Dear all,
hello. 12:25 am up here in the paris, the outside temperature is mild, I'm just awake, her eyes are bleary and my hair forms mondrianesche .
A weekend in Paris, tout seul, sometimes it happens, is also pleased, especially if fuoir the sky is clear.
And especially if it is peaceful inside, because the dream is still clear that those parts of my brain inspired hidden. A dream choral orchestral indeed, that Berliner Fizarmoniker can only envy, without first violinist without a conductor, only one point of view, my eyes.
A dream without a beginning nor an end, a continuous becoming, a set. Perhaps trattavasi idealization of an evening, as it should be a night, as they should be every night, stuff that if it is not so restqare is better at home, which I did last night.
A huge house, an amplified version of Viganò4, tantes rooms populated with people, friends, all of you. Mattresses on the floor, everywhere, people who adormentava, who rose to leave, someone who woke up one sleeping to go out, someone who rose from a bed to sleep in another where to receive care and pampering perhaps other occupant.
A small group is not going to bed, did not change the bed, did not seek cuddling: trattavasi Hoof, the hard, pure, raw! And this I remember the faces, clearly appear to me Gaetano, Sandra, Martin, LucaMarja, Renato, Andrew, George, Iordanis, but it was even longer: Well this faces were constantly in the hallways, not in the hustle and bustle, but rather in andi , or ready to quit, to collect subscriptions to fully enjoy this night.
the room lights were dimmed, no room was in complete darkness, no one slept, made love to anyone, including sheets and blankets could be seen only kisses, caresses, smiles, glances games.
And I remember vividly my last thought of the dream, when I turned from spectator to actor narrator:
"get out, fuck you, or you'll be sorry for all my life! "
