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dear laura,

am writing to you because you're probably the only one to read quesrto post.

almost four in the morning, and I have a huge desire to start living. have this experience? here, which ones do there.

at night, from now, or I woke up, I do not know. revive the awareness and the joy of driving single instant, to revive the sense of not guilty, the lightness and the awareness of not failing in its duty (no, not that. perhaps you can never have such an awareness. say then) to revive the joy of the unexpected, the not calculated. the breath of the project that can really be true.

and away from the leaden cloak of not deserve it ...

and many other things that I can not speak, imprisoned somewhere in the depths of my hope.


dear laura, why not?

why? why not? damned disease (did you see? I wrote it myself ...).

and tomorrow. which will be tomorrow? forget these moments? or savor again the exhilaration of freedom?

more, more freedom. I want it in your face like the wind in his nostrils like the smell of the sea or the rarefied mountain air, like an unexpected heart sank, as a fullness of joy, as the heat of the sand to clear head or the sight of pine trees from the bottom, lying on the ground.

want the music inside.

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alfredo

just a little sick today, which, given the conditions, it is almost good news. I have no particular problems, but a hypochondriac deadly diseases are always lurking.

seems that things go well: work in progress, almost finished publication to be sent over the weekend, career prospects. But (of but there may be parcels ).

But yesterday I help a drunken friend. We will refer to alfredo.

we knew that we had three years, and I alfredo. fast friends. Friends also our parents. congeniality infantile. I happened other times in life, the mutual attraction to-and-then who would prove to be as mad as me.

alfredo was a phenomenon: good at almost everything, with an irrepressible imagination, that's a little envy and a bit I copied the. studied for forced taxation of the parents, but he had not only great intelligence alfredo was an artist. alfredo was sensitive.

we did together kindergarten, elementary and secondary schools. high school in the same school but in different classes. University has done medicine, I Court. alfredo has not taken even a 30. only praise. then an eighteen, then nothing. why (why true) I do not know. looks like a girl, apparently two girls, apparently bipolar disorder, alcoholism seems, it seems solitude.

yesterday we had seen, as often these days. was in the manic phase. then in the depressive phase. did not want him back home. I imagined that he would go to drink, but how to avoid it? I called him an hour later and I felt drunk. I ran from him, argued with people that it is better not to meet alone accusing her of stealing his wallet. even if they were, we could not do anything. everything was against him.

I brought it home, delivered to the faces of his parents humiliated.

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any. Today, for example.

July 3, 2007. Tuesday. more any of this ...

why not today? new day, new life.

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a day for lovers

for lovers of the yellow (red) signals the probable end, this afternoon at 17.00, a twenty-year saga. who had to judge me for such insane passions certainly does not know the addiction. is a vortex, once entered, it is difficult to get out.

for the profile of the protagonist Click here ; for the antagonist here.

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and now for something completely different

this post is an excuse to: a) not to lose the habit, b) try out new features.

for example, will not be that

no, I did it: I managed to insert an image. species in the case of Richard Feynman , keen on drums, safes, boxes of marijuana and sensory deprivation.

in his spare time he has won the Nobel prize. Hobby explained to NASA live on television, because the shuttle had exploded ... I can

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deepening

short scarlet fever at 18 months, with an attached glomerulonephritis. I almost lose their feathers. treatments were continued until adolescence, and the matter has produced (exaggerated?) an anxiety neurosis record in my parents, who would understandably want to keep in a glass case. most of my trouble that followed, I think they are from there. moreover, if they had not grown this anxiety, perhaps I would not have survived to complain ....

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I was sweating

tonight I remembered the summer mornings of my childhood. I always liked to sleep, but my I woke to go to sea. generally we imagine that children are happy to go to sea. I do not. and a number of good reasons. First, I said, I like to sleep, and if you go to sea, you can not sleep. Then, when I was a child I, the air conditioning was probably arrived in America, not in Italy. certainly not in Sicily where, by definition, makes a terrible heat. the long march towards the shore thus involves a giant obstacle of 127 white hot carrying me (I've always been and am an only child), my father, my mother. the latter two generally upset, because: a) I had not got up early, b) sweating; c) I think there was still a reason to get angry.
reason sub b) deserves a deeper .

arrived that we were at sea, opening a range of supplemental tragedies. I was (rest?) fat, clumsy, shortsighted, and tended erythema. then: fatness and clumsiness does not help in dealing with children bastards, especially nimble and tanned, the rash does not facilitate the tanning process and myopia precludes the possibility to swim and see the same time (the contact lenses had not yet invented). of course I never learned to swim. I was sweating because I was continually wiped from my dad, who believed that one way to dry a child was to put a sweat in the sun. then I was sweating, then angry.

then we came home, in 127, and I was sweating.

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who reads me for the rest

do not know if anybody reads me. maybe someone will read, or perhaps better not. maybe this is a personal diary. or maybe not. however, do a bit of evidence. First I would like to include links so that those who should not click click on the entire address, but a word that I choose. try a little. rep

ebbravodavvero! works, and is quite intuitive: simply highlight the word on which you want to click, then choose add / edit link, then enter the address.

who reads me, I said, probably will have broken my balls from the first post. heavy, have said. Well, the heaviness is a temperamental trait, such as lightness. one or the other, perhaps we can learn, but the questions remain the previous post (oh yeah, I've got got to like, I've got)

lightness, however, I'd like. who knows how to do it ...

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for the rest, thirty-four years and twenty-five of OCD. I've got also a compulsive desire to understand. more or less everything that surrounds me. indeed, what surrounds me, just what interests me. and things I'm interested in are neither few nor minor. basically: what comes after death? says, heavy parts. ok, I'll say thirty-four years but, please, can someone, just once, tell me if he remembered something more important? In short: We all stumbled on this planet, that we are born . birth is not a nonsense makes the difference between being there and not. everything else merely follows from it: work, family, love, food, sex, wine, cars, myopia, arthritis, green pens, animals, books, philosophy, cold. you take it for granted the fact they were born. I do not. disorder? probably yes, but the point is that we go forward because they remove the fundamental reality: you die. I want to talk about? Certainly, this stuff becomes depressed at times. perhaps the removal does just survive, I do not know. but the problem remains intact: there was none before, then we, then? and then what? how can I live if I do not know?

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kick ass to be precise

I managed to remove the advertising, and I'm satisfied.
I had been to kick the ass of compagnetti. over time if they have followed so many, not compagnetti, but to kick ass. the kick stronger I must have taken about five years ago. so a big kick. led to Clark's, that I did not know they were not even (and continue undaunted), the fact is that had a status. symbol. wore a pair of blue eyes, for that matter, but they had been supplied as standard.
because from here? Dunno, maybe just because he was talking about kicking ass, and that the biggest questoè memories. for the rest ....

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to be precise, my name is paul gassvan, and for reasons that now seems tedious narration. your left hand itches and I do not know where to start. the fact is that I would write such a book also tells about anxiety. and why not try here?

I wrote a banality. I do not like platitudes, but I have the inclination. There are doors. I was a child, what did the Paraculo themes, using tones of melodrama. I took eight earned by teachers and equally well-deserved kick in the ass by compagnetti.