Free Blueprints On Wooden Swing Sets

TRANSFER STATION NORTH



For some time it was rumored Maroni that the Government was intending to "give up" the building of the station and the North, as many have learned from the List Prealpina article published in the Joint Project, that moment has arrived.

Even in our opinion, after 12 years of efforts, ideas and especially after creating a parking lot, the sale of the building is a big hole in the water. Many associations have been waiting for a place where you can find and be able to organize their activities and the station could be a core "cultural" to the country.
This decision is even more "evil" since the region has recently opened a call for its free allocation.

This action reiterates the lack of foresight and poor planning of the Executive Maroni which shows the firm will always want to do only routine.

is further disappointed not to have .... we hope to see more especially relating to the PGT.

minority group
Project Country

Harley Davidson Blueprints

CALL COUNCIL

Craigslist Roulette Wheels

photography course

PROLOCO of Casciago ORGANIZE THE COURSE OF PHOTOGRAPHY:

the territory, ' environment, the seasons.

Here's some info:

Competition open to all amateurs of the City of Casciago over 18 years. Each participant will compete with max. 3 pictures free from any media, format 20 x 30, black and white or color, attaching the application form duly completed. All photos must be submitted in a sealed envelope at the Biblioteca Comunale, piazza De Gasperi 1, Casciago in opening hours by April 30, 2011. The envelope should be given the word "Photo Contest Proloco 2011."

HERE IS THE FORM: COURSE DETAILS

For information telephone: 0332-826194

or visit www. Prolococasciago.it

Pro Loco Casciago Largo De Gasperi 1 21020 Casciago (VA)

CF 95066020124 REA 8020 mod Nr. 71 / M 3 Series

e-mail @ proloco.casciago live.it

Example Dental Hygiene Cover Letter

Bonfire of the Epiphany

Like every year, the Proloco of Casciago, led by Enrico Ravelli, organized in front of City Hall, the bonfire of the Epiphany.

January 5, 2011

This year you can enjoy mulled wine, chocolate and other delights of the season ...

We hope to be successful as other years.

Greetings and best wishes for a renewed Happy Holidays

Project Country

For more info: Proloco Casciago

Kates Playground Gallery

MERRY CHRISTMAS! WORK IN PROGRESS

innatività After a long period, that's the Blog List of country project back to life to give voice not only to list members but also to all citizens ..

We suggest that the manifest will displayed on the notice boards of the public that the country could be summed up as "life" in the Palazzo Comunale.

The caricature of some of the key figures of the "machine" local reports a theoretical day shared during the discussion of PGT. We really hope that the Government applies a strategy to take over the territory and not to its private sale or overbuilding .

We also want to point out how far the greatest sin, in our view, inaction and lack of planning for the future of the country, except to remove the bumps, for which there are new mortgages to endanger citizens in the country focal points (or school Morosolo Casarico).

off the front of the house of the mayor remained however .....

With this nice vignette dedicated to the "Sindic" and the council "Sa vedum"

wish everyone a Merry Christmas and a Happy start of the year ......

Silverado Ss For Sale

Meeting with Azuz. The

Before becoming a pastor, and even before arriving in Sardinia, Africa, Azuz was a ruthless mercenary in the service of kings, emperors and puppet governments set up by European powers and America. He had fought in the wars for deposits of diamonds, had been hired by oil companies to suppress the riots in northern Nigeria, had fought for Taliban insurgents during the bloody clashes in Somalia ... These circumstances, however, should not cause your outrage because Azuz was the victim rather than perpetrator, although it may seem odd at least. When he was only five years his village was destroyed by Captain Mukaba, ruthless soldier of fortune in the service of Western multinationals. The members of his family were exterminated and Mukaba took him not for compassion, but with the wicked intention of becoming a fierce warrior, a war machine ready to execute any order. Azuz was first trained hard and then sent to fight: on the battlefield is stained with a number of heinous crimes, as he had been taught its bad teachers. After years of massacres, looting, violence and destruction his mind began to waver, sounds frantic and frenetic poisoned his conscience screams insistently demanded vengeance for the victims that he himself had caused. Azuz wanted to get rid of those demons that made life unbearable for this Araàs reached the village, there lived a famous magician in the whole region for his exorcism. The words of the shaman were lapidary, and no chance to reply. If you wanted to get rid of items, Azuz had to execute their command: kill the captain Mukaba.

During a hot and humid night, when no wind blew and the night birds were waiting in a surreal silence, Azuz rose from her bed to go quietly into the cabin of the captain. In his hands clutching a sharpened machete, the same who had repeatedly used to injure, behead, maim. The bottom of the blade was illuminated by the comforting rays the moon, the passage of Azuz was swift and decisive as the spirits repeatedly ordered him to hurry. When he arrived before the curtain carefully cut the fabric, and past the hole es'avventò decided on the body of the captain. Following a brief struggle they cut his head with a sharp blow, and it rolled on the floor like a pumpkin drop from the hands of a child. The voices instantly subsided, the demons left her soul as death lay on the black cloak torn corpse of the captain. Azuz rose from the dead body and took a deep breath. Only then was free at last ... the silence that dominated the night he was surprised by its depth. He decided to go away bringing with them some weapons of the master, but as he was crossing the opening he saw two diamonds shine in the dark. Two diamonds that glowed like fire, two diamonds that had the features of eyes were scared, but still loads of extreme hatred. Mukaba that night was not just because a woman of the tribe Kavaswy had rested at his side. "She's a murderer should be killed," thought the boy, a clear resolution as the clear waters of the river in the morning. Azuz took a step forward, with his left hand grabbed her hair and raised his machete with his right hand, ready to sever his head, ready to give her the same fate his murderous lover. An overwhelming feeling, however, caught him, an intuition of the soul that crept in each specific atom of his body. Azuz was fatally tired blood, too many eyes were turned off for ever before her. He released his grip, sank for the last time his eyes in those of the trembling woman, and then dropped the machete still stained with the Warmblood. It readily crosses the hole of the tent, to be swallowed up again by the same darkness that had given birth. While sinking into the mud he heard the screams of women rend the night, he saw the glow of headlights pierce the darkness and shadows to run to the tent of the captain. Then he heard the shots, some more screaming, rabid dogs barking, men stir wildly. This does not bother him at all, because he was already in the swamp, where no one could catch him, where no hound could smell the smell.
Azuz knew he had to flee, because if the men had taken the first Mukaba would have tortured, and only then would grant unprecedented torments him to death. He did not know exactly where to run, had not brought anything with them, and that night many opportunities presented themselves in his mind. This continued flow of images until they saw the next morning, a huge line of people walked silently to an unknown destination. Azuz approached, and thanks to a Congolese discovered that the melancholy procession was headed for the port of Adith, where a ship waiting to sail to Europe. The mercenary did not even know where it was placed this Europe, sometimes the massacres had done to Germans, Italians or French, all Europeans, but had never asked where he was a goddamn Europe. To tell the truth, Azuz did not even know where it was Africa, but knowing it would not have helped save his life. What mattered was to escape as soon as possible and away, and the best way to do this was to be united a compact that human cord on that surreal procession of hapless born in the name of hope. Without asking any questions so he joined the caravan, and after traveling hundreds of miles arrived exhausted before the warm waters of the Mediterranean. Only the port was able to board that would require much money, but for someone like him this could not be a problem. For Adith would easily be procured, it was a busy port and had no problem to have right about some absent-minded European tourists, recklessly ran into one of the narrow and dark alleys of the harbor district. Might have obtained the necessary without killing anyone, but would certainly have done if this was the price of his freedom. Azuz, however, did not know what was the actual value of freedom, until he saw the ship that would carry the "safe" ports. It was a battered and rusted scrap, which seemed suitable only for reclining on the soft seabed. Overflowing with people in every part, someone was clinging to the banisters, while others continued to rise as desperate souls are ready to cross the threshold of Hell. There was no room to even breathe, and the sun was beating down strongly on the heads of men, women and children, both educated in the suffering that not even imagine leaving to go to any crying child.

