Beveled mirror

The KEY Of the FELICITA' E' the DISOBEDIENCE IN IF To WHAT NOT There E' You that you can, commented that who you want, not is restrictions in this blog." This is an angle dulled in the meandri of the net to tramortire the thoughts for scrutarli gives near. As I would want to reveal l&rsquo.arcano, to one by one pass the concepts of the things in order then not to find other that questions and answers and questions and answers in order to illuminate l&rsquo.oblio where e&rsquo. fallen my artistic spirit. The poetica sopita in meandri the dell&rsquo.ispirazione, latent in every person, fascinates to me, attracts to me but at the same time I escape it. It does not have to find to me impreparato, are I that I must scovare. Tremendously invani they are my efforts in order to catch up it. The mind would have is made opened metaphysically to every situation. At the same time l&rsquo.eccitazione caught up dell&rsquo.illuminazione is gained to me and it blinds to me, indicating new paths and new to me ways. Unexplored poetry remains the dell&rsquo.intelligibile world, as fragments scattered of a colossal one rompicapo. that they darkened the summits to the horizon. and curious eyes indugiano on the scene. It knows your secrets and she guards them gelosamente. It knows to interpret your deisideri and of it it realizes part of they, enriching like a painter makes with the colors e.la burlap to you white woman of a picture. Candid E' like a summer cloud, that white woman who takes the shapes that You want to give to them, and sorride irradiating its being ovunque, hitting to you, disarming to you, undressing you of all the preconcepts. Only then you become account to fly, finally free. Riluce of pales reflected the color of the moon on your face and bleeds crystal tears while jets via your innocence. You would want to scream but you do not succeed and you waste precious breath to us cos?ome all the words jetties in the wind of the memories. E' the lack of appetite that takes the windward, a impalpabile veil that is spread. They do not serve justifications, not pi?non ce n'?otivo. You submit the impulse to the violence, you would want to crack all, but moments are alone, fleeting moments, than crowds in the mirror of yours show oneself raziocinio. Like a river in full it tries the just distance in order to take advantage of your sudden start of pain and loss. As a river in flood you will reach your sea even if smarrito hour six. When it is had the conviction to walk in two and is found again to us to take a walk single?llora that us account of many things becomes. Moments in the time of the memories are alone that remain, images of smiles that sbiadiranno in the years?empo to let all to the shoulders and to leave again. Today I try alone sadness - of those immense ones - nearly overhanging. Today?ome if all the world weighed to me on the shoulders but I must react, even if hit to unexpected, the?os?ifficile one. That what means to then love if?' egoismo that takes the windward. Perhaps next to the day today it is believed too much next to I and not We. But, we send whores all, we remove the sassolino from the shoe, unload. Remains estasiato of forehead to the show of the nature. The light of the mattino, cos?enue, illuminates of red every contour of what and the intangible feeling that?utto part of one takes the windward. The frost on the prati ones indicates a night fought from the dew and the sun melts ci?he the night slowly had conquered with patience. Also in a glare of a puddle pu?sservare.il entire world and becomes account of molteplicit?elle the things. Pensieri.sparsi that emerges to the 14. You come via with me, Milan accorger?oi we will not be ourselves l?senza to inform neanche to the bar divinit?le the Andes, Inti, God sun gronda blood then un&rsquo. other religion loved from the people, killed from the state.