Daytrana And Leg Hurting

Rewind '75

girl enters the house. opens with the keys. Admission is sporcobuio, the corridor is narrow, the walls of paper, wallpaper unglued at the corners, the helmet on the dirty hands, stick it on him and disturbing, like a red dress is too tight. The kitchen is empty. There is no soul. There is no Soul. Soul. Cursed be the same story.

There is a hot dish covered with another plate on the table. Homemade pasta and sauce, lifting the piattocoperchio, the droplets of steam, transparent beads, Parmesan tutt'incollato row, damp smell greasy. Want to reject. Recloses.

Girls never eats. Not as it should. Do not forward to others, fork, knife and napkin sitting co 'legs sott'a without a table. So at lunch time there is nobody. So.

The night has just begun. Settles on the ground, face in the pantry, naked thighs and dark and bony knees protrude from deer to cross that always banging somewhere, and blacks eyes open, standing still, larger than usual, you tear any kitchen, with those eyes, table, chairs, neighbors and the world. Sitting on the floor, hands in your mouth, food in the mouth with your hands, pieces, cookies, cake, snacks, taralli gnarled with fennel seeds, teeth, friselle dry bread, rolls. Pieces. A spare, and that light that if the entire swallows, yellow cone extends from the center of the room, bathing everything, touch everything, he would put just on the edge of the dark, to protect at least a little ', and those pieces, all in pieces, not a whole thing, to bite, to take, hold, broken pieces in your hands, body, between her thighs, between the clothes, floor, and crumbs everywhere.

appeared at the window, looking at the road down below, dark and deserted and bare, he calls, demands, calls, who do you want from me?, And cats, a big fat black cat, when children fall strafacciata of shame , Cat goes to the above, it sticks in, he also shit in the hall once, as if to say: This is my house, this! is evil, mutton, fat, and masks, as well as being black, poor and fat, horny and male, and Grasso, is fierce, and a bastard, and Grasso, child leans, looks down, curled up on the sill warm.

taken from KissNotKill, working progess 2-hand with Dino Mimmo

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Memoirs front-wheel drive out of time

Splinters.
Maloox in his pocket and a belt holds my head. Every time I take it off, it's good will that no pain, narrow skull inside a nutcracker in the first generation.
I had more discussions in the last week in the last year. I have three broken shards of glass in the last 24 hours, a precious relic of my marriage that was. The kitchen floor is a sea of \u200b\u200bshards, transparent, background, shiny, light green, thick glass that fine a couple of inches, then crumbs, dust, sharp everywhere in the material, hands, under the skin, sparkle cookies, yum yum, but they are sweet! Brush them as if they were dirty shoes, and you stuck with the shards, then tap to throw them away, too bad!, Other than those we have already eaten, cache vetr'e all, it will be a bit 'of stardust hurt us in the guts .
Lately things have not gone well.
Here. The

sediolina yellow. In the bell jar, like a saint. I turn around, and yet she turns around. Rough-painted brush strokes, small. The design came out from the sheet to be caught. That the real things they touch. More than happy to give me destroys me, makes me want to chew and to lengthen hands.

Books Final evening of front-wheel drive. I have two chips planted under the left foot, the take off with tweezers, is a hidden trench, another in the palm of his right hand, index finger: Pleasure - sorry - Letters - Love - Marriage ... is the second toe: sorry. There. It's time. You have to go. I have to laugh, and the final, unfounded. That is, after there is no more (come on, come on Ro! ... Tonight is all over ...).
Then, I go.
All the windows, but all I say, swept away by suction, dissolved.
Sergio is not there.
The gate is closed. The custodian to limp across the gate and no one decides to open a young boy with his eyes full of wonder and accent polluted, standing here waiting in the street by four. In the afternoon. But it was the SE-i! SE-not to say! Ahhh.
has come too Gigino, keyless, all closed off, and another pair of young hopefuls Baol bold. And then, here. We are open. I

twenty armored bear who knows quell'utero watch in paper, toner and Minke which is my office, is that it is the only hole where I can hole up. The final preparations.
Sweet sweet, the Auditorium is filled with voices and sweat. It was hot. One Saturday afternoon to spend at the park. Instead we all here. All no. There are two defections, a captured time, is Valeria Parrella, she is missing. The other no smell of abandonment, but never mind. Female lone adult there. If there were, it would be a pet, but it's secluded and wild beast, wary, alert, fierce when needed.