The barrels of drinking water were exhausted even before leaving the port, but when all seemed lost a bored God granted an unexpected rain to replenish supplies. However the rain soon followed the storm, where the waves were advancing grandiose as reinforced concrete walls suitable for the mockery of flagellar boat, running as the corpse of a soldier left in the ditch of a trench into disuse. During the storm, several people were swallowed by the sea, many lost their lives after being flogged on the balustrades creaking of the ship, while others died trying to save their children or their wives. The tub, however, did not sink and was miraculously afloat, dangling like a giant cork. Survivors shed bitter tears for their loved ones, aware of having been spared, but deprived of any connection to rejoice. Azuz warned the death very close but did not suffer, because the battlefield had been accustomed to cope with danger, and thanks to the murderous madness of Mukaba had lost all persons for whom it was worth crying. When he saw a child who was watching the arms of her dead mother, however, an emotion's aggressive rend the heart, a feeling that had become unaccustomed, but which now walked away with his usual toughness. While the financial police escorted them to the port of Lampedusa, he tried the same child between the castaways did not see him. He was probably dead because of the hardships, or perhaps he had managed to survive, prepared to face his odyssey as a former mercenary was ready to face her.
After several days of brutal captivity Azuz escaped from the CPT, which certainly did not seem a place of first asylum for immigrants but rather a small concentration camp martial. For some years he lived in Campania, used in the vast countryside along with the southern Africans, Romanians and Slavs. He also worked in an underground factory, whose owners were Chinese in the pay of the Camorra, which imposed pace of work schedules and exhausting. After a few months was ghettoized in a basement English neighborhoods of Naples, then forced to flee again because involved in a feud between gangs for control of the prostitution market. Azuz was a weapons expert, a legacy of his former profession of fighter, and his ability was keenly noted by the Edwards family, which hired for a job easier and less tiring than the killer. Azuz had sworn to himself that he would never kill innocent people, but they are guilty regardless of the Camorra, and although it is not the place immediately understood what was the sinister activities of a Camorra: blackmail, exploit, use the bullies who do not is able to defend themselves. Killing someone was a pleasure, no matter if it was the same for other Camorra crime ... The Edwards family, in any event, it was almost exterminated by the Branca family, and Azuz also had to leave from Naples to escape the vengeance of the new masters of the English quarters.

In his wanderings he met the young African very different from that imagined an Italy, an Italy selfish, that he had no intention of accepting it and would have preferred to see him drown in the cold waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea. A nation where resurrecting an anachronistic racism, where the fear of the other was fed by a political propaganda and hypocritical liar. Persons with the usually observed suspicion, no one dared a gesture of help, sometimes he was even assaulted, as happened in the crowded train station in Florence. Some guys from skinheads wanted to have fun at his expense, but things went very differently than it had wanted. When he was hired to Mukaba, Azuz had learned to kill and maim for the Edwards family had indeed learned a shot in the legs, and shining the boots of these young men were soon spotted their own blood. Azuz understood that the good intentions have a fair value, but men often do not allow you to achieve, especially when your skin is black, and you have to cope with the Fascists and excited to come drunk.
Passing through grotesque adventures like this, Azuz realized he could not be separated from his revolver, the only family which could boast and trust. The voices began again to be felt but not as he drove past, allowing them to live as if they were old friends of childhood. Azuz has finally ended his pilgrimage to Sardinia, accompanied by a minister of my country met by chance in the countryside of Tuscany. "Come to graze my sheep," the man suggested, "are now too old to do it. I'll pay you well, you'll see, you will not regret ... "

Now our friend walking slowly between the mountains, hear the hiss of the wind, interacts closely with the spirits and looking back to his homeland where he can not yet return. He lives in absolute peace and serenity, but is always accompanied by the powerful gun with automatic loader. Several people, despite good intentions, consisting of a single language, and it is best to get to know the same language if you do not wish to become, one day, a meal for pigs.

Vincent M. D'Ascanio, 2010.

Wide Body Kit Crx 1989

omcidio Peppino Marotto.

the snow falls on Gennargentu

beat the wind on the streets of Orgosolo

does not encounter any the street, all

protect themselves in the lower house.

shadow at the Church appears

but do not want to confess all,

has the grim expression of the Devil

and a revolver hidden in his jacket.

sounds as powerful as thunder rend the air

ice ... "Look firecrackers," he thinks someone

"Maybe they are hunters ... "

Lies motionless body of a man lying on his back on the road

Cowgirl,

lies the velvety berritta side,

his gaze is turned towards the sky.

moaning women who wear the veil,

and someone puts a flower next to it, the crowd thronged

desperate

as barbarism has returned to Orgosolo.

the silent scream murals in the country;

talk about the struggle for bread,

of stubborn people who fought

who wanted to occupy that land.

The body of a man lying on the road, is

Peppino, a poet, a trade unionist and content ,

wind is off another light

to a land shrouded in darkness already.

From Gennargentu

set the cold wind that falls on the frozen corpse,

nobody talks about, only silence, someone

quick bar the front door.

This is another story of Sardinia,

yet another story of Barbagia

the perpetrators disappear into the darkness

to kill was a ghost.

Vincent D'Ascanio, 2008.

Congrats Message For Marriage

Homecoming.

The bus arrived on time thankfully, so began my desperate journey home, three hours of curves terrible and unpleasant sensations. During the trip immediately lost interest in the landscape, in fact I found myself trapped in a small space, packed with back and head on a piece of hard plastic, reduced mobility to a minimum and that the cold m'aggrediva time every square inch of skin. Drafts of icy air entered into their mad rush right on the base of the neck, and I was obliged to cover me as if I was inside a freezer to be human. If a bloodthirsty dictator had used that trip to compel confession to his political enemies, would certainly have made very good progress. In short, if occasionally someone off of cigarettes on my body, I would enter into a part that fits me perfectly.

Throughout the time of curves and counter to reflect on what I finally found. I lived the first few weeks intensively university, and I did not have neither the time nor the desire, of deepening the scope of my impressions. From time to time phone calls to friends who are still in high school, and they told me with enthusiasm the usual snippets of village life. Each time a simulated vague surprise to learn vivacchiavano the devilry of the characters in the country, although some years were the same on time. The bee background of "goppai" Ernesto and the miniskirt thighs of the Assumption, the fierce fight at the bar of the old and that Franco overthrew Zuddas grabbing the bulls by the horns, Olindo drunkard saved from the bites of Dr. Mitra and that cagava him. However, and despite the stories that danced between fantasy and dementia, I felt nostalgia for my small country, how he feels the lack of a dumb friend that, after death, will yearn for the total idiocy. I could not recognize the reasons for that feeling, I did not have a clear understanding that I could say, 'Look, this is to miss. " In fact, it was a mix of presentations, fears and memories unconsciously mixed in my conscience numb and confused.

