Can I Put A Heater Under Tupperware

September 3, 1983 A song of sirens at each step

"It was the heat of a moment, then away again into the wind, the sun will rise before your eyes, behind his back a fisherman ..."

I started writing this post in my head when the pebbles in the costume were not uncomfortable enough for me to get up from where I was, immersed in the undertow every coming and going of the sea, under a perfect blue mercilessly repay me every day in which I wanted to see from a distance.
The precious moments are strung one after another like pearls, all united by a common thread gourmet from which nothing can matter.

A white T-shirt with views of Scilla glittering at sunset.
Granite and brioche, I lost count.
Grandma and her endless string of pancakes and full of years, and accusations of love.
The family is united in a common front as soon as the clouds over the horizons.
A dinner with cousins \u200b\u200bwho is a sort of cabaret.
A concert to the viewpoint that made me smile so much.
The vagaries of intelligence and Sasha, Jonathan's eyes, the smile of David, the sweet weight of Richard, who falls asleep in my arms, being satisfied of a Gaelic lullaby definitely out of tune.
Purple violent bouganvillaes of flowers everywhere.
Much of that sun that must have tanned even the bones.
The great satisfaction of a relationship that is a safe bet.
The sea swelled yesterday, to remind me that the current lead should be without fuss and then if you do not dare regret.

I could not reach any peak greater serenity, and I discovered that I was wrong during a night of drums and voices and organs and feet crushed and inventive step where I sweated nostalgia for the old to the new space: that kind of rare moments when you know you're in the right place at the right time. A

legs stretched out on the seats of regional me back in the rainy mountains of Abruzzo, the feeling is more or less the same, forse un po' più dogmatica, ma so di essere dove devo, anche se le sirene sono ormai lontane. Ubi maior, abbassano la voce... ma non ci si lega mai bene abbastanza per restare incolumi.

L'unica magia a cui non sarò mai immune è chiusa in un angolino di acqua e sassi da cui per troppo tempo resto lontana, che sempre mi abbaglia e da cui sempre troppo presto devo scappare, ancora e per sempre irretita.

‎ "...nelle braccia già di un treno  
che lasciava dietro 
un cielo da   dimenticare  
mia nonna che mi dava il cuore  
delle rondini  
"un giorno dovrai andare".  
Nuda di lacrime
lasciavo il mio   East
naked without words for my people ... "
(Mia Martini, my East)