Say It Yourself. Gerardo D'Orrico

no snow, what a lovely Sunday.

      I go to the head to make sense of what year, what weekend – end? Bella is pretty and pretty anti-fascist Sunday annihilates the saying that thieves do not mention there, if you want to go start as well, even against fake fascists, thieves and even a little 'murderers. You used to live in the past to proceed to the future or precede who knows what he wanted, the fog does not see it. All people are here or not, they live somewhere else in their home but, they are present in the economy, in our inner existence, gentle class or green plant. A process of self-elimination such even of the days, as one of the greatest hidden social revolutions is where you exist you live, it seems to me air after a worm, the deceiving poetry is just a silence. Money is like 'the blood must get there, horrendous that people slowly slide down, smile at us or other expressions that go down to the bottom of the city, their silences, look how evils die. A piece of advice you did not want to talk then, the emptiness or nothingness in their eyes, where are the others, civilization, their thrifty occupations, they are alone and cry. I say that bright light has the truth in the day, last week at work, the blood where it is, the money, the petrol. Theme what really happened, the emptiness. The traffic light is red… oh, my God, look what he was saying to you, your traffic light is red, the phone broke, who and where, still the problem of the other year, you got hungry, the boss doesn't speak in his moods, I see so many problems already solved in front of me and your bionic soul that nobody speaks.

      A summary: 1. Time is getting better and better, don't be fooled and then it gets easier. 2. These are all things there are. 3. Reality now wants its truth back. 4. There are all the speeds you want, it works at all speeds.

      End.

      Please, around the next hour.

      Spotty kiss, G.

      3. I WOULD COLOUR IT FOR YOU

The aristocrats on the ground, 02.11.2010

      Dear diary of beloved life, plant friend, Giacomo Leopardi verse eighth vague, is those insulting. Overtake, overtake him are the social worms of them, dear Italy. The speeches, the habits is then much to change that problem is still not solved today dear Italians, what you already know do not touch with your hands. The fake of our century even at home, the monster, the indecent, hunchbacked, you didn't know better than not talking. The disturbances, identity problems, school is everything, the manias our stomach-challenged friends, sometimes are questions that we do not know where to bring our thoughts, goodbye.

      Who are our evils, because we are a past, we already know who is the one who shoots from the left side, seems a little devil like the one in the drawings. The law in everything resolves constructive doubts or creations, after later this software. Go back is real, your business. This company is hibernated today, it looks like a replay: you shouldn't talk, they will never find us. Only miseries today who are the evil fantasies, hallucinations, the ghetto or the government, then you hear to please, who thinks we have not already solved, how many disagreements give them a point, give them death as they say in jargon. The boys do not speak obey the good, at home lost more of them than us, more than you thought friend the power of speech or, what the words meant before, thanks a break.

      They were behind their door, it's true you have to leave them there, later the complaints of investigations not made, because declared inconsistent by reversing the good with the good and the bad, what you can do today, even in two years is the same, while you don't do it remains the same until it happens, or somehow it happens but, in addition you have to see what is saying behind your back then, you have to make the differences between the two sexes is that trouble, however good day free or passive, imprisoned at home, dear poplar wood, main sausage.

      All the misunderstandings are mistakes, still false and the society of false… it's a pity if the state was bad, I'm sorry are you the extinct? By the way, what do you get up to do? Have a coffee. You're the past. The only trick is here that the other one is right, your or my parent still forbids me sin, the globes cloud my vision. How much freedom uh, disfigured exists in the bottom, you live an illegal state, I always feel green, look the most discerning person has already understood the mode, since here there is no, so all the freedom even without a rooted habit, responds to our greasy last week, no introduction, period.

      Present I still have a doubt, I thought nothing was too obscure our ingenuity, as order or, something public. Perhaps later at lunchtime what seemed to have passed or, if a product is yours or not, already move a shake, Protestantism is a movement, hopefully you see how present our home in our state. Only some issues act in the week, who sees provides could nothing be done? A big event will happen in the afternoon, what you wanted from the community now worn out, honest and miserable, do not fall down come on let's go. Autumn begins as a new era for my days, as if nothing lies for the miseries of our past, it is really serious in this quiet mind our joy what you want not to tell you, it is everyone's but not for everyone. A cadence of sound harmony repeats life to make it more true, the vulgar is not an educational repetition, one should not follow that indicated path, it is not right not even to say, the illegal and fascist past has already happened. Life gives life today we are the falling star, like those who see it falling towards yourself, it's not true that it had already happened to you don't know, it's not true that they will catch you, what will happen tomorrow you can't decide today, who knows what they will make us say tomorrow! It will be in our hands tomorrow, take all the time you want alive, you and all the things that have never been done. Careful, careful you don't get hurt. Finished already is the time of emptiness, of never being born, of our strange way of looking at things.

      What that thief wanted, our goodness without credit for his crime. A tribute to the smell of corruption is too much, who will listen to us tomorrow if we cry again! That three-line thought isn't over. A piece of advice the money you can spend today, spend it now, then there's no one left, laugh, maybe it's us who are cheating in jargon we don't like. The last person is us, the most responsible for a poor burned, an oxidized book of people, our true nature is nobody will ever tell us who we are. I fell down by day or you are a thief, you fall or continue to be inferior, true as the electricity or gas bill, you can only as what you have already paid. Rex, Lux, don't you get it? He can't tell you because he's your killer, your evil, your best friend or a fake disguised as him. Pushed down, the loss sets us free, we suffocate, who dies is the disgrace of the house. I believe in the suffocation of pain, not in the growth of an evil, as the film in the evening coloured us with Valkyrie. A void, that's why you can't understand the square, on the picture not on nothing, so the future will come anyway, in every time as in these modern electronics nothing escapes the law, the real one. Feel if your heart beats, if the phone rings instead of feeling the boredom, the Valkyrie or the anarchy that is always one thing.

      Sacred, profane, zombies, you can't get upstairs except climbing those usual clear stairs, you need to build a wall with concrete more than painting it of boredom, but, our complaint is a crime of defamation, sin will be a mistake to judge, so here no one does you good because even tomorrow the same, in my opinion it is difficult to hold a different world that many do not know cut, what a confusion where the complaint ends enters the habit, only the details of a life destined to be trashed, full of things in good homes is nobody knows, no one will be ourselves. You sleep of boredom or, still you are not sleepy, you can't even imagine how many problems someone has, not me where I'll find you nowadays, do you know what a heretic is? where you've gone don't talk, otherwise it breaks! Who has ruined poetry for ten years and ten years is still that human virus, do not empty like folders the past or, the present, tell him to go to hell. Today he is still looking at the calendar and the clock, other people and more, before Christ. Are those charts belonging to the school the ones you're missing how come? Math, geography, letters or something.

      What great ice cream is then, and then, and then there's you that doesn't work, not me then, the opposite. The curtain comes down five minutes early so people don't know what time it is outside.

      Your infected, bye Perego.

      4. LOGS CLOSE TOGETHER

Freedom is you, 01.12.2010

      “Are you busy tonight? You tell me? …then the phone call fell through.”

      This was how we preferred to spend the time of the things we already knew, where the heart, reality, dolls, porcelain, our unbelief exceeds us. How low