Of course ... of course I felt nostalgia for some features atmospheres, which were created only at specific times of the year. Through the last decade of October, weeks in which the school work had not yet entered their most acute phase, allowing for peaceful settlement of the raft absolute idleness. One afternoon was spent in the most absolute slowness, we had no worries or fears that contaminate our oasis of serenity. So we met usually during the early afternoon, and we thought of going into the woods to wait for the time spent with the friendly company of bad beer, but had the good taste of freedom. The cigarettes were being smoked in the utmost secrecy, and if someone took a bit 'of marijuana then notavi people who could not stop laughing, others concentrated in hopelessly obscure reasons, and others who began to vomit, quite unable to face with courage had its enigmatic psyche. However, these small "accidents" does not distract us from our primary tasks. The weather was almost always generous and the air was full of a special hold. Did not have to do anything if you do not detoxify the waste the summer for those intoxicated with autumn. In the village street and the bar is constantly conversing many people, people you knew and you knew perfectly immutable characters as the mountains that rise on the country, men and women who are no exceptions. You could meet the inflexible teacher in elementary or your devout catechist, the manager of the football team regularly drunk, a cousin pastor who vehemently insisted to invite a "cup" of wine, simply beautiful girl of all, friends who orchestrated torture psyche and physical for the usual wretched of the school ...

As I reflected on these and other situations I found myself before the hills I knew to perfection, an image indelibly etched in my consciousness of the film. A slight feeling of malaise, a kind of vice in the stomach, tried to suggest what I already knew, like the nerd of the class, to avoid leaving a sound lesson, he suggested to fellow bullies only the simplest answer ...

Looking back and reflecting on my inhibitions, that could be considered something that bordered on the idea of \u200b\u200b"happiness" happiness in this life if you can speak. Today I should at least admit it to myself, I should get away from the prohibitions that kept me mentally to share the feelings and accept even more immediate. In fact I was surprised to discover those high houses and narrow streets, which unraveled in the valley as a sinuous snake stone. When the bus crossed slowly the first houses in the suburbs, as an elementary school student I put both hands on the window to observe the structures that ran before me like images of a silent film. Obviously nothing had yet been changed, but I watched every single item with genuine interest as a tourist arrived foiled by mistake among those wooded slopes of Ogliastra. The Church, the great square where the festivities were celebrated civil and religious, the dark bars uncle Alfonso , with the usual defense of the living statues placed at its entrance, the garden mangy and his melancholy benches, behind which countless Sometimes we tried to hide from their parents, who really were not looking for us, but with their patrols exorcised the ghosts served up by the news of the moment ...

came down from the bus surrounded by a backdrop of nostalgia, but well glad to be back on the same road on which I had walked hundreds of times, usually in the company of friends or in solitude surrounded by the evening. In those few feet that separated me from home walked absorbed, absorbed in memories that stimulate neurons sore from the chaotic urban existence. I knew every single place to perfection, there was not a square inch that does not awaken memories in me that the time could not erase, because it carved on a matter far more robust and powerful than any existing marble.

As soon as I arrived at the door before I knocked and waited the arrival of my mother because my father rarely fulfilled a similar task. Had passed away just two months, but they seemed to have passed the centuries. When my mother appeared behind the door we looked great, smiling, and we parted with a hug. My father came from his office to shake my hand, and wonder if Cagliari was still the same city that had once known. For some minutes I answered the questions of my parents outlining my new life, then ran into my room to lie down in dear bed, staring at the ceiling m'aveva protected since I was a child.

Vincent D'Ascanio, an unpublished short story excerpt from 2010.

Imagenes De Sindrome Klinefelter

Washing dishes ... Chasing

Before the dishes, a variety of dishes, I feel

displaced from impossible.
"I'll wash one!" Tell me,
for a bit more 'skeptical.
Okay, I work, therefore
step per second. Then I start to ramble


think of a friend,
a movie I can not remember the ending and I guess the toilet
station Cagliari
a more disgusting that sucks you can not.

I turned to look at the dishes,
that is, they have remained only two. In fact you could do

was not so hard ...
Then I look at the car parked
not work for a while ', I'm preparing to

a new business but soon decided against it.

Better not overdo it.
action at a time, if done well,
may also suffice.

VM D'Ascanio.
From "write anything."

Dental Introduction Letter

We apologize to all who visit your blog, OPERATIONAL SOON WE WILL BE BACK!
FRIENDLY '

GROUP DRAFT COUNTRY

..stills Disease. More Condition_symptoms

glare. They had to suppress

Carbonia. An indefinite time hope for multitudes of people came from all regions of Italy to find work, perhaps flattered by the propaganda of the totalitarian regime, celebrating its obsessively social power and building. Many were placed in numerous mines scattered around the area, where they found support for their families but sometimes the disease, which finally came up weak body enervated by fatigue. Numerous books, disparate research, hundreds of pages have spoken and they speak of the vicissitudes of pain, history and the indomitable courage of these workers, men sacrificed to pay the salary in a Republic founded sinister at work. Here they are, therefore, workers killed by landslides, workers torn by underground explosions, workers died from silicosis, workers trapped, crushed, choked by lethal noxious fumes ...

Yeah, Carbonia, emblematic town of the coal. City suddenly sort of dust, a bit 'like the legendary Las Vegas, however, made in the American desert and not in the lonely countryside of Sulcis. Carbonia, symbol of the mystifying power of the fascist regime, a metaphor for utopian city of the same imperial dictatorship, which aimed to forge a varied group of people and become a compact nation, concentrated, and solid ... With due proportion that reflects the core Sulcis Fascism did, or tried to do, on the large peninsula cast from weapons of Savoy. A nation that does not exist, a nation of peoples, ethnic groups and cultures are diametrically opposed and varied. Republic of Venice, the Papal States, the Grand Duchy of Tuscany, Piedmont and the Kingdom of Sardinia of the Two Sicilies, microcosms in which social practices are structured and intellectual who took very different life experiences. Fascism tried to give these discrepancies, sought to do with the image, by propaganda, perhaps tempted by the legal system, of course with the baton and tried by the sword. A Carbonia attempted to do so by promising jobs and prosperity but these masses, rather than by planning, institutional and slogans from the prestigious representations were compacted concrete from the pain and daily struggles, from the ancient struggle of peoples for survival and honor.

***

Where the streets you can meet people of Carbonia that have nothing in common except the vertical lines of their own destiny. The facial features are substantially different here is a northern and a southern face, a boy taken from Africa and one from the Anglo-Saxon features, and still singular intersections of chromosomes, as we were visiting a genetic laboratory in the open. Who knows ... It would be interesting to live in those times, to see firsthand the beginnings of our melting pot, as the Yanks call the coexistence of different ethnic groups within the same territory. This town is in fact an infinitesimal melting pot, a mixture, a mixed dough which they were forged in the different cultures of our nation. Neapolitans, Venetians, Sicilians, Lazio, Abruzzo, and of course any kind of southern Sardinia. All thrown together in a young, dry environment, identical houses crammed into each other, row, line, cross, according to an architectural style which reflects the general area by the Roman regime. Today as then, the plot is certified by the family still there, as traces in the sand by a tired seller of Oriental rugs. Surnames Sardinian certainly not, or sometimes Lombard Calabria, grotesque last names, family names, which sometimes turn into adjectives, nouns or verbs. Surnames from families once dominated, names can indicate a defect or a fault of the original house, surnames documenting the state of abandonment to the moment of birth, names that sometimes cripple, labeling an individual already in the vital moment when, baby, emigrated weeping womb.

