Restaurant With Tall Hats Funny Sayings

heroes

false heroes are seeking political asylum in the orbits of those who only watch them with interest. Catalysts of emotions too easy to tell. Without solution of continuity between the before and after. Die every day as falling stars hoping that their memory remains a trail of color and techno music. Are false and have heroes the appearance of being plastic-flavored beer Peroni. They are the masters of the Friday night of every place that smells of fresh paint. Stage without actors responding more and more san smile without taste. Enhance and stand in the firmament of designer bags and painted nails and trample upon only a few ways. They never hungry. They thirst for rum flavored with mothballs in ways that erode even before birth. If unfortunately you come across in their journey will never find answers to your questions and for a few moments you will also expect to be wrong. That's because it is far preferable happily haunted loneliness that drives your dreams in a country road as precious as a truth buried Bottom of the Sea.

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m.

stranger and alien in a country disillusioned fascist architecture. in one of those afternoons where the sun of August imposing a dictatorial regime. rusty tanks I deafen the ears. i want you. i want you. Got a picture but I do not know who you are. camel light smoke from the pack for ten and latch a lighter to a guy in his seventies. in a game of pool with a bar of Eastern barefoot. I think of my father in 1982 that looks at the Italy-Brazil in a bar in the cock and the first goal by Paolo Rossi by a blow on the table shattered into a thousand pieces his sunglasses. extraordinary memories. I win three matches out of five. smiles at the stranger barefoot effort. gives me something to drink. is pledge not know what with the smooth montenegro. a retching me back for a second teenager who quaff vodka fishing. and I think you are. I think I fainted when I look at you but you're still just a thought. I have flashbacks to moments of passion. in our medieval world I revealed who I was. your home is an oasis in the desert campaign. I reach it with difficulty. in the music room to push the keys on your piano case. mad world. mad world. Mad Season ... before and after they are related in our history. this is the time.

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off-site

am There were days when you were doing with the dreams of a group who rode to power. There are were moments in which dreams in a perpetual year zero. You had a smile that led to the gaze of anyone not in a moment. You were like the old rum drunk in the afternoon of August throat. Playing in seedy bars of mortar suburbs of Ferrara. Did you smoke while you were inadvertently misplaced your Camel envying those who could not hear. You wanted all the while nothing envelops you without any remedy. The body that plays your rock was exhausted, his only companion his breath. Metallic sounds in layoffs treading the boundaries of your feelings. With no more reaction. You were not what I wanted too long. You were not the most cheerful drinker Porto in a dusty wine cellar off against. Trampled night by sliding your hands on the walls filled with writing politicized. We wore only the occasional involuntary kindness in the eyes of passers-by. At one point, aware of everything waiting for it calasse the curtain and set designers mutassero the scene.

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Basquiat and resurrection

tonight I thought the room of my aspiration anorexic while attached to the walls of Basquiat's paintings ... and surprise that I remove the dust from my secrets. you complained of opening yourself to life at the wrong time, in line at the distributor to the strike of petrol stations, with a frenzy and a look that you do not belong. Years ago, our bank accounts did not exist, but now mine has 7.29 € because social services do not pay. is the fault of the municipalities. they say. is always the fault of the common but we do not believe and smile imagining fierce and children. cry to heaven without thinking of the consequences. I find myself too often when we listen to your intuition Piero Ciampi and you give me emphasize the characteristics of his voice. Dogs dream too clean lie in the gravel parking lot in front of the walls, we should stop to watch and after a while we think about our dreams and the wisdom that does not arrive. beyond everything and everyone. beyond the end. the only freedom we have left is to dream. Pier 17 at the drunk and hungry we say things that are true and snapshots. at that time our heads are thoughts and reactions. while outside the city, raining gently.

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IN THREE № .13

We were erased from the eternal becoming of stations are always the same. We have forgotten who we are. We limited the excesses. We promised disobedience. We are denied recognition. We hated how they hate our brothers. With the purity and essence that is light and glides beautifully on the rails that lead us to the complete neglect of our minds.

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obsession until I repeat that there was no solution to the barren grounds, mystical tensions, adverse events. Each color bears more resemblance to a distant satellite and vulnerable, there was the possibility of dealing in that island not to silence. Only exploit. Only. And sfru TAKING.



Curse.


react. And painted their grim beliefs with the comings and goings of your emotions. Incinerated all of their meager memories. They basked washing tons of excuses almost dead, did everything to revive it. You had stopped believing in the easy smiles that alien land, where olive trees were born and there were no regrets.

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reliable ...

... for the umpteenth time to the case. Take place without being able to forget me while you speak of Bergman's films. We use throat and experience to the last smoke in our talks this morning in late winter where the cobwebs are crystallized into the gates of houses full of cracks.

our speeches wet from spit too much pride to the color the walls full of yellowed poster.

Yeast Infection In Face

IN THREE IN THREE

Every night on the train I think of your heat escaping from the heart of thoughts become dreams. Every night on this train needs sweat and begging, claiming assistance. It is the knowledge that it begs to be revealed. I will never stop telling you, lying in a sleeping car, when it's night and our moods are mixed and became everything and nothing. And we repeat until the nausea because we were stupid to get excited for the near future so without really understanding that it will not stop anymore.