Summer full, deep, black, apical. Heat, heat wave, hot. Light, heavy rain, hail. Everything goes by the book, a manual strange and Babylon in the hands of an unidentified deity. The skin sometimes clings to the skin, human, animal, tanned, sexual. You choose the combination. When I return in the series-back sofa. Return to case studies in other, more socially relevant: couples broke out, three-year graduates, people deserted the cities, young people who do not believe in politics, would-be emigrants in foreign countries but not so much best of Italy so that they appear, writers who do not lose time not defined as such and who continue to mistreat the Camene that does not allow them. More important, less interesting. My skin adhering to the one of the sofa, with sweat, not to wear, when he tries to come off s'arrossa and irritated. My skin gets irritated often. It is often resented, indeed. Now when I take a lot of sun. And the summer has become a bit 'to soak up the sun, so that will have it with me.
Day at the pool, which I study the parable of the sun, hoping to speed it up with my peer, as you browse through "Dante Studies" Auerbach (after ten pages I stop and I start to read Tex), a couple of bombshells hysterical nearby, black already (and why the fuck come in the pool, even if the tap water, what else you are not ugly whores?), some old hen, overzealous tourists, the beautiful and damned lovers EPA tortoise is hard for me comes to mind a more sad, and I refer especially to myself, mind you. Well. The summer is this.
This is clearly not the year of the pilgrimage and exploration, not for me. The vein cloistered took, in spite of myself, over, this year. As he took over the asindeto, I see in these lines. The tragic
stilnovisti to ride and his Averroism, sometimes I steal this perpetual happy hour. Publius Naso ripping me a knowing smile. Social networks (not networks, in Italian does not put the "s" at the end of English words plural) should bother me, I do not know. Not suited to the kind of snooty intellectual elite that ancient conservative suits me so well. But they are almost funny to me at the end Heraclitus would keep his work in the recesses of a temple, so we say "oh, Heraclitus, that aristocratic spirit and superfine, he hid his work to the crowd, because they are too high," when in the end the fragments we've got them all the same. I like this. So I am doing so well, useless public to give me a tone.
I am missing something, I miss more than anything, this summer, but "[...] hide the emptiness that advances" in some way.
I see that even the last semblance of para-literary abandon me, better to go again.
Day at the pool, which I study the parable of the sun, hoping to speed it up with my peer, as you browse through "Dante Studies" Auerbach (after ten pages I stop and I start to read Tex), a couple of bombshells hysterical nearby, black already (and why the fuck come in the pool, even if the tap water, what else you are not ugly whores?), some old hen, overzealous tourists, the beautiful and damned lovers EPA tortoise is hard for me comes to mind a more sad, and I refer especially to myself, mind you. Well. The summer is this.
This is clearly not the year of the pilgrimage and exploration, not for me. The vein cloistered took, in spite of myself, over, this year. As he took over the asindeto, I see in these lines. The tragic
stilnovisti to ride and his Averroism, sometimes I steal this perpetual happy hour. Publius Naso ripping me a knowing smile. Social networks (not networks, in Italian does not put the "s" at the end of English words plural) should bother me, I do not know. Not suited to the kind of snooty intellectual elite that ancient conservative suits me so well. But they are almost funny to me at the end Heraclitus would keep his work in the recesses of a temple, so we say "oh, Heraclitus, that aristocratic spirit and superfine, he hid his work to the crowd, because they are too high," when in the end the fragments we've got them all the same. I like this. So I am doing so well, useless public to give me a tone.
I am missing something, I miss more than anything, this summer, but "[...] hide the emptiness that advances" in some way.
I see that even the last semblance of para-literary abandon me, better to go again.