The memories of the town occur as soon as I close my eyes. Only then I can still see them, and sway in the streets abundant only stones and dust. Elderly forgotten isolated on benches, old tottering in wide sidewalks, old dying, lonely, crumbling, while head weakly to the satisfying entry in a church of modern style. Full of pathos and resignation, stoically with their usual pace sticks, meditating on the words of the next dialogue with the Almighty. Yes, the Almighty, the Director-General, the team leader, what form the idea of \u200b\u200bthe Almighty in their fantasy dream, with what voice will respond to their claims? With that of his childhood, his father, the mother, the prostitute who turned out all the intimate secrets, or lost his wife in a hospital ward, just when it seemed he could do it ... Well you will speak with the dead, Justice or ask forgiveness for the faults, for the words, In the Immaculate marble sculptures of the acts of eternity. What ever asked, kneeling on the hardwood stands, what to claim, rhythm of the prayers during the scan? A painless death, a call from an ungrateful son, a kind word to become a nurse too demanding? Or ask a bit of youth, perhaps with his fist toward the crucifix so excited to show more of what they are capable of such daring and valiant deeds are still keepers. A rematch, a duel, face to face in the realm of the dead, a request from nothing, a little tribute on the altar of their consistency, nothing else ...

***

Here they are then atomized , in the arms of those who know perfectly cobbled streets. When an acquaintance greets them smiled, looked at the youth slipped away too quickly, as the ship crossed the Tyrrhenian to catapult there in Sulcis, the granary of the Romans, far from their mothers, their friendships and first loves sad ... I do not know . We recognize that observed in young people wandering on the same dusty streets? Maybe they sense the looks, including their skin and some focus is not entirely dissolved, faded traces of belonging to families who have lost all their peculiarities. Yes, those young people apathetic and desperate young men certainly more educated but totally ignorant of the essential. Those young people from the future technology on which they had placed extraordinary expectations, these young men have become immortalized in pictures and faded, some even in black and white, someone on the marble slabs of the cemetery, victims of work, or drug intoxication, but primarily for themselves. Young emigrated to legitimate dreams, like so many years before they tried them, fatally attracted by the sirens of the redundant system.

before us would be therefore be the bridge between these generations disjointed imagery, including the elderly, eternally lonely sitting on the benches, and the young men hidden in the corners of the streets. The ideal relationship, or a goal inevitably pursued for generations, ambition has grown with the passing time, wait a concept identified in fragile and inconsistent. As in other provinces of the island, even here the work becomes the reason for the prophetic exodus to other regions, Carbonia as if he were in a phase of implosion, and families come from the overseas territories were returned to their own contexts, as if nothing had ever happened, as if no city had ever been made. Chasing the chase work alongside hope, and you can just the young unemployed, recognize those expressions when they speak of the crisis of Porto Sorry, the layoffs or the dismemberment of their companies. Easily identify those voices and those looks, you know distinguish with certainty the same conclusions resigned. The same words and phrases themselves smothered in Sulcis as in Ogliastra in Marghine as in Sassari. These giovanti disoriented share a perspective, leave, leave these cities in order to live where we should not ask for anything, where we should not deny anything, where you do not have to go up on factory chimneys to shout their demands. Each with a clear vocation, all with the same hope: to return to this land and among these people, to carve out a space in the city where they were born and raised. Back home ... Why can not be replaced by another house, and no will rise to nostalgia overwhelming that floods this heart of exiles. My Sardegna, as you are beautiful, with unlimited beautiful and proud, you turn into a mistake that you can not embrace.

Vincent D'Ascanio, 2010 indedito

Camilarodriguez (escort)

newborn.

drudgery for some hours in bed
I can not sleep in any way, quilts

havoc assiduously corrupted by endless useless thoughts .
Residents upset growl:
the boy down with heroin,
"the fault is yours," "no, it's all yours ..." Meanwhile
I can not sleep.

soaked in the district echo
the sharp effects of the police, arson

brightens up the filthy sidewalks of the city. Elderly survivors
landings on isolated
anchored to a condition of forced
alcoholics disjointed uncompromising
angry toast to the moon pale. Women come home
coarse stricken
scattering untamed unknown accents,
sob, rant, they do not know,
I'm sorry but I can not sleep.

Anguish, pain, meraviaglia,

love, superstition, and boredom,

images muddy, sometimes brilliant

basis for clear thinking.

had to suppress them, just born,
were choking, just born, had to stop me from breathing

not live for this.
certainly was enough to nurse, did not require a
chief midwife, newborn

had to suppress them and I just wanted to just sleep ...

Vincent M. D'Ascanio, unpublished, 2010.

'i-cather Console-web Monitor'

A loaded gun. New initiatives

Thanks to this particular situation greatly improved conditions in Mauritius. The first time I met her a rag was plastered with blood but you know, the days of abstinence is not a walk on the promenade in Rio. Degenerated when nurses did not allow me to enter, then I sat on a bench and tried to imagine the unimaginable. One afternoon we found ourselves in the vast garden of the hospital. In the tree-lined avenues skeletal walked many patients, others were coated on the benches, some arguing with his own ghosts, a politician admitted he tried to seduce a seventeen-plus ... The nurses were lining the streets with my arms crossed, waiting rooms of statues of the sun the melt. In those hours Maurizio was well, smiled letting go many confidences. He was to begin the speech, while a cigarette was burning between the skinny fingers.
"In truth, consider me a jerk, is not it?"

not answer, that is, every sentence seemed to me inappropriate, let's leave the platitudes to those who want to make the revolution of toilet paper. He wanted to talk to me, and I was ready to listen. When a person is in pieces are well prepared, I'm amazed that anyone could be worse than me ... "His face was turned in on himself, he looked totally focused, it seemed almost absent. Sometimes I considered that I was not his party, in my place if there had been a distributor of infected semen would not change much. Maybe he wanted to talk only to himself, I was not only a means to achieve his inner self, a mirror reflecting splintered emotional states ... It 'difficult to tell what Maureen told me. It 'hard to penetrate the mind of an addict, an intricate maze where no elf spewing psychopath bread crumbs for you to find the path ... Why not?

Get rid of the umbilical cord and in an instant you are a user, you come in crazy teens, between a football and the other one says, "eye, life is hard", but no promises exactly As. Yes, the blonde boy who fiddles with his soldiers in fifteen years will be a heroin addict, seek spoons and innocent flames, the arm will slip a few drops of blood. I also played with toy soldiers, I talk about spoons and forks, and I was a prodigy in the game of the guillotine, but no one could imagine a future for me on probation. Only Uncle Bachisio you dreamed, that wretch m'aveva always seen in a bad eye, damn him. And instead ... Mauritius, the little chubby and Mauritius, skewered with a syringe in my arm fat, a dartboard for jackals, stuff you would not believe. Then, linear, on a starry summer night, the beach of Cala Mosca energetic comes the first rite. The first dose because you're curious and you are stupid enough to think that the "friends" watching you. The second dose because the person you love is ... un'eroinomane "We share everything." The third dose because your dreams have crumbled like sand castles erected on the beach. The fourth dose because your life is anything but what you really want. The fifth dose because your father is a huge asshole consumerist absent. The sixth dose because you start from self-flattering. The seventh dose because it begins to be extraordinarily painful.

Mauritius has followed these steps with the same determination and dedication of a Bartali evolving. Why is it that a person may feel disoriented as nice as Mauritius, as well an ideal hand accompanies the person of our lives, sometimes presents us with a passion, love, color, other times it takes you in "places, not places" terrible, dark, cramped, dematerializing. This invisible hand, god, destiny, fate, karma, or hell you want to call it, has graciously accompanied my friend to symbiotic contact between a vein and needle shiny button, a contact who became vital as that of a terminally ill patient clung to the machine allows him to breathe.
"Initially, the heroine is not bad." These are his words. INITIALLY. The following is the problem, perhaps. Or was the problem first, upstream, inner ...

