tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60146653798824436082024-02-21T06:16:47.018+01:00franzfranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.comBlogger726125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-90068289530000191792018-09-21T12:18:00.003+02:002018-12-05T16:12:53.144+01:00call me<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitHxRVudzHcQ8SIcW23k9XbRNp80os6yaZJZ6UNfvRo-mU_chlA14joZK4IH6_6Y_Ei8bbgiJLtxU5itDT8_OQw1ZEF8DGUHfPn1coKogagnCuJLdwYrSEajz4ticmkPwDYjakeQxSK7E/s1600/_FS_9488.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitHxRVudzHcQ8SIcW23k9XbRNp80os6yaZJZ6UNfvRo-mU_chlA14joZK4IH6_6Y_Ei8bbgiJLtxU5itDT8_OQw1ZEF8DGUHfPn1coKogagnCuJLdwYrSEajz4ticmkPwDYjakeQxSK7E/s320/_FS_9488.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Call me (call me) on the line<br />
Call me, call me any, anytime<br />
Call me (call me) I'll arrive<br />
You can call me any day or night<br />
Call mefranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-16701726106083497072018-09-21T12:14:00.001+02:002018-09-21T12:17:15.204+02:00heart of glass<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfjHq2jqiiOsX46yTL4BrP9hk0TyI27EOG4kqNgZYO9ZHDkNe2SkoQeGcMlwtxErjghtz5HO_r-5X6fSQFydgqy2UBgTNYVo8mt49O2M8Oqri2UiW0NIod4GEy8hfda2OqeLgkDGkbuio/s1600/_FS_9505.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSvzdEBTfz-FOm6TNqdVPnYvD12Pv-gM5wiQZ48pdZYL4rXsR0gOuFW-bNsP63O7cg0qaTFhgag5Ash9PsjW8xSf7albMh79e_WceUfaKFIWQ1A_1hxPOseeAjE1xpG-BtvT4UWxw3FE/s1600/_FS_9534.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoSvzdEBTfz-FOm6TNqdVPnYvD12Pv-gM5wiQZ48pdZYL4rXsR0gOuFW-bNsP63O7cg0qaTFhgag5Ash9PsjW8xSf7albMh79e_WceUfaKFIWQ1A_1hxPOseeAjE1xpG-BtvT4UWxw3FE/s320/_FS_9534.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Once I had a love and it was a gas<br />
Soon turned out had a heart of glass<br />
Seemed like the real thing, only to find<br />
Mucho mistrust, love’s gone behind<br />
<br />
Once I had a love and it was divine<br />
Soon found out I was losing my mind<br />
It seemed like the real thing but I was so blind<br />
Mucho mistrust, love’s gone behind<br />
<br />
In between<br />
What I find is pleasing and I’m feeling fine<br />
Love is so confusing there’s no peace of mind<br />
If I fear I’m losing you it’s just no good<br />
You teasing like you do<br />
<br />
Once I had a love and it was a gas<br />
Soon turned out had a heart of glass<br />
Seemed like the real thing, only to find<br />
Mucho mistrust, love’s gone behind<br />
<br />
Once I had a love and it was divine<br />
Soon found out I was losing my mind<br />
It seemed like the real thing but I was so blind<br />
Mucho mistrust, love’s gone behind<br />
<br />
Lost inside<br />
Adorable illusion and I cannot hide<br />
I’m the one you’re using, please don’t push me aside<br />
We coulda made it cruising, yeah<br />
Yeah, riding high on love’s true bluish light<br />
<br />
Once I had a love and it was a gas<br />
Soon turned out to be a pain in the ass<br />
Seemed like the real thing only to find<br />