Head does the honors of the house, this place is ours tonight, is great and we are all fine.
The first to speak is a big shot. Prison. Magistrate Monitoring is an important intervention , dense, perhaps necessary, but very, very long. Then came the turn of the Political. That speaks well, that is law. Well. A speech as it should. What is there. On the sheet. Does anyone wonder. To what duties, that speech. Tonight.

Gone are the customary greetings, we begin the rest of us.
Leads Star braids, casual, humorous, simple, it is even on time!
Sergio has tips for new shoes that shine like the whites of the eyes, I look at me, and I look at the shoes, which are equal to mine, but my not shine anymore. Five players willing
make a presentation to the five writers, some are more beautiful, some less, much less, I vote Piero! The writers I think you are stupid, raining books, and t-shirts, and sedioline. It quotes. Between his teeth. The meshes with the above sediolina yellow and a sentence for each novel, are the most happy that we have produced, all the want, all they ask, do some marketing under the table in exchange smiles and pats bastard, and I prefer Held Kollettivo that you want? , everyone has their own tastes, and by mid evening are already finished!

And then, the best moment is definitely one of Baol Award. The Auditorium is a colored square and foreign, creative, comprehensive, and young. Sergigno reaches the lectern and said, gesturing wide and looking straight ahead, as always, call the winners and losers, he seizes her from afar, from the fifth and fourth places ex fair, the second ... third ... and First! I've read them all, some effort to get to page 2, but some other beautiful. Really. I'm one that puts even the honors!

After the gifts Baol the room a little empty, but as we finished, Cotroneo won with just one point away from the big difference, and this was known, I pretend nothing, really do not think but in the end, the Beast absent, he would like to be here, I think, just had to move to close the pack, the rest would follow. Superman does not talk much and smiles and runs well after the toast, do not have time to say goodbye. There is confusion, champagne, nuts and pizzelle, thanks, congratulations and good luck and cracks, a T-shirt, two shirts, three!, but are over, I'm sorry, we no longer (veramente!) and intermittent cold neon I frays thoughts. Sergio's bag is here, the band of black wool sweater and the extent, that of marriages and official occasions, as he is, Tom Thumb, leaves traces of his presence around, so who wants to find it, I pick up the pieces as I do with my two, and I go out, this Library is beautiful tonight, sin'a should be open tomorrow morning, let us enjoy the finale tonight's over, now is a dark, warm, late this summer to die, but die, are all Kollettivo exploded everywhere, shining like the glass on the floor of my house, "We Ro ..." comes up to me, thanks, I offer him his things, "thanks Ro ... 's over. H to see?, We did it ... "em'abbraccia, but it's a Mr. embrace, looking more beautiful still of his new shoes, ev'ho said it all!

Jar (ex) Punk

Sunday, October 26, 2008, at 15:54. Standard Time

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The cat and mouse

There was a mouse, it was gray smoke.
There was a cat, agile and red.
There was a seaport, it was crowded. The mouse
dark and the dark street.
The cat nibbling salmon pate.
well-dressed woman walking on the pier, down from bare boats to luxury. Designer sarongs on the narrow side, low waist. A node. Ankles and feet in order.
The mouse does not try anything. Crowds, noise and lights annoy.
There was the cat, red brick, with his hair a healthy shine.
A woman crouches, he sandals in hand, looking for something on the asphalt. She dropped an earring valued. But it is not gold. The mouse
at night in the harbor, is home. That there are males or females around, he slams.
And the cat. Which must have a master. But he's on his own.
She seems blind to how he uses his hands well. Scours the asphalt millimeter by millimeter by millimeter, it sifts through his fingers. Find the earring. Takes a breath. He gets up, thin, pushing down on his knees, and puts it in the hole with a precise gesture, one that you know by heart.

Blind.
In the dark the mice did not hurry. He calmly.
The cat is the woman's thigh. He rubs. One step forward, bare feet and ankles of a good man. Man looks at the lobe of his female, with satisfaction, as if he had mixed his own, with the clay. She smiles. The mouse
strip swollen. The cat
slipping fast.
The woman holding the lobe, as if he might lose it seriously this time. The ear, not the jewel. He kisses her. The move your hand.
There was the rat, and this darkness.