You start to do it with lukewarm to cool down the transgression, to relax nerves overload of everyday dirt and redundant. With spasms of terror and wonder you realize that heroin is no longer an amusement, a game, a devilish challenge for the meshes of the legal system, but becomes the ultimate end of all your actions. Start a new life, you begin to attend new people come into contact with new dangers, you are alert as a panther. Only then will you have all it takes to start the race for money, ever so decisive hand in hand and began the lies, the petty theft, which follow one another in an escalation of importance, inaugurated the first doses consumed in complete solitude, unbridled celebration of your addiction ... indisputable

During that winter afternoon tempered Maurizio he described in great detail his first terrifying crisis. He spoke with a hint of nostalgia, perhaps he felt pity for himself, for that guy who wanted and could still do it ... He was magnificent in the balcony of his villa in Viale Merello, during a night at the flat in October. The sun was trying to hide behind the distant mountains, from the street came the metallic sounds of city traffic. In those days, "our" had decided not to take heroin because he wanted to prove to himself that he did not need. The first effects of dependence had occurred and also my friend, as happened to many, was looking for an inner comfort of the alarming signals generated by the body. As he was squatting in his chair, his legs tight against his chest, arms folded around her knees, watched with faint outlines the distraction of the mountains, circling birds and paid attention to a symphony from the neighbor's house. His legs are stretched, the rib cage began to move in regular rhythms. He fell asleep so happy, happy, relaxed ... SCARED! He was awakened by the blast as a fearful emotional charge of TNT, assuming an attack Panic nth power. Her throat had dried up, the headache dominated arrogant, nerves, particularly those of the neck, tended like the strings of a violin.

"Cigarettes, cigarettes ... where the fuck are the water, silks ... Mom ... Mom ... Sweat ... Pain ... It would ... Aulin, ... It would take a painkiller, it would take ..."

instantly understood what was happening, and before it reached the worst was already on his motorcycle in search of drug dealer, friendly, patiently handed out a holy dose to the people. A one hundred and sixty median axis appointment on the steps they took The Church of Bonaria, before the gulf was the fateful exchange, and in less than no time Maurice was crouched on the toilet of his house neat. He was completely sweaty, soaked, flooded, hands and legs were shaking, lost individually saliva from the right side of the mouth, the thoughts overtake furious but at least his hands clutching the magic, and this made him feel better already. Despite being a newbie had all the tools of the trade, sealed in a metal box that could hide comfortably among the wretched volumes of his library. Gestures of the transformation in front of the bathroom mirror, with the ornament of a druid priest. Tied the rubber tube at the biceps left, slowly inject heroin with a warped grin on his lips, like a river and slid into the lake, the dose of his blood contaminated. The last image is saved the moment fell from the toilet bowl, to go crashing to the floor. He awoke after two hours, exceptionally, dazed, with a hungry dog, a bloody eyebrow because of the fall, pissed, and with the syringe still impaled in his arm ... She was raised, a tormented Lazarus of our times cursed. In fact, it was as if for a few hours no longer existed, disappeared, vanished, PUFF ...

Now he had returned to him, perhaps in the syringe was heroin, he was the same as if the drug you take away your being and takes up residence, lived, breathed, in substance the same ... Bad joke ... Just a bad joke.

That night the house was empty Viale Merello, everyone had moved to the coast (their home on Red Margin, I learned later, was an endless show). This had prevented that particular someone in limbo ... sorprendesse Maurizio described me as if the situations do not belong to him as if he was rambling about a friend who knew both, a friend who had always enjoyed. He continued to smoke his cigarettes with ease, es'interrompeva only to see some nice nurse who was dancing near us, or some bizarre nurses we gazed with contempt. His condition improved, no longer met the boy destroyed in the Faculty. It was turning in Mauritius I knew, always ready to fall in love with some beautiful girl, joking with everyone, or to organize a practical joke to those who deserved it. While observing the breath, in spite of everything, I was sure that my friend is going to make it ...

the day of his funeral, the rain god had decided to do overtime. It almost looked like you were throwing buckets of water on him, but that afternoon to take a umbrella seemed an unnecessary luxury. The riff-raff like me, however, do not ever take him ... The rain slid on my face and dug into his beard, he struck the face and hands torn, scars, but I did not feel cold, just anger. The cypress trees bowed to the fury of the wind, they also seemed to bow down before the majesty of death ...

Overdose in the lobby of a building under construction, two lines of the news in the local newspaper to highlight on the entire membership of the family wealthy. I was involved in a glacial solitude, I was released from prison Valeria m'aveva not yet spoken, Augustine was shocked by one of his mix, Azuz was sent back to kick ass, and Elena had to seat the hospital emergency department for a frightening infectious. I was nervous like a wounded boar, every now and then I watched the parents of Mauritius, all that was cursed by cursing, biting my fingers and lips. Images emerging from oblivion when we were children, only memories of when we were kids. Maurizio, who smiles at me from the benches of the school, which messes up the plans of Maurice catechists, Mauritius with a ball in my hands that I choose for his team. His eyes were shining like two emeralds, a smile that was burned so intense, but now no longer there, or maybe there was, but I did not see it. From time and then talked to him ... "Mauritius, damn you ..." "Mauritius are a glucagon of shit ..."

When you're kid you not facing this kind of solutions, sometimes a relative, or your mother, curse thee roughly, but no one seriously suggests a similar end. Only my religion teacher, during a peaceful spring morning, ventured. I screwed it up, then she went up to my face, looked into my eyes and with his fetid breath he said: "You'll never become anyone. Remember that well, you'll never become anybody. "He told me with contempt, with subtle hatred that only sisters can crazy to release. The sister, however, was wrong. Yes, maybe not even anyone, and perhaps never will be, but I miss a little time, short and concise action, organization and commitment, to be permanently labeled as a habitual offender. A heck of a recidivist, a potential danger to watch! In this way I could claim a title, "no one" who knows who would have said ... How does the television, whether or not you reach your goals, what matters is what you feel when you're trying to achieve ... I am a loaded gun.

Vincent M. D'Ascanio, unpublished 2010

Lebaquin What Is It Used For

literature.

Dear friends,
starts the new season of the great books mieleamaro, with a flurry of missed appointments for this end of 2010:
starting from collaborations (soon you'll have more news details of the events that directly support) with three prestigious literary festivals autumn Cagliari:

Marina Cafe Noir BLACK AROUND 8 (September 15 to 19)

Malanotte - stories, visions and books to illuminate the darkness The Tuttestorie Festival of Literature for Children came to the 5th edition (October 14 to 17)

Nues - Comics and Cartoons in the Mediterranean in 2010 (late November - early December).

meantime we start with Saturday, September 11 at Square Books ... St. Sepulchre

and Saturday 25 arrives on time like every year, readers of the feast of the deans of the Book.

And again: September 15th is the deadline for those wishing to participate in the comics Island, the competition for short comic stories promoted by Mieleamaro, Nues and Hybris.
the month of September will also be some presentations literary journey in the island of Sardinia , the new issue of our magazine published by cueca and is already a success. Here are the dates already confirmed: Friday, September 3
Loiri Porto San Paolo - Garden of the Library Beyond the Sea 22.00
Sunday, September 19 Cagliari - Bastion of Saint Remy 17:00
Tuesday, September 28 Cagliari - Parco di Monte Claro 19.00

This and much more for a rocketing of the new season, we expect many, we always make new friends! And meanwhile, if anyone wants to availability and can begin to give a hand to Marina Cafe Noir. Following the communication of Chourmo seeking volunteers.

