"In Rome in August there are only monsters." So
m'epigrammava a friend a few years ago, with a sarcasm so clear hypertrophic, close to the people and the advent of the holiday der der tuttialmare & chiappechiare.
And I, who is still on vacation did not go, I find myself with the shirt stretched to fill commitments where the fierce summer heat you can feel like a warm hand to pressure to give the imprimatur of the skin to sweat and melt relentless humor on ' asphalt sfranto worms in the west of Termini Station. A
Piazza Esedra, the stalls are open daily as a kilo of print, piling Domenica del Corriere, illustrated stories of wars gone by, and pornographic exploits odysseys in almost the original edition, while around forever is the smell of urine and signs of the price.
between Independence Square and Piazza Exedra, work in progress and machines to "skew on intersections, rights previously enshrined in nerves and click arrogant reluctance to attack without the trouble on the sides.
coffee consumed in file receipts compulsive in Via San Nicola da Tolentino, Piazza Barberini Saving Silverman heat convergence on hotel porters, his clothes stuck patrol in the revolving doors, soldiers with machine guns guarding the quota to obey home and then still other work in progress, works disheartened at the start, cursed and blasphemed by those who come to pass on reduced lanes. A Mess on the Via Merulana
is always bad, just a little 'more blackened with smoke, time passes and if they fuck, defiant like a van double parked, as arrogant and careless haste, hardly distracted by the winking of the flesh' accattatevillo and the need to riparmiare cents on gasoline. Bins on the right-handed with their new young warriors myths slogan affixed to land, to replace the previous generation of young victims, while among the contenders for the rich santemarie spirit of the median of the angels because heaven does not recognize either August or December, but is always in season, with its temperate climate.
In other corners of the wall are completed schermagliuccia parties, saying from her virginity how civil motherfuckers dell'oltralpe Parliamentary fees.
"But old age is a Rome hoaxes
no nonsense and no evidence that requires the plaintiff
authentic but a complete ruin"
(Boris Pasternak, it would seem proper)
And then in the middle of the torrid bold in square San Giovanni in Laterano, the famous duemilaeotto no longer holds all that makeup localized, such a lookout octogenarian cracks open and releases the silicone facade, underneath there is more or less a millenovecentoottantatrè and in the meantime we were just watching, eating, sweating, payable to the trade and build highways existential invisible as metropolitan proud and all that progress since then, while the tourists finally we look at the wrinkles and now means that we recognize, as when we went to Athens in '87 and saw the ancient art from the primordial civil increasingly aged. Also killed in Athens on hot stones and confused steps & fried in a light sauce that if you do not get fat throat. There are more
Gassman and Trintignant, the Child Leo and Marisol lost in August.
And no, "the nun dry sun ... er, the city is blatantly palliative, abandoned on the ground.
m'epigrammava a friend a few years ago, with a sarcasm so clear hypertrophic, close to the people and the advent of the holiday der der tuttialmare & chiappechiare.
And I, who is still on vacation did not go, I find myself with the shirt stretched to fill commitments where the fierce summer heat you can feel like a warm hand to pressure to give the imprimatur of the skin to sweat and melt relentless humor on ' asphalt sfranto worms in the west of Termini Station. A
Piazza Esedra, the stalls are open daily as a kilo of print, piling Domenica del Corriere, illustrated stories of wars gone by, and pornographic exploits odysseys in almost the original edition, while around forever is the smell of urine and signs of the price.
between Independence Square and Piazza Exedra, work in progress and machines to "skew on intersections, rights previously enshrined in nerves and click arrogant reluctance to attack without the trouble on the sides.
coffee consumed in file receipts compulsive in Via San Nicola da Tolentino, Piazza Barberini Saving Silverman heat convergence on hotel porters, his clothes stuck patrol in the revolving doors, soldiers with machine guns guarding the quota to obey home and then still other work in progress, works disheartened at the start, cursed and blasphemed by those who come to pass on reduced lanes. A Mess on the Via Merulana
is always bad, just a little 'more blackened with smoke, time passes and if they fuck, defiant like a van double parked, as arrogant and careless haste, hardly distracted by the winking of the flesh' accattatevillo and the need to riparmiare cents on gasoline. Bins on the right-handed with their new young warriors myths slogan affixed to land, to replace the previous generation of young victims, while among the contenders for the rich santemarie spirit of the median of the angels because heaven does not recognize either August or December, but is always in season, with its temperate climate.
In other corners of the wall are completed schermagliuccia parties, saying from her virginity how civil motherfuckers dell'oltralpe Parliamentary fees.
"But old age is a Rome hoaxes
no nonsense and no evidence that requires the plaintiff
authentic but a complete ruin"
(Boris Pasternak, it would seem proper)
And then in the middle of the torrid bold in square San Giovanni in Laterano, the famous duemilaeotto no longer holds all that makeup localized, such a lookout octogenarian cracks open and releases the silicone facade, underneath there is more or less a millenovecentoottantatrè and in the meantime we were just watching, eating, sweating, payable to the trade and build highways existential invisible as metropolitan proud and all that progress since then, while the tourists finally we look at the wrinkles and now means that we recognize, as when we went to Athens in '87 and saw the ancient art from the primordial civil increasingly aged. Also killed in Athens on hot stones and confused steps & fried in a light sauce that if you do not get fat throat. There are more
Gassman and Trintignant, the Child Leo and Marisol lost in August.
And no, "the nun dry sun ... er, the city is blatantly palliative, abandoned on the ground.
One day in August, apparently out of 2008, substantially in 1983: I know were all in Rome. And I know all monsters.
And they call it summer
And they call it summer
this summer without you
but do not know that I live
always remembering you.
The smell of the sea do not hear it,
there 'more
why not come back here,
near me.
and call nights
these nights without you
but do not know that there
who cries at night you.
But the others live, talk, love.
And they call this summer summer without you.
And they call these nights nights without you
but who do not know that there at night you cry.
But the others live, talk, love.
And they call this summer summer without you