The cat, who had never smelled a rat.
is a beautiful woman.

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This morning I woke up at dawn, there was a dream that slipped by all parties as if it were true. I was with a man who for ten years I have loved, or he loved me. It does not matter. Perfect for those that love never ends. A love without sex lasts forever. Sex in the eye, word, mouth, feet, voice, on the page, in miles, in the absence, waiting, in our time, strange and still. Everywhere.

In ever read.

Then instead of a summer evening, we are so happy and distracted to be able to do something normal for once. Do you?, And I'm going, so we take what is skinned and stuffed it into the body. We are from God

will end, you know? I Yes, I know. But I pretend not to hear. In fact ended.

Good.

But here, in the dream he was just very funny, as always. Why is desperate but not serious is derived mica, which is a marvel. And try their hands, and seeking the mouth, and we hide, and we have to laugh and laugh, in fact, it is night, it's warm. As always.

He cut his right cheek, knife blade type, accurate flaps, and the new red meat, a little, clean clean, from cheekbone to chin, and the little beard that galls, hot lips and bony hands, long fingers in his mouth, thinness, the greater the truth, and few years older than me that means nothing but it's really like, not be due to age of the person he likes, I do not know what it is, he always called me Baby, I love to be known as "Little.

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Primitive Mysteries (1931)

Choreography, costume, lighting: Martha Graham.
Dancer: Martha Graham and her Group.
Music: Louis Horst.
Premiere: Maxine Craig Theatre, New York, February 2nd, 1931.
Photographs: click here , here , here , here , here .

Primitive Mysteries is a group work inspired by the Virgin Mary. Divided into three parts, 'Hymn to the Viring', 'Crucifixus' and 'Hosannah', it portrays crucial episodes from the Bible, such as the cucifixion and deposition of Christ, as experienced by the Virgin. The movement quality of the piece is very spare and minimal, with the Virgin often moving from a pose to another as in a tableau vivant. She is the core of the piece, even when she stands completely still, as in a part of section two. Her costume is made of white organdy and consists of a wide skirt that poetically floats as she moves, while the one of the Group is blue and its skirt is not as wide. The Group surrounds the Virgin and, in more than one case, moves in smaller groups of two, three or four. One of the most significant aspects of the choreography is the processional walk done at the beginning and end of each section. It is done in unison by all the dancers and in complete silence, so as to create the sacred atmosphere of the piece. The title, as well as the idea for this dance, came from Graham's study of Native American cultures in the North American Southwest.
Here the link to my interview to Susan Sentler Reconstructed who has the piece in More Than One occasion, for the historical project at Laban .

-

choreography, costumes, lighting: Martha Graham.
Dancer: Martha Graham and his Group (group).
Music: Louis Horst.
First performance: Maxine Craig Theatre, New York, February 2, 1931.
Photos: click here , here, here, here , here.

Primitive Mysteries is a group dance inspired by the Virgin Mary. Divided into three parts, 'Hymn to the Viring', 'Crucifixus' and 'Hosannah', depicts the crucial aspects of the Bible as the Crucifixion and Deposition of Christ, who lived from the perspective of the Virgin. The quality of the movement of the piece is simple and minimal, with the Virgin who moves from one pose to another as in a tableau vivant. She is the heart of the piece, even when it is completely stopped for part of the second section. His costume is made of white organza and is developing into a wide skirt that floats poetically in his movements, while the Group is blue and her skirt is not as wide. The surrounding the Virgin Group and more than once you move into smaller groups of two, three or four people.
One of the most significant the choreography is done the walk in procession at the beginning and end of each section. Is performed in unison by all the dancers and in complete silence, so as to create the sacred atmosphere of the piece. The title and the idea of \u200b\u200bthe dance comes from the study that Graham did cutlure of Native American Southwestern North America. Here
link to my interview (in English) Susan Sentler who reconstructed the piece more than once for the historical project at Laban .