Hello to all s, this year the Marina Cafe Noir is coming, and this year we are to succeed in recruiting among friends, acquaintances, admirers and an unknown group of people who have want to offer us and give us some of your precious time and a little of his talents to form a team of volunteers who can give us a hand to the organizers and all the many contributors to ensure better success of the festival, which this year will be from September 15 to 19. Volunteering requires commitment, desire, and availability: if you believe in the cause, we estimate the festival and want to make them available for the success of it, invite you to contact us by email at: @ marinacafenoir volunteers. it making sure to insert the object as a reference word and send VOLUNTEERS payout attached a file named with your name.
Included in the file: - Name - Residence - date of birth - Phone number - email - authorization to process personal data (without the consent we will not answer you) This first
membership will be needed to be contacted and informed of the first plenary meeting which will form the team and decide the shifts and roles within it. You can run this mail to your contacts. The more we, less work, better manage the festival, and the more we have fun. Thanks to all

The Chourmo

good read
MIELEAMARO
infomieleamaro@gmail.com
http://www.circolodeilettori.it/

How To Verifiy Licese Vocational Nurse Licese

Metropolis

large surplus in the dusty street in the dilapidated neighborhood
metropolitan
left in this swamp and dense
men excluded from the reserve for tomorrow
destined to a life without illusions and
senz'ipotesi of no hope.
surplus in the metro district:
garbage, rotting fruit
excrement of dogs, treated (and clothes)
much better than many men.
all contemplate with disgust
stunned by the ferocity and dall'insensatezza
in which force us sadists.

surplus in the metro district
blood on the pavement is still hot,

a homosexual was tortured by a new technological fascism and private sectors.
guards are dominating the satellite dishes
useless drugged brain.
marginalized, alienated and discriminated against by stealth
the distressed look,
meditating on the near beating
that certainly will not be long in coming. I do

courage, I walk
still rotting in the metro district, surrounded by apartment blocks

detached and far removed from any context, with people terrified of different


hostages to cynical media that invite them to close the walls,
delegating their very own existence
in educational policy to delinquency
bets and security cameras as guns.

Segregated in the ivory towers
compacted concrete as a powerful, deep hatred

will be invited by news funded by the Freemasons. Then a messiah
clear how a skull
will fulfill their dream of death, to those seeking

money when they go to the grocery
or after Sunday mass.

Depressed I finally reach the port where
cold atomic submarines,
patients waiting for the command,
a gesture by the spiritual leader. Then
quest'insperato sunset
leave room to dream, the glow extended and final

the mighty mushroom cloud
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... A civilization
fierce but trembling
expects unconsciously to sink,
to be rebuilt from the ground up:
bankruptcy of our titanic delirium
swim hopes of social reconstruction.

Vincent D'Ascanio, unpublished 2010.

The Replacements Henti

Meeting with Andrea (the story of a failed urban)

not easily forget the story of Andrea, in fact I remember with clarity the day we met. I just finished my first day of wandering, the time spent at regular intervals, punctuated by calls abroad and individuals that emerged from the low marshes of my sordid past. A sunny afternoon Comrade George called me ordering him to keep it free, because this time
needed my help ... "Beautiful, we need today, Franco is making a move ..."
"A move," I replied, "damn you, but I have to study ... "
" Do not make me laugh, you know that you do not need anything. Will pick the two ... "
" Okay ... "I answered the phone while lowered in a state of trance.

George was like clockwork, and Franco van parked in front of the rickety door of my condominium. They handed me a beer em'indicarono the back of the van, because there were some furniture to maintain, "especially in the fuck of bends," as George explained in a friendly Savoy. He obeyed with beer in their hands, then opened the door and found myself in front of the emblematic figure of Andrea. This came immediately and thanked me happy, because the City had finally decided to allocate public housing. Could well leave the Circle Amendola, an old section of the party where he had lived thanks to some good-hearted fellow.
"Damn, that section he was not comfortable, but better benches in Piazza del ..." He uttered this sentence with his disarming smile, as if living on the benches of the Piazza del Carmine was like sleeping in a hostel where you are not the all at ease. The appearance of good
Andrea struck me immediately, as it struck me that among the bony fingers clutched a soggy cigarette, but he continued undaunted to smoke. In addition to physical, facial features and clothing was strikingly similar to Toto, but much uglier, and with a look that reveals a dramatic reduction to be beaten dog. His clothing was the clothing of the classic "last", a special uniform that despite obvious differences are similar in some respects. The jacket dirty, the shoes with the tip upward for too much use, the collar of his shirt dirty and dilapidated, the sweater and ripped holes were indisputable indicators of belonging to a class, now become my adopted family ...

The journey to get to the "home" was a devastating interstellar travel, in fact we had to use all our resources in order to overcome those heavy cardboard furniture. Every so often the poor Andrea was brutally crushed by a table, raped by a chair, humiliated by a library, slapped on a cot. The hairpin turns were our crucifixion, the sudden braking of the red-hot iron in our meat skewered, and the rude gesture that launched George augment our despair. Franco was driving like a maniac, and was not at all concerned about our conditions, similar to those of two young hubs, armor of good will have to deal with a devastating tropical storm. From time to time Andrea stretched his skinny hand, and I take it back from that mass of wood and cardboard that it intended to reduce it to mush miserable throbbing. He tried to tell me thank you, or so it seemed, because his language was inevitably cut off from fear, and fear of a new jolt. I gave her kicks and punches to the front sheet, screaming, shouting, shook his fist in the rearview mirror, stage unnecessary faces. Franco then I looked through the mirror with his cold eyes, leaned slightly to the right arm and reached out his middle finger. Meanwhile vehemently trod on the brake pedal, and almost "nailing" the goal ... we found ourselves unexpectedly

When I came down from almost half did not lose his balance, and I had to put George in the same instant he cursed. Andrea, however, rushed out of the van crashing into the asphalt, and we had lift almost lifeless. It was a small bird, weighing up to fifty pounds, and nose that did nothing but accentuate its character from volatile undernourished. As soon as he was standing there with his eyes looked mad, Franco then offered him a cigarette, but he proudly replied that "he had his." That fear, and wonder ... He had the "Four Nations" without the filter, the same who once smoked my poor uncle murdered by a terrible cancer ... Cigarettes Andrea produced a nauseating smell that seemed to come from the most dangerous refineries of the Gulf of Cagliari , so I had to get away and only then became aware of the neighborhood where we were ... I do not mean to be overly dramatic, but this afternoon we looked like happened in some other region of the earth, perhaps the poorest in Latin America or Africa. The neighborhood was the important achievement of illogical choices of some local governments, which had decided to barricaded portion of the population (of course, the poorest) in a sort of ghetto, which held sway in the popular buildings claims, in which there was the shred of a pharmacy, a supermarket, a hell of asylum, in which there was neither a school, let alone a bus, or one of those tragic suburban churches that put him in a moody black ...

When I turned to my right I saw a huge rectangular square of concrete, in which some boys amused themselves to train a mighty pit bul through a tire hanging from a swing. The animal jumped and bit his suspension with the air force while the boys, who wore steel jackets "Dainese" and wraparound glasses, hit him with some blows, commenting enthusiastically jumps poor animal crazy now. The square was strewn with debris, broken glass, stones, shards of glass glinting in the sun, and the whole presided over some totally charred motorcycles, which were proudly displayed as a stylized sculptures of futuristic ... Meanwhile, the surrounding buildings came from the original soundtrack. A family had decided to start a bloody rebellion home, and the noise seemed that this fight was no holds barred. The wife seemed to have the upper hand over a man, possibly drunk or disrupted by some other self-destructive substance. Despite the whole neighborhood was full of the anger home, the boys who beat the "pit" there were careful, moreover, the episode was only for their daily routine. They continued to laugh and joke with each other as if nothing had happened and while they watched stunned, my attention was caught by the impressive show that human shoots on balconies of those horrible buildings.

