Come Come Come
Empty all pockets
and disappear.
all miss appointments
we'll make you live between years
unshaven
old cigarette
attached to the pants
leaves in her hair
We do not worry
more
payments.
which are also to take
everything for which we were paying.
And he also takes us.
The reasons that led me to mature this decision, which certainly will throw millions of people in distress, there are three. Fri enumerations.
The first is that they are more acutely aware of not having anything to say. And who cares? you say: the majority of interplanetary communication is based on not having anything to say and say it out loud, and nobody is the problem. See, I did.
The second is that I've broken the boxes that the people I know are felt less and less, and almost never see, because "as you read on the blog." From this point turn up the phone and ask me, how I am. Invite me to dinner, a snack, a picnic, a chat, to dance.
This topic is particularly timely for me lately, and would open an articulate speech about the changes in interpersonal relationships in the era of social networks. Speech will not do here. But the changes are there, and if the benefits are many, the disadvantages are many. It's possible I decided to go down too soon by FB and any other kind of community and virtual marketplace and see what remains. But I still think about this, I fear that I would not like the result.
The third (many accessories) is that some time is giving me a bit 'annoyed that some people in particular are constantly updated and in detail about my business. As talk of eating is theoretically a neutral topic, and not by chance that I chose as the theme, this has always been a personal diary, in disguise - not so much - from blogs de cuisine. The vague discomfort recently has risen to become uncomfortable, and feeling uncomfortable in my house I do not like. However
: the blog is here, and probably a bit of 'I will the inescapable need to tell you the recipe for the mess of ants, so this is not goodbye but a see you. In the long term. Long, I fear. If you want to give me a gift in return for the high service I have rendered to the community, bringing shame to the streets without my doubts and my business because someone might find comfort when he felt the same things I felt and I felt less and only prick, leave a comment.
I say to those who read me always and never speak. I'd like to know who you are, as we are. If there is anything that has gone from my table to yours, and maybe remained there, it makes me happy to know. Now that's a form of communication that is materialized in the life real, practical experience in distance moved, and it is a good thing. Now that makes you feel less alone.
The picture above is of Bruno Guaitamacchi.
Lawrence Ferlinghetti's poems.
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