Mucho mistrust, love’s gone behindfranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-18818615123138217842018-07-13T20:47:00.000+02:002018-07-13T20:47:10.018+02:00obscure lust<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpAhI37qaZOxJBlx-wDdDUxocxrz0nqy5MyJ4WH9ZzzofJENOl7hl1WTDj0U7TkYOiXRV1f1wNMZkTY65fSHxCWWWoJyBbMe-1n2a-p618f_XuQAXZCOwss6Al2VEin4fMqrbhiTYGjg/s1600/_FS_0427.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpAhI37qaZOxJBlx-wDdDUxocxrz0nqy5MyJ4WH9ZzzofJENOl7hl1WTDj0U7TkYOiXRV1f1wNMZkTY65fSHxCWWWoJyBbMe-1n2a-p618f_XuQAXZCOwss6Al2VEin4fMqrbhiTYGjg/s320/_FS_0427.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br /><br />“If they substituted the word 'Lust' for 'Love' in the popular songs it would come nearer the truth.” <br />― Sylvia Plathfranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-13036080026271158162018-07-13T20:44:00.000+02:002018-07-13T20:44:02.670+02:00things we like<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYk4dZD3lbFhFd9tp6WHPSIlnLzQ4woKQs41P0bajJXPrWI2i7n0km6VH6yLfVsshQ9ivASS8TESvTzPjYpOKzKUicBPUjdT2WBnoWGh3qZiHPEmQtGC8uhz9tiJF2zKvkejBWOrfgAM/s1600/_FS_0265.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYk4dZD3lbFhFd9tp6WHPSIlnLzQ4woKQs41P0bajJXPrWI2i7n0km6VH6yLfVsshQ9ivASS8TESvTzPjYpOKzKUicBPUjdT2WBnoWGh3qZiHPEmQtGC8uhz9tiJF2zKvkejBWOrfgAM/s320/_FS_0265.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br />things we likefranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-44055207305323146802018-07-06T00:13:00.001+02:002018-07-06T00:13:24.755+02:00perfetto piacere<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7VHYdKAlc6LqQ82CBb2DDtYSvH8gHMGGVKowFSv4kdQejEaNwp7MEAByku8D5vFbdewY4qfG6ybdvXB7VGc9Dpfr0GB0uKUvVX-RDhiBeOYy8xU2YRIOUxolKxl6s8tFH50o5mj5FcA/s1600/_FS_0543.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7VHYdKAlc6LqQ82CBb2DDtYSvH8gHMGGVKowFSv4kdQejEaNwp7MEAByku8D5vFbdewY4qfG6ybdvXB7VGc9Dpfr0GB0uKUvVX-RDhiBeOYy8xU2YRIOUxolKxl6s8tFH50o5mj5FcA/s320/_FS_0543.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><br />“Una sigaretta è il prototipo perfetto di un perfetto piacere. È squisita e lascia insoddisfatti. Che cosa si può volere di più?” - Oscar Wildefranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-83662022609294279152018-07-06T00:06:00.000+02:002018-07-06T00:06:21.235+02:00La lingua delle donne taglia e cuce<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUJTAk9KxP_WPdorq02IDXkYNp44xmcO4KntqrXkmyl61xIzEVxiqzy5ACpZsHSkMTTvuAbtsEPpwjhDbpZxPB8gQaTsqEq6EyclmB6GyEyjMiiNIFRmS4S2Ja3aExjSRWrYV4YYh4PKg/s1600/_FS_0478.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUJTAk9KxP_WPdorq02IDXkYNp44xmcO4KntqrXkmyl61xIzEVxiqzy5ACpZsHSkMTTvuAbtsEPpwjhDbpZxPB8gQaTsqEq6EyclmB6GyEyjMiiNIFRmS4S2Ja3aExjSRWrYV4YYh4PKg/s320/_FS_0478.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><br />La lingua delle donne taglia e cucefranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-77725545199138985912018-06-06T14:18:00.003+02:002018-06-06T14:18:51.454+02:00il crepuscolo, e il sesso<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICQT88BBI0MGmUKBnuNauhJ8WRn52jT1nyJ4H2zmloPked1WJ9r-s9EiX975UEKYzL1FM8GGU97-TUkkwWYF6JOASDsxsPCFKZflJVfSs5H_1pKtVSijE4do8M9kreSR8tIPFTELjdZI/s1600/_MG_4361.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICQT88BBI0MGmUKBnuNauhJ8WRn52jT1nyJ4H2zmloPked1WJ9r-s9EiX975UEKYzL1FM8GGU97-TUkkwWYF6JOASDsxsPCFKZflJVfSs5H_1pKtVSijE4do8M9kreSR8tIPFTELjdZI/s320/_MG_4361.