at a balcony completely moved nonchalantly chipped a girl who wore a towel on his head, skinny, pale as a vampire in a crisis of results. He held a cigarette between his fingers, and watered the flowers with a very special posture: hands on hips, cigarette in mouth hours, looked like a man in the act of urinating. For a few seconds I was enchanted by it, but she turned suddenly and while my eyes were projected to other horizons seemed to me to see her touching the so-called "jewels". Only then, including the situation, so my eyes were able to run into another show at all pleasant. Downstairs a rather fat woman and had supported its disproportionate legs on the ledge of the balcony, and as if nothing was intent to shorten the nails. As I watched this further representation of the total lack of femininity, I could not help but notice the people who entered and exited from the building it was in the apartment of Andrea: indifferent passing of authentic walking corpses, carried by a strong catalyst to places and people certainly absurd. Skinny, emaciated skin, eyes sunken in the orbits away, leaned forward, lips or lips that disappeared, venereal disease or visceral who lord it over their bodies as dangerous cleavers ready to break inconsistent on their necks. Gait tired, showed the same body positioning fate of certain death, sooner or later they would be caught with no way out. I was particularly struck by a factor: these people (and the word citizen is used in case) did not seem to have any age, younger people seemed older, and older people almost young. However it was impossible to pinpoint their age, because it could prove a thirty sixty years, while a sessant'enne, on account of a teenage hair or some sparkling earrings, could prove less. In short, these were people who did not belong more to the time or the seasons.

"lore, come on," said George, "so that we go away from this place, damn it!" I
posizionai at the van, and waited for me to pass the first mobile Franco. It was an old table packed with dust, which could carry with enormous effort on the stairs. The entrance hall of the palace looked like a faithful representation of Dante's circle: the walls were peeling, mold had decided to establish uncontested estates on the walls, a penetrating smell of urine will upset the nostrils gelandoti blood, and then of course papers, some condoms , a towel and some blood-stained syringes, however, remain a constant. While the posavo foothold on a little girl stood before me. I stopped to recover from fatigue and amazement, and this looked at me with sad eyes. In one hand he held a small blue bag containing some kind of junk, while the other was a small doll anointed, similar to those that used to be "winning" in the roaring of the drums Dixan. I let her go, and if I had not had that mass of wood in his hands I would certainly stroked her hair, maybe I would post a question, maybe I tried a trick to make her smile. I simply shuffling a "hello" and she just replied with a smile, ready to catch insects in the garden full of debris, filth and slush, with its pale green eyes and his hands from Scandinavian fairy ...

A plan, two floors, three floors and Andrea finally here, that wait for me in the position of coffee before the door, a huge door, armored enormous and powerful, the classic door that awaits you at the end of the sky. This, in fact, was not a real door, but a sort of shield against interstellar atomic attacks, that perhaps only to the sound of TNT ogliastrino could cross. Caught my breath before the improbable figure of Andrea, and as I pointed to the bowed gigantic object.
"Andre, and this door ... Mamma mia, it's huge ... "
" He put the City, "he said satisfied," the apartment has been conquered before. Look at that, see? They tried to break into the gun ... "The verb" conquered "meant that the property was already occupied. I do not know why that would use military jargon, perhaps he was influenced by the overpowering presence of the door. Andrea pointed out to me after a few seconds three deep infossature not far from the lock, apparently caused by a firearm. Andrea looked at with concern, but he returned my frightened eyes with joy. Had lost some teeth, but that smile was like a sunset in the bay, and I could not help but feel an unreasonable sense of peace and tranquility, as if those bruises were a commonly accepted element, as the screams continued to come from 'apartment next ... Yes, in fact, had finally managed to find accommodation, and I could not ruin "his" time with my concerns but, in retrospect, I would do well to worry further.

in prison, while waiting for his turn in the lunchroom, I tried to pass the time looking through the paper. After laughing for the usual antics of local politicians spent the crime, in which I immediately recognized the photo of Andrew, who was lying on a sidewalk stained with blood. His skull had been crushed by a revolver, and the reporter asked, innocently, what they might want from a man who had never harmed anyone, and especially did not have anything. The reporter was not in possession of certain key elements, as Andrea "something" did. The apartment where he lived was now free, and that the killers had more of everything ... The war between the poor is more grim, with even the most silent ...

Vincent M. D'Ascanio. Unpublished 2009.

Cubefield Andy's Life

Ballad of corrupt politicians

Political saints, politicians redone,
political leaguers, accents Maximalists
moderate politicians, usually recycled
expert swindlers, impostors and jugglers!
Beautiful magazines, lying in interviews, luxurious
the girth, MARKET hope
double in the bone, caught up to the neck,
the prosecution at his heels, the judge is on vacation ...
sexually greedy, hate the people, anxious about
competitions, placing grandchildren
say they know everything, and then they know nothing,
support the strings, the conscience is in your shoes!

tapping and tie, heroes in the turnaround,
celebrating the best, then touch the Maronites,
for honesty is always a good time, then arrangements to treason,
speak of integrity, but the immunity bless!
Hookers for breakfast, cocaine, party and denunciation,
made up and dressed, at the expense of all parties,
seem to professors, but they are scoundrels,
election period has run, you smile a priori ...
die fugitives, then speak of it as holy,
session are stoned is not a question of procurement,
principles of the Parliament, without interception effect,
s'aumenteranno retirement, already decided in committee!

are any, but with accents reformist
-loving nation, but the scent of secession,
the dollar in the mind and heart to the highest bidder,
balls under his chin, his ass to take the wind ...
When they become elders, become bastards, the teacher is
Cossiga, dazed but the front line, has run remade
Berlusconi, Veltroni is the holy
the Communists have exploded, they find the island's famous

... If it was a bit 'to me , the King would return, delinquent
there is one, all the rest are anyone, but we must bear
, such as my aunt,
all this stuff is running high democracy!

Vincent M. D'Ascanio. "Write anything", in.

What Vasodex Contains

The river inside me. The story of Tony

Within us we have a river that flows

without our knowledge,

this river is sometimes violent, sometimes calm

and it is difficult to know who inadvertently.

The river carries many elements,

is the memories of my childhood dreams

is when I'm old,

brings my past and future lives.

I'm like a fisherman who tries

valuable as the river port,

text

patient sitting on its banks

and silent to hear his voice.

VM D'Ascanio. "Steps", 2004.

I-catcher Console-web Monitors

By now the technology at the service of profit has replaced the simple manual work, in our time the contradictory Luddites finally regaining all his reasons.

Alan 87 Końcówka Mocy

Cappai.

As we begin to talk of unlikely subjects, we found ourselves before the prison Buoncammino turned the place for a long time in my warm home. The prison is situated on one of the hills overlooking the city, where you can enjoy an excellent view. On the left is the ancient Roman amphitheater, imperturbable reminder of a time now lost. Extends before most of my beautiful city, the port to get up to the Laguna of Santa Gilla, in which from time to time is given to the headlines the body of some "last" definitely fallen from grace. In the distance you can see the mighty mountain range of the Seven Brothers whose contours, particularly clear in the mornings, taking spectral appearance, a faded colors, a frame of Monet. On top, the hill surrounded by trees and historic buildings, dominated by the emblematic structure "jail", which shows the appearance of a lovely nineteenth-century palace, with its round shapes and aggrazziate. Few elements cause the displeasure of his "guests" of small cells, lack of air, promiscuity, and violence of various kinds Abut. In this prison there is a high suicide rate, are full of petty thieves, the neighborhood, people with AIDS, HIV, drug users, immigrants from every nation and color, mentally ill, viral and skin. In short, this little place we last of the earth we have chosen an ideal vacation spot forced! At the time

University not know these situations, but during that clear morning in October I had the opportunity to hear a special dialogue, which lit a lamp in the darkness of my mind darkened. I heard a voice that came from the big rock on the right of prison ... A woman, who barely kept the stragonfie shopping bags, it seemed the muse of the bards of the more unfortunate.
"Antò , Antò" He screamed with the same enthusiasm as a jew who saw the promised land.
"Anto, Antoniccu are Mom, let me see my son ... "

" Lord, what is it, mom knows Cappai de Tony?
" EIA, which I call him Anthony, please ..."
" Yes sir, we had already call him ..."
held the silence for a few minutes while I waited for Valerie and Maurice that the boy decided to be alive. Those events were surprising to us, we felt like children in front of a sarabande of cakes and sweets.