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discipline in Europe coreologica


Arachne The publishing house has published the book, coreologica discipline in Europe: problems and prospects , Edited by Alessandro Pontremoli and Ceciclia Nocilli. It is the result of a conference held at Valladolid in Spain in November 2008. The volume also contains a my essay in English about Carmen, "The Seduccion this dance: relación entre coreología y estudios de género en El mito de Carmen."

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City Flowers Animals

I the curry

cumin

chocolate

coffee

balls

basmati

Monoi

chocolate salami

braid buffalo

braid cow

Chinese dumplings

chili

Peroni

the stove

feet

ankles

arms

feet on the clavicles

pubis to pubis

chest hair

breast

two necklaces

belly

tears

scaldatelli

half apple

monitor

melina white mozzicate

Skype

's headset

scribbles shot

sheets filled

the bed

all music

the pillow under me

the duvet over me

sheets

hand between her thighs

hair in my mouth

sperm

sex

smooth smooth

hard

fingers everywhere

ass

groin

Cum navel

semen in the eye

throat

neck

between her thighs

semen in her hair

all music

oil

slippery

scars

all music

train

empty street at night

night

bus

underground

work in progress

the machine that makes tickets

tickets

cigarettes

lighter

another lighter

patchouli, a a candle ball

chocolate salami

picnic

bed

toast

scamorza spinning

black smoke

Home

scale

cold

Frost

laughter

laughter

laughter

with tears

the black stone

the box

cloves

the small bag of trash

stream

polenta

the sauce tinged

sausage

music

matches

goal!

froth in the coffee

Indian oil

oil between your fingers

oil the duvet

TV in mobile phone, which is home

bellyache

Chinese

neighborhood streets

that pain

a cat, two

silence

youtube

dawn

crumbs in the sheets

the red shirt with a heart

the ribs of corduroy small small small

the boundary

buttons

big shoes

the funny slippers

the red poncho

blankets in pillow

Skype

shot, shot, pinheads

email

the messages

phone

phones

phone number

phone numbers

Inbox

Sent

Received calls

recent calls made

Category

Name

Name 1

Name 2

Name Ab

Aunt

Uncle

Christmas

shemood

hemood

home

heat

table set

a dinner

certain dreams

sea

heat

water

drinking water

Stromboli

March

my birthday

February 14

December 18

February 11, today

night

night

night

heart

darkness

awakening

all music

those photos

the bearskin

the tits

hole in my stomach

Osvego

tears

sobs

white yogurt

cereals to fruits red

cumin in the nose

sneezing

candied ginger

sugar between the fingers

fingers in his mouth

soft apricot

backpack full

Umeboshi

the sun

salt

truffle salt (there's a package here)

the mini red

love letters

Live

a dedication

another

the movie in bed

wag

push

come

come, yet

still

sweat

flame

sweat

fire

embers

breath

two candles

coal

red

chills

chills

shiver.

words that I can not name.

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The red dress

the silent telephone. As one would live there in the flesh. But dumb. I pretend to nothing. I insist. Pass the time and me. Then the day ends, a piece of night, I fall asleep and dream alone.

dream.
My house. The master bedroom, blue sheets, the shutter down, the sun comes in strips and even a little warm air, it must be summer, no, but something that looks like. As in recent days. This spring, indecent off-season that it thrills of my bangs. You're naked, you have a wrinkled shirt that tastes good clear open front and the little hairs, two necklaces, rattling against each other and play. Keep a tight red dress hidden in a hand like a rag. I threw it. Put it!

I wear, I support you, trim me, is very small, but it falls on all sides, flapping, has thin straps, and two small triangles for two mini boobs, and behind his back, is completely uncovered, there is a long strap that maybe you should tie it somewhere, you let him stay there instead of me hanging between his legs. It is the short short dress, but where is that you found?!, barely covers her ass, is a bit 'on the trapeze, I do a barefoot around on the bed, it turns out half a crooked wheel, I fell, the skirt is completely covered with mirror squares that shine, it seems a mosaic, the fragments are silvery reflections on the wall, on you and everywhere. And this thing, there is no reason, but it makes you laugh. My ass is like a silver ball with a club that runs the 70 turns and lights up the room, and tell me also ... you're a nice Day!

