Thursday, March 25, 2010

Wedding Message For Parents



But look, in the end we have made to build the bridge, and who would have thought? Down Sicily, Calabria here, united by the long, slender white arrow. There's a shadow on the sea, the shadow of the bridge that seems to divide and cut in two: the Tyrrhenian to the right, left, and then the Strait Channel. And look how many people right at the entrance: there is a stage, and all those flags and ribbons, there is a band, playing songs, but also folk songs and everyone is happy. Let us approach: say he's going to get the President by helicopter from Rome. Is the opening: why not pass on Deck anybody yet. E 'right, the first must be the President, after he came to Rome on purpose.
Maybe it's him? But yes, certainly it's him: athletic, does not prove anything for that age. You see that puts us all to look like one who now rests in the mausoleum of Piazza Duomo in Milan, that, without whom the bridge was never built. Of course, we took a bit '... But here it is, takes the stage. Draw near again, there is Don Calogero Pizzini, the retired engineer representative of builders Sicily overlooking the bridge with the eyes of a loving father. Beddu which is that bridge, and now the President talks about his creature, and sings its praises. It 'important to the Bridge, how do you say that was a useless? Last year, for example, when there was the landslide on the parties to Catania, the one under which they died a few dozen Christians, behold, there was relief the bridge would have led to the Continent, but no: he Civil Defence had to do all of Sicily and, unhappy, we know what the state is.
"Bravo!" Applauds Don Calogero. Needless to Bridge? But they were only told that the fetus those arguing that they could spend that money otherwise.
"But why - the beautiful lady asks naive Rosalie, wife of the Engineer Nicolemi buds and silicon - have reopened the highway at Bagnara? There was a landslide? ".
"But as a landslide and landslide! - Minimizes Don Calogero joining thumb to index - A crollatina a crollatina by anything on the mountain. He is not dead almost anyone.. "
Maybe they had already completed it two years ago, for example, when there was that terrible power failure that put out all of Sicily, when Etnea turns to party as if it were carnival for all the rivers of melted ice cream that escapes from the ice cream. And there was the stream of pistachio, and that of the lemon and chocolate, all happily running down to the sea to bathe. In those same days, where the meat went bad in the supermarkets, the Bridge would have been useful. Instead of waiting ships and oil tankers, tankers could only straddle the Aspromonte (because of crollatina Bagnara), easy to get to Messina. Very easily.
The speech of the President is drawing to a close, the time came for the ribbon-cutting ceremony and the first triumphant crossing of the continent to Sicily. It remains to raise a prayer for those who died during the work: how many do not remember any more, but Don Calogero ensure that it is a physiological number. Then Medal to the older worker is still alive, an old man of nearly ninety years which began work in 2010, when he was a boy, and now, 65 years later, saw his dream come true.
The gang attacked the anthem, and it is all a flutter of flags. The President goes down with athletic step off stage and heads for the long tape, from pier to pier, cross the bridge. Bel tape, often with the colors of Italy, Sicily, Europe. Caruso approaching a recommended holding a red satin pillow with over a pair of silver scissors. The Chairman gave a pat to the child, asks him his name and forget your name. Moves towards the large tape and a shot of one, cut it in half. The tape goes limp on the asphalt between the riot of applause, which cover a small pop from the pier to the north. The President moves to his car, closely followed by Don Calogero who does not notice, both the enthusiasm and the din of screams and the roar of engines presidential, another small pop from this time giving the pylon to Reggio .
"What a great show! - Donna Rosalia gets excited, which is sometimes capable of emotions - These tall masts, with ribbons and flags on top. Look how beautiful, shaken by the wind.. "
Belle, true, but weird. There is no mica wind today, just for nothing.
"I'm so high! - Notes Donna Rosalia, who is rarely able to comment - you can hardly see the top and it looks like waving. Ah, Ah! that silly. "
"Ah, Ah," the favors of so complacent sciocchineria Nicolemi the Engineer, but a look-up makes it a little thought. And a noise, a bit 'more of the previous warning, almost a tear, rising from the asphalt hours. "Survey?" Asked Don Calogero his faithful squire. And he extends his arms "Maybe the tape when the cut" is assumed. The pylon of Tirreno slowly begins to regain his wish sea. That of Reggio, angry, not wanting to be outdone and points toward the Channel. The ribbon of asphalt, the masts rivals fought, not knowing which to choose, he opted for a Solomonic solution by letting go of a part here and another there. This implies, in the middle of the center line, a crack that quickly becomes a fessurona. One begins to glimpse the sea. The split, initially limited to a few meters in front of Calabria, quick stretches to Sicily. The band stopped playing and the shouts of joy are a bit 'more confusing. The crowd, proudly preceded by the President and Don Calogero, suspects that it is appropriate to move away and repaired to safe mountain. The concern follows caruso that the pillow will not fall to the ground. The north pier has run decided: Back in the Tyrrhenian Sea. And that mimics the south shortly after the other. Donna Rosalia understood - is rarely capable of understanding - because the heels are not ideal for racing in the mud. The ribbon of asphalt, now reduced to stumps, falls in the Strait procuring headaches abyssal fish. Elder worker slumps to the ground. Within a few minutes every shadow on the stretch of beach is gone now back together as the time of Scylla and Charybdis. The President still holding the scissors and approaches, not in a good mood, in which Don Calogero, spreading his hands "Do not worry, Mr. President, do not worry. The rebuild. Quickly, "


