Every time I see a naked old woman pass me the desire to fill. I look up, look at the sky on 19 January, and I see the full moon: I am vuotissimo. Being empty is like being bad, and tuttosommato are quite accustomed. But the interesting thing is I want to tell another: they are beautiful. Auto-generated and self-birth follow the philosophy of "Every Mom soy Snout is beautiful."
Today I discovered that the bills piling become poems by Emily Dickinson: just as daunting. Once I was crazy about those poems, I liked the short, again, disappointing and, I add, pungent. If I think of Emily Dickinson always imagine a big pussy, but not like that in general, those type Cat Power, but I do not know, I've never seen any pictures, or even want to see. But in the end is not it, when I think of Emily Dickinson comes to mind Anneliese Michel (the photo).
The first collection of Dickinson that I had bought a cover anonymous: title black background with ocher. Nothing more. I was going to Bologna with an inter-regional, and then stuff prior to 2007. I'm actually talking about 1999, I had a dear friend in Bologna, and I had until 2002. That's it.
Thanks to the newspaper of Milan's central station I discovered a lot of writers that I liked or that I appreciate still (or still is, apparently indifferent), for example, Charles Bukowski and Mordecai Richler. However remember other books bought and read on the train: Enrico Deaglio "The banality of good", Leonardo Pieraccioni "I do not remember the title nor the content," Nazim Hikmet "A collection of poems," Charles Dickens "A summary of David Copperfield," and so on. etc..
Then I stopped taking the train and take books in trade paperback at random from that newspaper, and so, without even realizing it, I thought of being held by Emily Dickinson even though it was the devil, in person , Stefano Luigi Devil, my neighbor, to replace the doormat every week to confuse my entry.
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