...ovvero questo blog è composto da un'unico ipertrofico testo spalmato su molti post e altrettanti commenti, forse.
Il nome di questo blog dovrebbe far comprendere il perché di certe cose: questo spazio non può vivere con “moderazione” o con censure, l’omologazione appunto non è richiesta.
Sembra strano, in fondo il padrone di casa è un signore d’una certa età, educato ai ritmi di un mondo e di una società scomparsa da molto tempo. Cosa c’entra con contesti virtuali come quelli in cui si trova immerso da tempo?
Apparentemente nulla, concretamente moltissimo.
I am with what I write and show me how to get things moving, in public and in private, screaming passion for life and for the eros that the soul, and all this can eventually lead to crystals broken and painful asymmetries. I landed in the sense of friendship with a capital after crossing the wide expanses of sex and passion, and I have no intention to hide or, worse, mystified. Here and in other blogs I live "sexually" my life and my writing are attracted by the woman recognized as the only alter ego: why should I pretend that I am not an aseptic own? I do not care fake fake love or want and can say that, from time to time on these pages are worn scenes of real jealousy. Point.
I can not expect the measure or disharmony out of me perfectly coincide with the fracture that I carry inside . She is alive even now as I write these lines, and I think you feel it clearly. From time immemorial come here and comment especially women I see him as a fortune and I know that some fights, well understood, they are necessary and due to an appendix, but will not for what they are unable to change but need to understand the Beyond the hardness or tenderness, immersed in the seductive sense of touch even minutes.
I tried to be different but I would not: write almost without even moving away to what you did not even know, even becoming an echo faded, an approval would not be fully consummated sexual intercourse and then tried, and would still on behind the desires, anxieties, lightning, storms and secret gardens only living space of a morning. I feel not enough, how many times I said, I understand that I write only a fraction of what goes through my head, I entrust to the intuition of staff who reads me the rest.
live the most difficult moment of my life that is not only the relationship with me same as male but the comparison of myself with this company was devastated, silly and "terminal" and I do not know and others do not understand how to dive in and enjoy physical, purely and simply, I never failed and the metaphysics that is devouring me today.
We read with melancholy attention. pass before my eyes, like the scent of a movie theater full of humor and desire to hope again, the eyes of a child and inconvenience of a few "accidents" of course, the colors and photographs of a friend of 'other island, the last moments before the ship sails to a distant horizon and intriguing to the best command of Captain I know, the "huge prayer of a woman that fills my day with silence swollen with arrangements. See
have to do, to read, to argue: there is especially in love without false modesty. Hold together the parts of me is a tall order ... and perhaps useless to ask you to restrain your impulses certainly silly.
Sometimes some of you do not realize how much loneliness there is in an angry man, and how much culture there is no need to refill it, how what I was born alive in his agony in writing, and his famous death in the comments.
I can not do more than that, my demon dance again.
You give it life. If you understand the love Give her and put the salt and the sun ... the sex will come back with the interests of a smile. Do not waste it and discuss how and when all you want without reservation: please do not intristitemi with silly and false disquisitions of the ancient customs and popular, call things by their name and free your intelligence. So much more than I imagined and much less than they dream of having.
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