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />"Sta scendendo il crepuscolo, e il sesso, il nostro più grande piacere, se ne sta andando a velocità supersonica, tutto se ne sta andando a velocità supersonica e ti chiedi come hai potuto essere tanto pazza da rifiutare anche la minima, la più squallida scopata" - Philip Roth<br />franzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-12090251221431310282018-05-31T23:58:00.002+02:002018-05-31T23:58:13.067+02:00pomeriggio d’estate<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWUwPAPKhdSJlXtitmIxXhlCNDOd57achnEvQzmq9iEigXp7GPteERCyJpdecK9iYsasC5jboUW3H80vj6adZCmK_lFfokx-m-yXkaDlIi4MAbgq3n48fXOFG6JK18r_Z7SOsSDJyaqI/s1600/_FS_6728.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWUwPAPKhdSJlXtitmIxXhlCNDOd57achnEvQzmq9iEigXp7GPteERCyJpdecK9iYsasC5jboUW3H80vj6adZCmK_lFfokx-m-yXkaDlIi4MAbgq3n48fXOFG6JK18r_Z7SOsSDJyaqI/s320/_FS_6728.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br /><br />"Pomeriggio d’estate – pomeriggio d’estate; queste sono sempre state per me le parole più belle della mia lingua" - Henry Jamesfranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-13717290328627739002018-04-23T21:53:00.000+02:002018-04-23T21:53:46.568+02:00tuffarci nell’abisso<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjfDdqviyjfUGK3xXx3Htx8Lo3jqV9Jp87-YtBPfe5RNkxLPMr-BU-12QnApS9glelzxhcSRipBw72S3ClQn-P8_pEdXAQEdbRixrItgc7juwjAVlJm9fSBJZ7z1kR-f8PRqMw-DM-hc/s1600/_FS_7164.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEjfDdqviyjfUGK3xXx3Htx8Lo3jqV9Jp87-YtBPfe5RNkxLPMr-BU-12QnApS9glelzxhcSRipBw72S3ClQn-P8_pEdXAQEdbRixrItgc7juwjAVlJm9fSBJZ7z1kR-f8PRqMw-DM-hc/s320/_FS_7164.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br /><br />"Noi vogliamo, per quel fuoco che ci arde nel cervello, tuffarci nell’abisso, Inferno o Cielo, non importa. Giù nell’Ignoto per trovarvi del nuovo" - Charles Baudelairefranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-80845329618526310782018-04-14T21:52:00.001+02:002018-04-14T21:52:27.263+02:00telefonare diventa impossibile<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xJurIbPctj6xHXOIAeNhkAX5kJeIs_UIeOpFyAS-wtYGaIDZJHtBdPcpTf9QMpKu3fg6ZguPFLApRoUFTnGsdlhoaoixP3ZCGd7JW-vdFM_aO5294Mp6Hfd5VwQ5pNsFySLcvLo7uJQ/s1600/_FS_6711.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xJurIbPctj6xHXOIAeNhkAX5kJeIs_UIeOpFyAS-wtYGaIDZJHtBdPcpTf9QMpKu3fg6ZguPFLApRoUFTnGsdlhoaoixP3ZCGd7JW-vdFM_aO5294Mp6Hfd5VwQ5pNsFySLcvLo7uJQ/s320/_FS_6711.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />“La facilità di telefonare costituisce una tentazione tale che telefonare diventa sempre più difficile, per non dire impossibile.” - Italo Calvino<br /><br /><br /><br />franzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-88555825235940611542018-04-13T22:54:00.002+02:002018-04-13T22:55:05.823+02:00buone sorelle<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpgaK7CGfxxKbFCGYzgbrKhtfokc0TcJqSqTwXAkAtikoDguOEKQkHpmewWyvUH8_4djnU3d9KINFFoAnUo5icAA5VCZwZytqx1xTRCXewtELDYoTG3qanCmk3zWpjMwMLMenVJwD17hM/s1600/_FS_7188.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpgaK7CGfxxKbFCGYzgbrKhtfokc0TcJqSqTwXAkAtikoDguOEKQkHpmewWyvUH8_4djnU3d9KINFFoAnUo5icAA5VCZwZytqx1xTRCXewtELDYoTG3qanCmk3zWpjMwMLMenVJwD17hM/s320/_FS_7188.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
