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Fulmini a ciel sereno.

that strange phenomenon of lightning from the blue. Yet perfectly explicable in certain physical conditions. The figurative sense of the spouse of words is "event, often pleasant and unexpected." Although viewed from a distance have the power to download some adrenaline in the body, a mixture of fear and fascination. Want to find out the cause and at the same time be charmed by this show. In addition, a night of carelessness and confusion, tachycardia and want to dance. The weather and the quota, are combined to perfection. The lightning was still far away, not yet here.

Yours,

Vane

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Ritiro studio.

You have to study? Looking for peace and tranquility? No noise, no noise? Pisa. August.

There was no simple solution. All the way, signs in stores saying "we reopen August 31." Not before. Cinema closed. Copy shops closed. The university is closed. Yes, but I is not that I can shut up at home 24 h 24 .. otherwise die. I am looking for human contact, to see new faces .. Then all of a sudden idea. Piazza dei Miracoli. Full, full, overflowing .. I just walk towards the square that already back in service the tourist information point and walking human self. "Excuse me, is far from Piazza dei Cavalieri?" in a German accent .. "No, here it is straight!" .. "Oh, she's beautiful?" .. "Yes. Is beautiful .." smile bewildered by the question .. Well, it's back here, go, judge you, right? Bah, Parini, I know that he did not want to walk and her husband was away, probably with even less desire for her ..

Then we are in Piazza dei Miracoli, however, it is majestic. And I laugh every time there before, how I laugh .. all in the meadow in the usual position, to do the usual thing: the photo while holding up the tower.

But the only one that wants to throw down??

yours,

Vane

ps: Pisa Shit.

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Il Dio Apollo è stato ridicolizzato.

Per amore. Il dio Apollo, dio del Sole, è stato definito un baccalà incoronato di alloro. Pensare che quella corona di alloro doveva essere un pegno d'amore, verso quella ninfa di cui si era innamorato, quella Dafne che aveva rincorso per le selve dell'Olimpo. Un amore non corrisposto, che lo ha condannato. Lo ha condannato a piangere su quella donna che chiede a Zeus di trasformarla in albero, nel Lauro, pur di non essere preda di quel suo ben noto spasimante. Un baccalà. Si perchè forse non era guidato proprio dall'amore con la A maiuscola, insomma la sua era una mera caccia. Lei che fugge e in lui ancor più foga nel raggiungerla, nel possederla. Quello di Dafne allora è stato un riscatto; lei che doveva essere la sua stella e lui che is the king of the sun and porn law at will, can not. Pappappero. He cries to her roots, she grows.

Pollon a woman wanted her back, because his father was suffering so much. But in the end can not, the Goddess of all the Dee made it clear that this was just a game, it was not love. The desire a person does not mean love, so the focus then turns off. Love is not only passion, not just fire, you also enjoy the freshness of the water, you also feel cold in winter.

frying hours Apollo, in a pot on a stove.

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Sopra-vivere

A Camaldoli with a book. There are so many books to read "required" for the English Literature exam and for these two days into the wild in the forests of Casentino Camaldoli I chose what might be a bit more "spiritual" and that basically you would love more ... This is Niebla by Miguel de Unamuno. Excellent choice I would say .. It 's a book a little bit special, and experimental in the current English of the time, using what we know as metaletteratura, but actually surpasses it and this is unique because the author enters the text and becomes the character.

basic theme: the existence.

here is put everything into question, the mere fact that the author enters the text makes it unreal, like the character in the story, extreme importance to the word then, who to believe? The protagonist of the story or its author? Who says they really? What say? The lives of those? And above all, is the author who gives life to the protagonist or the story, the story of the actors who give life to the author? The centerpiece of the book is confusing and dreamy reality, I think it can be summarized in these words:

"It's no accident that this is a dream of some God who will fade As soon as he wakes up, and that both This we pray, that we dedicate songs and hymns, to sleep, to prolong his sleep? It's no accident throughout the liturgy, of all religions, is a way to embrace God's dream to ensure that you do not wake up and stop dreaming? "

no coincidence that the hero's death, it will appear in the dreams of 'author, his God ..

Surviving thus live beyond. In niebla, fog.

Well, then it is a book about the existence, can only address issues of life; those that can be summarized in three parts of the body, head, heart and stomach, which are intelligence, feeling and will. "You think with your head, you feel with your heart and you want to your stomach "." stomach juices processes che fanno il sangue, il cuore nutre assieme a questi la testa e la testa fa in modo che sia lo stomaco che il cuore funzionino ."

Spero di avere suscitato un pò di interesse per questo autore che pochi conoscono, che ormai ha scritto due secoli fa ed è un pò cadudo nella dimenticanza.. Almeno spero di averlo fatto un pò vivere in queste parole del post..

Nebbia, Miguel de Unamuno.

ps. la traduzione in corsivo è mia, magari si trova scritta meglio eh ..

Yours, Vane

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L'infinito

ERM hill are seen infinite spaces, but the endless silences have not heard ...!

Here, the thread of sarcasm goes away if you think that the dear Paraccia Leopardi was always alone, at least I was while I was in the company, a nice, big, happy, and sometimes grotesque gargantuan company! (Forgive the redundancy ..) Spaniards, Americans and Italians among the Tuscan hills, good wine, ham, cheese, steak Florentine, the nooks and almonds .. eh ... What an effort!

Your dear Vane,

chiletti with a few more ..

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Triumphs

Restore all of a sudden my culinary self-esteem with these beautiful (and delicious) ears. The recipe I had found
here and I'd scored in waiting for a special occasion: these little things that require a bit of manual work I always enjoy a lot. Little work, very game and satisfaction guaranteed. And then there is in lard, which is holy. So my way to sanctify August.
For tonight, believe it or not, I prepared a dinner simple and vegetarian. This, I suppose, bounce after writing a controversial letter to a friend who thinks about converting to a life of hardship and vegetables. My unconscious amused smiles of the joke that I played.

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Disasters

These days I exercised the better the art of distraction, of the approximation of fancazzismo of truancy and bad mood applied. The result: a pasta and beans inedible, fake fish and throw away this fabulous melon ice, which is the sum of all cattivezze, the apotheosis of the imbalance, the triumph of the error. It remains to understand the error, in this case, apart from the absence of jasmine flowers, but still. The recipe seemed correct, and even execution. The result, as you see, does not confirm all the premises. I would add that the crowning of horrors could peel cucumber, not so fresh. Ugh! I wish you a Ferragosto
less indecent than mine - unless I suddenly not resume my normal ability to make my life through the food acceptable.

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Sweating inside themselves

I have given this small book nice and funny. There is absolutely no desire to cook the recipes totalitarian: I must say that Russian food described here is really the least attractive of the globe, and generates a deep depression papillary even imagine. But I really liked it spirit of the author. To you this helpful advice, topical:

"Uzbekistan, a multinational republic of twenty-five million inhabitants, of which most are young Uzbeks, with great rivers dry up constantly, huge deserts, mountains which cast little shade , and with a fifth season, called Cilla: forty days of summer when daytime temperatures reach unscrupulously up to fifty or sixty degrees. The secret is to survive in this heat, "sweat inside themselves." To do this, the people of place wearing thick coats of down and drink hot green tea. In this way the coats get wet and stay dry inside out. Thus Uzbeks take shelter from the heat too much. "