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Letterina Christmas (but if I want)

Dear Santa,
in all the years already spent in my youth I never had the courage to write. This year, the serious international situation, the ozone hole, the animals at risk extinction, the huge increase in men and women suffering from hemorrhoids leads me to address this mild letter.

You know where I live now people have the healthy habit not to get gifts for Christmas. The gifts are exchanged at New Year, which, dear Santa, if you think about it, makes much more sense. Is easier to understand the association new year - new things. Indeed it seems a good omen. The combination of new things - doubtful birth two millennia ago, however, that one from here to Easter will crucify me already manages more difficult. Leaving these details

theological, I would give vent to my standest indottissime now (especially from my constant state of economic deprivation) need consumerism.

For Christmas this year I want:

- the day of Christmas, when all the Berlusconi family (including his ex-wife and the likely illegitimate children) sit at the supper table to feast, the pipes of all homes / boats / ville / farms / stables / garçonieres explode in unison, producing the typical sound of a fart and private parks of sewage flooding.

- that Juve never Pià not win a championship, but even Milan.

- that mistreatment of women and animals were delivered by mail a ton of manure directly on the pillow.

- I wish my family was more relaxed in dealing with difficulties and that what the invitation should happen happen in the sweetest way possible.

- I wish my mom and my cats come and find me to be here where everything is or snow or slush.

- I wish my friends and people I love the saws stopped being mentally and live their lives to the fullest, which is also hope for more of myself.

- Finally, I would: a cool coat, a pair of boots, gloves, pajamas, a hat Tontola as I like, many many many books, including a CD with all of the mp3 Daniele Silvestri that I can not for farmmi by any fan, the body cream dell'erbolario China, a return ticket direct Kiev-Milan and why no, since we're in the mood for bullshit, even a private jet. However

Father, I thank you for what you do for me and I offer you my most cordial greetings.

Nana

Killing Fleas With Dettol

Skies of my home


I came back alone.

the morning I wake up alone, go to the bathroom alone, I drink coffee and go out alone to take cold. Always alone.

We girls do not like dissatisfied. We
adult women instead.

So tomorrow I'll still be another time.

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Culacchietti

Oh, how lovely to go for mushrooms, tiruliru tiruleru.

I feet very muddy and the spade soap, my face looks very sleepless I pity the dog.

Like every autumn festival is approaching, and I will wear in bad mood and my body will enter the next quarter century, wearing a wet and mossy patina.

Meanwhile scratch lard fossil dig in sediments human decades, killing flies insidiatesi nests among the ravines and the fixtures, eliminate hairballs by discharges slay whole hordes of butterflies.

We are now free to suck. We can put your nose in the rancid and just puffing. Nothing scares us, not even the waste of others left to hang for months among insects.

We're big. We're old. We aged. We still someone

among the dry leaves, but not find him.

Perhaps then we will pause to look back and there will not even cry.

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abundance

I'm very tired.
Very very tired.

Yesterday I cleaned two of dried mushrooms.

I would like my body start working again.
I would like my life really begins to work.

Another Thursday.

flaccid and abundant thoughts.

My Fireplace Remote Doesnt Work

feeders Dog Doors

are saturated you fucking benefactors.
Keep up your work, your voices shrill and your change.
Keep them to the dark days, in the pocket near the heart.

And that this will save your mood and your bank account.


I am not the dog for anyone.

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The mattress has a stain.
's there for at least five years. Blood of someone that you do not even remember his face. The scrub smells. Of old and bacteria. Soap poor. Damp.

I changed the sheets once more. I have washed
to sixty degrees.

Last night I stayed in small bed. The green one. Does not stink, but there are two.

You know, something will change tomorrow. I'll be cold on my feet, without saying a word, bad eyes and mouth tight and white.
Tomorrow I will not fear to make you a slice in this house without keys in this room with no rocks stop my anger.

tomorrow I still defeat.

The chair has four wheels. Two do not work. The tappezzaria odds with the pillows.

grandmother in the kitchen frying bacon.

I look at the wall and blinked.

Provo with soda to send away the stain.
Maybe the sun. Perhaps
dry shampoo.

I come back to pick up cotton balls from behind the dresser.
To pretend anything with a hole for each.

I shut off by itself.

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It 's time .......

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