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“Bara e alcova vi offrono, come buone sorelle, piaceri terribili e paurose dolcezze.” - Charles Pierre Baudelairefranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-32974105806945800012018-04-10T21:48:00.001+02:002018-04-10T21:48:26.838+02:00alle tre del pomeriggio<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEcNW05PkUcXg4zckVKwNggVERUk389IhPL13EOD1QhdidtMb47Z4xr6m_hvz3qwRyevjPbQWc-o3lg63bWN9M8K0iwMDQ-2L4JtEKgCg0Re3TTAN8vJSMNbGvj85AGbG6FRySCLdzZEk/s1600/_FS_6685.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEcNW05PkUcXg4zckVKwNggVERUk389IhPL13EOD1QhdidtMb47Z4xr6m_hvz3qwRyevjPbQWc-o3lg63bWN9M8K0iwMDQ-2L4JtEKgCg0Re3TTAN8vJSMNbGvj85AGbG6FRySCLdzZEk/s320/_FS_6685.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><br />"Alle tre del pomeriggio è sempre troppo presto o troppo tardi per qualsiasi cosa tu voglia fare" - <br />Jean-Paul Sartrefranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-15245328796823344732018-03-29T17:19:00.002+02:002018-03-29T17:19:13.234+02:00un attimo dopo non c’è più<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /><br /> "Non c’è donna più bella di quella che passa sotto la tua finestra e un attimo dopo non c’è più" - Charles Bukowski<br />
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #222222; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: "Open Sans", Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"></span>franzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-16007922794891819742018-02-27T19:15:00.001+01:002018-02-27T19:15:48.643+01:00le mie notti sono più belle dei vostri giorni<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwvAaNG80e3wYUE1amrEgnhUP0BWWZb3b3HQ7u7ituznbVSvRrDuRjmNUEGHyD4OKGu1KuaQqe58_3lMnKfjH7XOJWYuC_xHi41Q1S7Xp6k7MIN5tod4LpcZPGxe9BoBAZzXxCUeMX0U/s1600/_MG_0513.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwvAaNG80e3wYUE1amrEgnhUP0BWWZb3b3HQ7u7ituznbVSvRrDuRjmNUEGHyD4OKGu1KuaQqe58_3lMnKfjH7XOJWYuC_xHi41Q1S7Xp6k7MIN5tod4LpcZPGxe9BoBAZzXxCUeMX0U/s320/_MG_0513.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><br />Le mie notti sono più belle dei vostri giornifranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-11972123599388191802017-12-16T23:08:00.000+01:002017-12-16T23:08:27.744+01:00consolazioni<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_xiQtlMMwwBzoOaDIMlp3QvAzAyawhXCKWUrbB8B9jQQsPEKCtK39lsAabVRb7QzcjxOURt97-vIxvk6fAa8KQ6DiWIxUjxHH_QBEHBtDQcTv7ylx_9KOFa9CCHTxivqVhRKEBSqqvJQ/s1600/_MG_2128bis.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_xiQtlMMwwBzoOaDIMlp3QvAzAyawhXCKWUrbB8B9jQQsPEKCtK39lsAabVRb7QzcjxOURt97-vIxvk6fAa8KQ6DiWIxUjxHH_QBEHBtDQcTv7ylx_9KOFa9CCHTxivqVhRKEBSqqvJQ/s320/_MG_2128bis.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br /><br />"E dopotutto ci sono tante consolazioni! C’è l’alto cielo azzurro, limpido e sereno, in cui fluttuano sempre nuvole imperfette. E la brezza lieve" - Fernando Pessoafranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-69873734699065003862017-11-30T15:25:00.001+01:002017-11-30T15:25:15.403+01:00con la tua bocca<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />"Oggi lasciate che sia felice, io e basta, con o senza tutti, essere felice con l'erba, e la sabbia, essere felice con l'aria e la terra, essere felice con te, con la tua bocca, essere felice." - Pablo Nerudafranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-5103530602305183382017-11-05T20:54:00.001+01:002017-11-05T20:54:40.229+01:00donna<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZSDeq2mESz-HvZFQq4_-7y5nRdYFgxOX39m_eRjdBuzCN4m7zZczsurIbvl3xZRzmk3eMrsSzb-35SK8FqGbXIv0KfCgaxkB9ejC9tLFmJoaGtILQa3xwFyb25jwzcYpYtdz1QmUIQzQ/s1600/_MG_0666.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZSDeq2mESz-HvZFQq4_-7y5nRdYFgxOX39m_eRjdBuzCN4m7zZczsurIbvl3xZRzmk3eMrsSzb-35SK8FqGbXIv0KfCgaxkB9ejC9tLFmJoaGtILQa3xwFyb25jwzcYpYtdz1QmUIQzQ/s320/_MG_0666.jpg" width="217" /></a><br />