"Oh, but to me it's me"

She moved for the first time, like a statue that comes to life at the wax museum.

"Son, my beautiful ... How are you? "

" Eh, but tottu goods, and the back of my father still straight? "

" Yes, he is already past, so I salute him, and Zia Assunta Rosa. Play some 'beautiful. .. "
" What happened? "

" No, and Anto, who has not already happened. But I must say that my father has to sell the land of Uncle Amerigo, and had always wanted to ask you the same opinion ... "
" Of course they are, you already know that I never change your mind, I. Tell him to sell it to my father, and forget about it, and Uncle Amerigo comprategli a beautiful plaque with a picture just a little more beautiful, that in what did you put paride unu maccu limpiu , your aunt ... "
" or Antò Okay, put on your sweater, look at the review tomorrow, hello beautiful mother. "
" Hello or mA, and a saludamì tottusu ... "

We obviously did not miss a single sentence of that original box. Then I could not imagine that one day soon, I personally met the elusive Tony. Detained meet the great scoundrels of every kind of deviance upset, sometimes without morality, lost in the thousand vicissitudes of daily living, or openly in the same prison. Tony, however, was not a villain, and was succeeded to maintain a degree of personal dignity, in places like this arduous undertaking, in which shame and brutality in s'accavallano
hectic ... I remember like it was yesterday (it was yesterday?) the day when I met him. During a quiet spring afternoon, when the wind was carrying pleasing fragrances daughters of the sea, a turkish thirst for vengeance had tried to stab me during a game of "moon mounts". Tony had immediately locked, and kicked him so powerful and breathtaking.
"I Won, I won, I'll asshole!" Panted the mustachioed opening their arms to simulate a huge circle.
"Go back to the Bosphorus, the turkish hell! "Answers him while they were taking him away, protected from the broad shoulders of my rescuer.
"Oh, boy, get it easy, otherwise you my ass I do ..." I said Tony, who kept a pack of cigarettes in his hand as if he had a bomb mototov ready to be hurled towards the wall.

said this short but vital phrase, Tony showed me his toothless smile from Venezuelan killer, meanwhile holding out his great hand. It was a "Maurri" feet tall and ninety pounds of muscle per cent wisely distributed on an outstanding physicist. Before being imprisoned his job was a mechanic, a legend in his field, he knew procure any piece of any car sacrosanct. It was like one of those Cuban mechanics who know how to fix those American cars that you can only see on Happy Days, led by Fonzie, Wells, or perhaps cursed by Jhonny slices ... On his imprisonment versions circulated contradictory and improbable, but one day he discovered that it was was arrested for a trivial "assault a police officer."
"I wanted to seize the car that bastard, but he is gone, eeeh! If he is gone ... "I said quietly one afternoon, as if I was saying that he had gone to buy a ribinetto to the sink in his house.
"Mom my, "I said," sometimes exaggerate their own. Once kidnapped me from Marbella because he did not review. Damn, my father did not kill me for a while ... You what car did you have? "
" A Porsche! "
" How is it that they wanted to seize? "
" I've been taking apart ... But it was not mine, oh, not be stupid! "
" Wow ... "I commented, trying to hide my dismay.

Tony was a heroin addict the last generation, fluid flowed through his veins and dangerous unknown, absolute mixtures, drugs that only selected professionals were able to prepare. His criminal record was long as the road to salvation, but still behaved like a gentleman, said "thank you", "please," always defended the weak, not only from ordinary bullying other prisoners, but also the brutality most treacherous of warders. In short, it was a sort of Fidel Castro's prison, but did not distinguish class and was unaware of any variant of Marxism-stamped so the poor as the rich, the powerful as the last of the earth. However the powerful beat with a smile, and this was enough to make the most sympathetic. All have value, but Tony confided in her, despite being a big man in the sense primary term, it was still a man ... One morning
m'apprestavo to clean the floor of our cell. The night before David had been busy, had eaten like a maniac and threw up all over with anger, throwing up his arms towards the full moon could be glimpsed through the grating of the cell. Have been three in the morning, at most four. Some servants and dragged him to the infirmary, so if you could call it, because he had also vomited blood. Some sketches I had sealed on the face, and scratched the toilet bowl while I wondered if the beloved cellmate was HIV positive or not. M'aveva recounted several episodes with the Nigerian Viale Elmas, and in addition was perfect harmony with Ratzinger on the issue of condoms. Granted, the clues were not reassuring, but I decided not to think about. The problems of every day was enough, I could not give a straight hypochondria ... In the meantime, some stubbornly resist fouling, but inappropriate as Sandro Bondi, the jailer on duty began to bang his club on the bars of the cell.

SDENG! SDENG! SDENG!

"Dickhead, Tony Capper was your friend, is not it?" He asked with his Sicilian accent.
"Yes, of course, what you want from him?"
"What do I want? Your friend is setting the account with the Big Boss, eh eh.

I looked at him as if I were watching an alien in learning vacation on earth.

"Hell does not give the reduction of sentence, the lawyers do not come here, you bastard!"
"What happened ... When?" I asked as I raised icredulo.
"Tonight, a beautiful overdose ... He laid out a horse fuck ... Serves them right! "
" Damn, "I said," go to get an enema! You need it, you see as you walk by ... "
" We, we, you look at how you talk, henchman ... There is more to defend your friend, remember all the time you'll be in here ... "

said that the subtle went to attend to some other gory affair.

I threw the broom in the toilet, I sat on the bed stained with blood and I ran my hand over his face. My mind went to that distant memory, when his mother called him and he responded by gratings, buried walls. Tony, damn you! Yet he was an expert of heroin, as he was able to happen ... A series of disturbing images passed through the antechamber of my consciousness. I thought of the warders, the Turks, at that damn Bonorva baker who wanted to tear him to pieces, a Sunni who had sworn that, in the name of Muhammad himself, to kill him. No, I do not know, only he possessed the key, and receiving carried as in Paradise of fools. I thought so at the prison, the lessons of criminal law, institution of punishment, the principle of rehabilitation, retribuzioniste theories, utilitarian, to the Constitution ... Then I thought the last of the land locked up in prisons, immigrants, transsexuals, prostitutes, the thieves of the neighborhood, and then to all those who decide to commit suicide, those who die of AIDS, those who are stabbed, strangled, raped, those who no one ever goes to find, those who await the passing of the days with calm resignation ... Then I thought, and thought, and thought again, and then, and then ... And then came David.
"What are you doing in the midst of this mess?" I asked with an expression of a ghost.
"Tony Capper died of an overdose last night."
"Ah, poor fellow! It was a good person ... Come on, give me a hand. "
David, with the shirts still stained with blood, grabbed the white sheet that had just placed on the cot. He asked me to help him to get closer to the grating, then tied a knot in the sheet to slide outside of the cell. He dragged the cot near the wall, then we went over almost panting. The other prisoners had the same idea of \u200b\u200bDavid, this was in fact a deeply rooted tradition, compassion is carefully monitored desperate among us. Dozens and dozens of white sheets waving in the sun for a light west wind, hailed the early release of our final and Tony Cappai.

Vincent D'Ascanio, unpublished, 2009.