Master Lock Caculator

I'm in love with you because I had nothing to do.

Honesty above all.

bright In my career I wrote something like two hundred and twenty, two hundred and thirty songs. What can I say? At least one hundred of these are inspired by her, Beatrice.

But she does not know. Why his name does not appear in any of my songs. This is my secret. This cache that lurks inside me like a plague.

How bitter infection.

Well, now I have told you. It was not easy. First, the unfortunate honesty of his feelings, tender little lesson for all those who have studied more, and who pride themselves on knowing how the brain works.

short, towers of suffering came to a halt in my soul and if they are gone. And if they do not want to go. Everything from Beatrice when she left me. And I speak to you yesterday, but some time ago. I will not boastful when I say that I hold a suffering that he might fall the buildings. That is when I sing, scream.

Scream thousand words then it means only one: Beatrice. My death and my fortune. Why Yes it is true that when I get on the fucking stage everyone must bruise as timid thieves behind the shoulder of her partner in order not to see that mourn, then it is also true that all this happens because when I sing I think of her and suffer and they, viewers, for god knows this too and what I am suffering. In short, do not lie. I do not say shit. I cry and wonder songs fear. After all I ask for fear. The fear of not being able to love who I really loved the most. Things are exactly like that. I get drunk on that stage and there breaking up the feelings, uncoordinated them there, I'll blow them up in the air with the precision of timer attached to the bomb, sending you to the asylum and I feel that I hold the power, the power to handle all your hearts unless a, my, calling the woman but left me and that I do not want to know more.

But why? I am a hot man.

But more or less the story reads always the case, one leaves, and give you all the punches on the heart, like the gorilla, and you are not, you lack the air and the ground beneath your feet, here, you were left, this little death. Then time turns his cards and everyone forgets.

I do not. Casserole dish I can not forget! But why? And I remember the port shoulder of the woman as if she were on the first day, with all the suffering, resentment, sadness, anger, sex, friendship, pain, joy and suffering. For years!

'd better stop before I Cocciante and makes us feel another song.

But then I start to think, but I'm standing on the ground as if he throws me, torment me, drench me, it pains me, I encourage myself with cocaine, wine, beer, spirits, cocktails, drinks, cigarettes, fatty animals and plants, but the damned pain exacerbation and always pushes me to do the flag pole of this way of the cross of love and wonder where it is now. For too long I do not know anymore.

This monument of seduction, a female doll and Madonna. But what do you know, I devastate your soul and I feel close to her as Sbirulino. Awkward and silent as any asshole.

Tony Pagoda

Chest Sitting Friends

Hieroglyphics!

Give us words unclear, what the Italians did not understand love. Just romances, choruses, explanations, interpretations easier. Give us some complex theories and dark, distant languages. It takes a few meanings. We need titles, characters, insignia, English and American slang.

without studying, without a murmur. Just imagine, that is too much. The sight is what you need. A quick look. Our sound, our sound is a beat. Unintelligible words are welcome, so charming
so comforting. Not is it humiliating not understand them, indeed, is so calm

After much drama, after many wars, many books later, after a long journey, after so many lies, after so much love, after so many centuries.

No more songs in Italian, greek or Slavic. Little literature, at most short stories, writers untranslatable elementary relationships, hermetic poets. TV irreversible with different accents and exotic.

really just now with the transparency! I want a really underlying culture, and above all very unreal forever. I want to be remembered in the next ice age was like a hieroglyph, as a relief, as a graffiti inexplicable because of no use. Give us words

unclear what the Italians did not understand love. We will build a new culture quickly and aesthetics. And the thought will be a color, the color will be a sound, our sound a beat. And you thought a minute, the minute a sound, our sound a beat.

ENOUGH!

The beat
F. Ivano

on Flickr

List Of Food Provision

That Green ...

Grey is the color of melancholy, they say. That will weigh down the gray, which relies heavily on his shoulders, pressing down. That gray sky that fills the ruins and then down I understand everything, any other emotion.

If you bleed your eyes with his ruffles, his blades with those of water.

Then you know it.

If you get too close when the water grabs you with its tentacles to a white foot and drags you down.

Then you know it.

Then you know it's the green is the color. I am not speaking of green forests, leaves, grass. Not that bright green, the deep, the sea ...

... is the color of melancholy ...

on Flickr