on the train to Milan! I look reflected in the window: his hair matted and wet, dark circles. The shoes are soaking wet and so obviously a large part of the pants below the knee. A series of questions arises: because she is not wet? Why is it still impeccably coiffed? Because he has had time to wear makeup? Because the jacket is still beige? I do not have time to answer that here, the train stops, and all go down. While I try in vain to open the umbrella without splattered him all I can see the remnants dart away into the crowd circling quiet on her heels and carrying a big bag but that seems to me as light as a feather. And, unbelievable, yet it is not wet, breathless, broken up. Maybe I've done something wrong? Maybe there's a single cloud that follows me constantly fantozziana? Resigned, I start outside the station. must be a matter of style or you have it or you do not have. But I, for my efforts, I do not know what to do: When it rains, my bathroom.

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(re) animation

be a design that speaks ... makes a strange effect!

Produced by Alex : http://artexwip.blogspot.com/

(nearing completion)

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flights of fancy without a parachute

Consideration: accumulation of tension, wait discharge of tension, headaches, feeling of lightness. A sequence has become so obvious as to be predictable and almost boring routine. Feeding an act of self for the sake of feeling drained by all the energy and thought. I hurry to finish, to get up and go away: it is an obsession that "life is elsewhere that awaits us" that deprives us of the possibility of this reality. Slips away before we realize that to have lost it. We live constantly looking to the future, a future that will not ever get out of reach, confined to the world of desire and of expectation. The past is wasted, ignored this: what are we left to enjoy and to live? This never gets old.

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Waking Life - quote I

"If the world that we are forced to accept is false and nothing is true, everything is possible.

discovering what we love to discover all that hate, all that stands in the way to our wishes.

The comfort will never be comfortable for those looking for what is not on the market.

A systematic questioning the idea of \u200b\u200bhappiness.

cut off the vocal cords of those who say, tear the social symbol out of the mirror, devalue the currency of the company.

Addressing the family: the company is a fraud so complete and venal that must be destroyed, so that the power of memory does not remember its existence.

Where there is a fire we throw gasoline.

interrupt the course of normal daily experiences and all the normal expectations that brings.

Living as if something actually depended on our actions.

Breaking the spell of the ideology of our consumer society, so that the repressed desires of a more authentic nature can come forward.

demonstrate the contrast between life as it is today and how it could be.

plunge into oblivion of actions and know that we are succeeding.

We new agreement, we will exchange love life and hate, life and death, terror and redemption, attraction and repulsion.

An unconditional affirmation of freedom so that equals the total negation of all restraint and limitation.

(What was lost was considered irrecoverable, the ultimate and absolute insecurity of living and support themselves without a job meant that the excess becomes necessary, and broken outright). "

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Quotes

"What is life? A frenzy.

What is life? An illusion

a shadow, a fiction,

and greatest good is little ñ o;

that all is sleep vide ñ or

and sue you ñ, ñ sue you are .

December 2010, Piazza della Scala (Milan) - photo by Alex

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Short flight

Torino more fascinates me every time, now I have no doubts. It is not Venice, not Rome, not Florence (and the list of cities commonly regarded as fascinating and beautiful is far), but for me, has something unique. More than a rational finding a hunch: I feel at home, at ease, also along for the first time, a ordered crossroads. There is no hostility in the walls of the houses in the asphalt and ice, is a home away from home that is well suited affection of habit. A good start for the second time the new year, since the official start was definitely to forget. Nothing serious, if not for the fact that I always tend to attribute too much importance to conventional dates: the day for a birthday, the end of a year, and so on. Every December, for some years now, I like to think back to the past twelve months and identify the best moment . Write in a notebook, trying to describe in detail what happened inside and outside of me, what did it mean, why. It seems difficult to say: 325600 minutes is too much because if they could choose only one . But without too much effort or too much effort, I always come naturally to mind that moment important, or specific, or special . I never had any doubt that he alone was worth as much as the rest of the year. Maybe it's a habit a little 'childish or romantic, but the obsession with memory will not leave me never. Only in 2010, until now, is no exception: among the happy days and sad days there is a moment that I remember above all others. Will remain a blank page in the notebook ..