Then take the strap that is always there hanging and I rub it between her thighs, I just reach and pull hard, and the strap gets wet pussy and you juices, Salata!, And then I figs hands inside, deep down, searching, and while digging and circles, with the other hand spanks me, I lift the dress I also take the piss and mirrors that shine, shine forever, blinds you, the blink eyes, is a frown, I'm on all fours, holding my head still, I try to turn around because you want to kiss.

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a suit of light (2)

"Jean de la Tour-Ephren


are ... Jean-Ephren de la Tour, dancer at the Paradise Lost. the lights are pointed at me, every night, from head to toe, and brighten my skin. Every evening, with silver wings attached to his shoulders, I do my show as a true American patrol which is fired and disappears in a puff. United for a nation of dancers and acrobats. Arouse the applause of the whole room, standing in front of me, ready to peel his hands, while secretly, behind the scenes, al'ombra of fanfare, jugglers and the enchantress id serprenti indulge in filthy jealousy. "

Anne Hébert, A dress of light , trans. Piera Maria Nappi and treatment (Ferrara: Tufan, 2007), p. 51.

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normal life

vertigo.

Haste.

Doctor throws his eyes down, over the window, across the street. He lost his sense of direction and time, estranged, spit out from the here and now, even outside of itself, empty head going round in circles, out of that stuff called embarrassing and weak body, you touch my hand with one arm The sky throws water, air!, hot air and hot asphalt still in contact with the cool rain evaporates, more so here, looks out, leans over, leaving wet, the skin slips drips, hugs fingers his own flesh to feel the pressure strong, almost pain, real pain, here ... so, now it's better, close the shutters fast, anger and fear, a quick gesture and broken, I want a normal life.

With white fire of the air conditioner remote control, stop. Throw a heavy sigh, her hands hardened nerves fragile. opens the door, closes the door behind him, headed towards the Department.

The corridor the swallows.

briskly broke constant. Long, the corridor. SINGLE BURNER perspective, everything converges at a point, just one point, all lines, past, present or no future and, above all in the same flimsy fucking dot. The walls were closing on him as he walks, the dress like the allisciano a mantle hot too hot synthetic orticante, steps and rhythm of breath and rubbing the fine arts in starched work clothes and thick, and the heart affected, jumping and dancing out of time, and failed dirty crack the accuracy of that march that sick breaks the second. Dotteressa ... Dr. ... Dr. destr'e to left, Dr. here and there, all who know her all that greet everyone that are looking, gesturing, exaggerate, you reach, and she recognizes and welcomes anyone with a cold metallic voice, pre-recorded disc, speak without meaning, a kind of tic of good manners.

Walls sbianchicce aseptic go, like the faces, the green shirts, neon shot eyes, and the lighthouse Discovolante the Operating Room.

briskly. Toward that dot, life and death. And he does! On the walls, they stick close to the skin on her, the floor gives way at every step, and the ceiling and the voices and the neon and the smell in the nose that seems strange now infamous bastard, all folds open surrenders her below her, Dr. ... Doctor ... it all ends joins ends, it ends here, I end up here.

Adapted from KissNotKill, progress in working with two hands Dino Mimmo

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Air

The narrow entrance, the long, narrow and dimly lit hallway, and kitchen have sucked off the light and people.

empty of life in the kitchen is warm moist and flavorful, tastes good, but Nina was vomiting on the surface of the throat, click, sticky finger on the switch blackened wire Port, a cone of yellow light rain from the ceiling, draw a perfect circle on the floor, Nina window opens, air air!, dank that smells like dirty house mixes of AFA dark street. Nina opens the windows opaque. Child crouches on the windowsill, leaned, looking down, down below, the sticky asphalt called pull pull, like a magnet. But look, all right this time, he insists, and look, lost orientation and balance, you know how we are bad here?, All women of the neighborhood, and their husbands, fat, young, fat lovers, fathers, uncles, fat, even cats, to find this angel skinny mashed on the pavement. He loses his balance and slipped. Slip on your side bangs falling behind in the one place where there is a little meat, falls, beats flesh and blood on the floor in this kitchen freddomarmo flushed sweating sweating. A surreal frost, now, from within. Nina trembles inside the dress.

taken from KissNotKill, working in progess with two hands Dino Mimmo