have long been undecided on the topic of this post. Small personal upheavals are a sounding board to the great revolutionary who blows hot topics in the Maghreb. The situation Libyan then it seems so indecent that only friends "unconditional" in a country like ours the Banana than in terms of drama. Since it's hard to deliver a clear thinking, as it repels me this idea of \u200b\u200ban Italy so mad and running to the limit of a toxic mother who prostitutes herself with the best intentions with hypocritical dictators of countries that do not deserve even to pronounce the word " Italy, would prefer a little insight that perhaps they will resonate in this little world elimitato the boundaries of the absurd.
Time is a good magician. Because in its perpetuation and in its scan falsely reassured a continuous motion but not the previous one. The tick of a second is like previous year and equal to the next much to praise in the continuity of the eternal spotless screens. Which is of course not.
Being placed before a change is a minor earthquake that shifts daily, not only the perception of change in what is around but also of what lies within us.
My home is located a few miles from the highway, in a more defined areas of the country. To reach the city there are two options: the classical state clogged or a longer route and uncomfortable that winds through fields plowed parallel and adjacent to the highway.
My temper leads me to travel more this second route, a route made more reference points, a via personal meeting place of the Great Oak, little food, the skeleton of the same tree on the ridge of a hill, prison, the usual holes on the asphalt that now have learned to avoid. Right at the end of this road is a small hill going to merge into one of the few arteries that carry traffic in Rimini. This final section embodies the last breath of peace before pulling into traffic and does so with a grace worthy of the past, almost poetic, the way it is wedged between the walls of containment of a hill, the walls that have nothing of the cursed breath stinking gray concrete walls of stone but if you do not bring in the geometric perfection of the casting but the rigor craft of imperfection. Walls dripping with work and not technical, walls forming part of the territory with the same elegance of nature. The left wall was a small masterpiece, on top of that rose by 4 pine trees and thick foliage crushed, that at particular times of the 'thinning of the year or during the morning mists Filta sunlight in sheets warm and enveloping bouncing on hot walls. Take this last stretch was like leaving a warm bed, or had the same evocative power of well-being, but gave the rest of the morning while a senzasione of melancholy as the short drive was intended to culminate in a hurry and with it the vision. I have promised several times to go on site with the camera and wait for even a spark of that beautiful light, but (I do not ability) I always late with the certainty of finding that special light.
For some time, work began to build the third lane of the highway, large parcels of land have been fenced off to allow the works related to the construction site and the red stripe of work has gone so far to the left wall. I never believed nor imagined that they could break down those four pine trees. Which occurred regularly for some unknown reason that escapes the illogical antics of a poetic but ruthlessly clear mind for racing production of this civilization of reinforced concrete. I think it was ripped apart a beautiful corner landscape, a bit 'like it was shot down a beautiful building in the center, my biggest regret is that she can no longer enjoy this (although short) expanded vision of peace that they had had (wanted) " 1 / 125 "of time to devote to a shooting lulled into that kind of great deception that is life.
Time is a good magician. Because in its perpetuation and in its scan falsely reassured a continuous motion but not the previous one. The tick of a second is like previous year and equal to the next much to praise in the continuity of the eternal spotless screens. Which is of course not.
Being placed before a change is a minor earthquake that shifts daily, not only the perception of change in what is around but also of what lies within us.
My home is located a few miles from the highway, in a more defined areas of the country. To reach the city there are two options: the classical state clogged or a longer route and uncomfortable that winds through fields plowed parallel and adjacent to the highway.
My temper leads me to travel more this second route, a route made more reference points, a via personal meeting place of the Great Oak, little food, the skeleton of the same tree on the ridge of a hill, prison, the usual holes on the asphalt that now have learned to avoid. Right at the end of this road is a small hill going to merge into one of the few arteries that carry traffic in Rimini. This final section embodies the last breath of peace before pulling into traffic and does so with a grace worthy of the past, almost poetic, the way it is wedged between the walls of containment of a hill, the walls that have nothing of the cursed breath stinking gray concrete walls of stone but if you do not bring in the geometric perfection of the casting but the rigor craft of imperfection. Walls dripping with work and not technical, walls forming part of the territory with the same elegance of nature. The left wall was a small masterpiece, on top of that rose by 4 pine trees and thick foliage crushed, that at particular times of the 'thinning of the year or during the morning mists Filta sunlight in sheets warm and enveloping bouncing on hot walls. Take this last stretch was like leaving a warm bed, or had the same evocative power of well-being, but gave the rest of the morning while a senzasione of melancholy as the short drive was intended to culminate in a hurry and with it the vision. I have promised several times to go on site with the camera and wait for even a spark of that beautiful light, but (I do not ability) I always late with the certainty of finding that special light.
For some time, work began to build the third lane of the highway, large parcels of land have been fenced off to allow the works related to the construction site and the red stripe of work has gone so far to the left wall. I never believed nor imagined that they could break down those four pine trees. Which occurred regularly for some unknown reason that escapes the illogical antics of a poetic but ruthlessly clear mind for racing production of this civilization of reinforced concrete. I think it was ripped apart a beautiful corner landscape, a bit 'like it was shot down a beautiful building in the center, my biggest regret is that she can no longer enjoy this (although short) expanded vision of peace that they had had (wanted) " 1 / 125 "of time to devote to a shooting lulled into that kind of great deception that is life.
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