Published on number 71 of 'u cuntu. http://www.ucuntu.org/

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

Electricity Saving Box Schematics

Killer fat washed

drunk walked unsteadily, swinging the heavy ass (fat ass? - you asked - it is then that the publisher refuses to me the words?) squeezed into a miniskirt ridiculous. The heels made her stumble at every step, forcing her to lean on each signal or streetlight he met. He followed her in the shadows, as silent as a panther, a stealthily. The people that you met shunned laughing. He then, when he saw other people, not stepped back to make it clear that he followed. At one point she turned down a dark and deserted alley. It was the occasion! He caught behind with his right hand and pressed her palm on the mouth. Then he pushed her against the wall crumbling (shabby: yes I like it). His head struck against the freshly painted plaster with a TOC sound but her hair blond straw muffle the sound. She looked terrified and he, grinning, he pulled out his pocket knife that triggered with a click. The blood flowed from the head wound on his hair as he began his ritual. She knew she would die. He understood that it would soon become the third victim of what the newspapers called the killer of the killer and the cops blonde fat washed out. He passed the knife sulla fronte procurandole una ferita lacero contusa orizzontale da cui uscirono fiotti di sangue che le coprirono gli occhi azzurrastri. Lei fece per gridare, ma la bocca era stretta dalla morsa di acciaio, e non uscì niente. Allora lui col coltello le procurò una profonda incisione verticale, sempre sulla fronte, e formò la croce, il suo marchio. Poi con la lama scese sul naso, mentre il sangue scorreva come un ruscello, e con un colpo ben assestato gli tagliò la punta. I suoi occhi urlavano muti di terrore mentre la lama…
«Hai visto questa? – lo interruppe come una furia sua moglie gettandogli una bolletta in faccia - E’ la luce: scaduta da un mese. Non dovevi andare all’ufficio postale stamattina?»
«Non ho avuto tempo… Un capitolo importante, non potevo lasciarlo a metà»
«Figurarsi, un capitolo importante!»
…mentre la lama si infilava tra l’occhio sinistro e il naso. Arrivata in profondità, con un secco movimento del polso le cavò l’occhio che penzolò sulla guancia attaccato solo ad un fascio di nervi. Il sangue scorreva come un torrente mentre il suo occhio rimasto urlava muto di panico. Allora passò all’altro, non prima di aver reciso, con un taglio netto, i nervi che reggevano l’occhio sinistro facendolo cadere a terra e schiacciandolo col tacco. Ripetette l’operazione con il destro e adesso due caverne sanguinolente lo guardavano spettrali gridando mute with terror. Then came down with the blade and with one stroke opened his shirt clutching the huge tits (boobs? It's not that then I take away the things of sex?) From cow. He then began to saw the roof (maybe if I say breast is best) the right breast like a salami. Breast PLOF and fell to the ground by him, kicked, threw away the box of unrecycled to a stray dog \u200b\u200band we immediately rushed over and took it away. He repeated the operation with each other. The blood flowed. The fat blonde now no longer standing and was holding him, his grip of steel on the mouth, holding her upright pressed against the plaster crumbling freshly repainted. But the ritual was not yet finished. This brought down on the pavement and a knife ...
"Today was on sale for all competitions. Look, take the City '
"We talked about it a thousand times: I can not put myself to study for a competition, I have the book to end.."
"And you can not write while studying or working? There's a lot of people working in the bank and wrote.. "
"But they are amateurs: a true writer is different. It takes time, concentration, can not be distracted .... "
'Writer! But how can you call yourself a writer if you've never published a book? ".
"This book goes well, will sell, I can feel it. All the great writers have found it difficult at first.. "
"I say every time, you will have written ten, at least, we're married. All there, in the closet, the only one who has read them. "
... with a knife slashed the skirt. She was still alive, twitching on the pavement. He then plunged the knife between her thighs. The blood gushed like a waterfall and she stopped moving. He struck again and again in anger until between the thighs of the woman opened a cave from which tore off flesh with their hands and bodies. Only then he was quite satisfied. He cleaned the knife in her hair blondish, closed it in the neck and, grinning, put his knife in his pocket.
'E do you plan with that keyboard, I have to go to work early tomorrow morning, I - I looked up at the ceiling - is not only a failed good for nothing, is too noisy. " Then he stared a long time, disgusted with his eyes off of that blue, washed out, surrounded by a mane of yellow hair color shapeless tow. "Good for nothing," she repeated again, even more pronounced with contempt, before turning to walk and clumsy and heavy to the bedroom, proceeding with difficulty, with the sagging and swaying hips at every step.





listening to Count Raven