U is alive, but only because U is U.
In fact, they said the doctors, with the type of trauma that has suffered (ruining guillotine neck) should be dead or quadriplegic. But, since U and U is living under constant training, the muscle thickness of his neck was probably what saved him.
I would say the thing speaks for itself - but you want to take away the pleasure of wandering? Come on, I must - in fact this incident reminds me of one of the other reasons why I have always appreciated the presence of U, so very stupid, but - as the facts revealed - a fundamental: it is difficult to hurt him. It is heartening to know that it's hard to hurt your friend, really. And not only in the event of life stages of your life with too much passion for Fight Club. And everyone has their own paranoia.
I miss him immensely, U, now that I've contacted. It is normal, like reopening a wound - but the positive. I told you - not the wound, but the desire to embrace him once.
U is one of the few people that I like to embrace, I think basically for two reasons:
1) I see with large breaks between meetings and the other, so I have no time to make me sick to come to practice (which, of basis, I never understood); I see so rarely now that every hug has the flavor of the heartening to find someone dear.
2) U, where hugs and embraces. This means that it is better to hold your breath, at least for myself, that as it may have a chest of a certain width, always has a limited thickness. It's embarrassing, this small thickness, when people gives you pat in the middle of the shoulder blades and you are bent out of breath, really embarrassing. But it's worse when you ask "Is everything okay?" and you need a few seconds to respond, so vague sketches heartening gestures, appearing as a whole like a blind monkey.
Obviously these pitiful scenes happen to me often, because I do not see gym every day people unable to interact with others in ways different from what you use with comradely fellow gym. The camaraderie everything is OK, but I do not do gym at that level (or daily devote seconds to check if my biceps have grown - enough for me that the abs are visible, or to scream sacrilege), and, as you know, little people, in world everything is relative. The package that a friend at another gym gym becomes a shovel for you poor little creature that you have a normal physical, and - if you receive no wait - trash on the ground with an expression of amazement. I said that my life is full of moments of serious and intense, right? U is the creature who to blame for me automatically respond by raising and flexing the neck, forearms every time someone is suspected (or anyone) tries to get me a caress. People must think I have suffered beatings at home, but the reason is (as in most cases in life, and not only mine) a lot more stupid. U, in fact, hitting the neck wont show affection - which would continue and not be a problem, if I persisted in having a physique in the media. U, finally, is the man who one day reminded me of the importance of having abdominal balances, and did it slammed to the ground and jumping on his stomach as he chewed a Big Mac. I miss U
often because I find few people in the world capable of this. And the point, creatures, of course, is not inherent in my masochism, that is not to find people who do exactly that to myself, but find too many that are not a priori things taken out for reasons similar to the ludicrous and fundamentally stupid. It is obviously not an invitation to beat up, because I have an innate ability to react and hit the worst point (unwittingly, of course, and with enormous consequent sense of guilt), then you should be either very fast or very muscular. And most importantly, just complain. (I hate complaints about physical pain, make me feel even more guilty - fucking Catholicism.)
(bringing the previous entry, now with even more fervor I wonder why I have a passion for fiction characters leading to the constant complaint, but I will not.)
Consequent to the physical in general, however, I think I'm sick. I , I say, because we are in the era of stress and psychosomatic symptoms, and therefore do not know if the stun Overall, the sore throat are hot and the consequences of having a virus or just vent. Then something changes? No, and wondering what's the point? (Viva immanence.)
I took the thief Journal of Genetics and are as happy as a spastic child who wakes up healthy (you have to bear the discomfort that sometimes catches me and makes me intolerant to any taboo, making titillate those so annoying), or as a child taken from Christmas-themed American films of the genre with which you are about to overwhelm, or as if it were Evan Stone just appeared in my bathtub dressed as a pirate balancing on a paper boat.
Evan Stone, among other things, is subject. I am sure he would have adored Genet. In its entirety, but in his summing up the whole bird - because Evan Stone has the potential to be summed up in your bird, and be genetically represented as a huge cock standing out on an apocalyptic sky. Quietly, seriously. If Google "quietly seriously" (with "Search settings: Italian") come four links: the two are dear Nora, two are mine, and both cite Genet.
You should know that everything came out a week in Milan rally that saw four people: two familiar and two people who did not know each other and that I had never met in person. That day I bought Notre Dame des Fleurs and I found myself in a histrionic company as me, so that - after a couple of hours - we were declaiming loudly Genet universities. A couple of hours and we were still in a room in Via Torino, where Arabic (hello, TCK) stood on the table and - book in hand - with transport declaimed:
not remember the entire quote (which is why I Googled), was long and much worse than reported piece. At that moment has created a mystical moment - post-contemporary urban mystic, my favorite. And then was the beginning of a couple of friends.
is that, you know, quietly- seriously is like Genauigkeit und Seele (the subtitle of the blog) are hendiadys-oxymorons, in order to approach and apparent contrast, sum up the kind of vibration that I'm looking for - as is the barely touched a violin string, still trembling, and melody that is both reverb echo that silence.
Genet is calm and peaceful, Musil uses accuracy and soul - and there would be other names to be added to the list, including Foucault that is analytical-morbid and Giordano Bruno that is transcendent-popular. Contradictions are false perceptions of the little person in my little greedy and wants to have it all at the same time, he wants a soul bent on the object as a surgeon with the precision of empathy (oh Monsieur le vivisecteur Musil). Too easy to be blindly involved, my romantic and sensitive creatures, too easy to be aloof and chilly, my bloated creatures of rationality on Sunday.
Cristina Zagaria (do not ask those who are ignorant) says that "A novel has to respect the reader, "and the irreverent in that vein on his temple beats me these days makes me wonder:
1) The pedophile who has traumatized your former classmates? (Your, your, I do not carry out witch-hunts The application works as long as the public believes in ontological evil of pedophilia.)
2) How do you meet someone who does not know?
3) What the hell does "respect"? I am obsessed with the etymological dictionary, which tells me that "respect "means" cover "," having regard "," consider "- and if we take the last exit synonymous with politically correct and morally uplifting orange blossom turns into an" A novel has to consider who will read it "(I, for example, sometimes I forget and rinomatamente write for posterity). But
use an etymological dictionary for every little shit is the ultimate solution misunderstood idealists who are regularly the first not to understand what people around, then I will refer to Fodella that if I am one, going back to Confucius, and said that that we must be wary of words that have no fixed meaning and are used in abundance ("freedom", "love", "democracy" - "respect"), because they bring out a hoax.
4) But I really do not shit to do?
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