Lenovo T60 No Audio Device

Fairytales of yesterday.

I had thought about writing a story. Of those beginning with "once upon a time in a far country." The protagonist was a beautiful princess like the others. Beloved daughter and miracle of a very good queen, would have to put up until the age of the injustices of a stepfather envious. Or maybe it was a king with his stepmother. The animals would have loved, had a wonderful voice and the help of one, two, ten do godmothers. A rainbow prince would fall in love with her, and she would have reciprocated. It would be redeemed, and karma would have defeated his stepfather. You should get a kiss, I know. Only this beautiful princess, very good, Levissima was a little more intelligent than others. He knew what was going on: the prince, the princess, the villain dies, the two heroes are given the kiss of true love, end of story. He was also a little proud, the princess, a real prima donna: she had no intention to end his story by way of a simple kiss. So the prince was left with an inch of his nose, she moved to the palace and entertained people for years that was granted to all but the kiss on the lips. Andersen and the Grimm brothers would have pulled down the saints in heaven against her, but in the end could not have nothing against a princess who was not their property.

passed a lot of years, the princess would not love you looked in the mirror. You would find herself off, old and tired. A decaying body that was beginning to rot even before death. What was that? Never happens to princesses of old. And then he thought that if the fairy tales end after the kiss at the bottom there is a reason.

To remedy its excessive intelligence, he would have started looking for his prince, his love. And finally he found, stuck in a marriage without good feelings, with a young wife soured from pregnancies that had ruined the body. It was not the fault of the prince, poverino. In fondo il suo unico errore era stato nel dare retta ai ragionamenti di un essere che non è mai stato creato per pensare.

La principessa si sarebbe considerata un errore. Avrebbe implorato Andersen di riscrivere la sua storia, di mettere il punto dove andava messo. Avrebbe pregato i Grimm di farla ritornare indietro. Ma dopo una dormita tormentata ed una nuova alba sarebbe stata fiera dei suoi errori, e urlando al vento ne avrebbe rivendicato il possesso, l'originalità. Dopodichè si sarebbe buttata giù da un dirupo.

Il principe, passando, l'avrebbe vista lì distesa e l'avrebbe seguita, perchè in fondo è questo che fanno i principi. E cadendo sarebbe finito su di lei, labbra on his lips. Point. And they lived happily forever. Or died, which is even more "forever."

After all could have been worse. They could marry, proloficare, betray, hate, divorce, and ruin the story for the next generation of princes and princesses.

I wanted to write a fairy tale, the kind that begin with "once upon a time".

But then I thought no one reads more fairy tales.

picture of the beautiful Victoria Frances .

Green Dot On My New Touch Screen Computer

Imparando a respirare.

"screw, bolt, on lance son coeur." [Cyrano de Bergerac]

In a passion, a dream, in interpersonal relationships. To gather in the evening with a wound more, and he stretched before him, waiting for the healing.

I can not write in South Africa, I can not. It 's a parallel universe, a world of contrasts, color, light, nature care, but not controlled. A land that has to recover from the blows inflicted by the past, the present, and probably the future, and that even this does not lose his smile. This is all that I can put in writing. I will read Ebony of Kapuscinski and between the words of others will try the right ones to describe all that is Africa, because mie non bastano.

E così si torna tra i palazzi grigi. Che poi è solo un modo di dire, perchè la maggiorparte dei palazzi romani, almeno quelli costruiti dal '60 in poi, sono in genere di quel giallo-arancione-rosa indeciso, forse un pesca pastellato? Il cielo però è più grigio che mai, ed anche finendo nei meandri della campagna alla ricerca del centro commerciale i suoi confini sono vicini, stretti, opachi. Le persone sono grigie, chiuse nei loro mondi a misura d'uomo costruiti sui pregiudizi; ma in fondo le corazze servono a difendersi dagli oggetti contundenti scagliati dal tornado quotidiano. E tutti noi che non abbiamo mai patito, sofferto, sentito la mancanza di bisogni primari come cibo, acqua, mura, medicine we have the opportunity to be torn apart by the unexpected, by melancholy, boredom. We belong to the caste of the lucky ones, really.

begins again the deadlines that were close between lunch and forget the need for companionship. I know I'm on a train, and then will approach faster as I get closer, and once passed there will be nothing left to do.

Mah, uncontrollable mood swings between melancholy, a passion that does not find a satisfactory outlet and a sense of futility.