<br /><br />Donna completa, mela carnale, luna calda,<br />denso aroma d'alghe, fango e luce pestati,<br />quale oscura chiarità s'apre tra le tue colonne?<br />Quale antica notte tocca l'uomo con i suoi sensi?<br />Ahi, amare è un viaggio con acqua e con stelle,<br />con aria soffocata e brusche tempeste di farina:<br />amare è un combattimento di lampi<br />e due corpi da un solo miele sconfitti.<br />Bacio a bacio percorro il tuo piccolo infinito,<br />i tuoi margini, i tuoi fiumi, i tuoi villaggi minuscoli, <br />e il fuoco genitale trasformato in delizia<br />corre per i sottili cammini del sangue<br />fino a precipitarsi come un garofano notturno,<br />fino a essere e non essere che un lampo nell'ombra.<div>
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<div>
- Pablo Neruda</div>
franzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-16902875727923253062017-10-27T01:04:00.000+02:002017-10-27T01:04:11.061+02:00lettera d’amore<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />"Non è facile dire il cambiamento che operasti.<br />Se adesso sono viva, allora ero morta<br />anche se, come una pietra, non me ne curavo<br />e me ne stavo dov’ero per abitudine.<br />Tu non ti limitasti a spingermi un po’ col piede, no-<br />e lasciare che rivolgessi il mio piccolo occhio nudo<br />di nuovo verso il cielo, senza speranza, è ovvio,<br />di comprendere l’azzurro, o le stelle.<br />Non fu questo. Diciamo che ho dormito: un serpente<br />mascherato da sasso nero tra i sassi neri<br />nel bianco iato dell’inverno-<br />come i miei vicini, senza trarre alcun piacere<br />dai milioni di guance perfettamente cesellate<br />che si posavano a ogni istante per sciogliere<br />la mia guancia di basalto. Si mutavano in lacrime,<br />angeli piangenti su nature spente,<br />Ma non mi convincevano. Quelle lacrime gelavano.<br />Ogni testa morta aveva una visiera di ghiaccio.<br />E io continuavo a dormire come un dito ripiegato.<br />La prima cosa che vidi fu l’aria, aria trasparente,<br />e le gocce prigioniere che si levavano in rugiada<br />limpide come spiriti. Tutt’intorno giacevano molte<br />pietre stolide e inespressive,<br />Io guardavo e non capivo.<br />Con un brillio di scaglie di mica, mi svolsi<br />per riversarmi fuori come un liquido<br />tra le zampe d’uccello e gli steli delle piante<br />Non m’ingannai. Ti riconobbi all’istante.<br />Albero e pietra scintillavano, senz’ombra.<br />La mia breve lunghezza diventò lucente come vetro.<br />Cominciai a germogliare come un rametto di marzo:<br />un braccio e una gamba, un braccio, una gamba.<br />Da pietra a nuvola, e così salii in lato.<br />Ora assomiglio a una specie di dio<br />e fluttuo per l’aria nella mia veste d’anima<br />pura come una lastra di ghiaccio. E’ un dono."<br /><br />- Sylvia Plath<div>
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franzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-59062066075240059762017-10-27T01:01:00.000+02:002017-10-27T01:01:06.365+02:00Il culo è la faccia dell'anima del sesso<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />"Il culo è la faccia dell'anima del sesso" - Charles Bukowskifranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-14876590993717084632017-09-25T14:51:00.000+02:002017-09-25T14:51:03.990+02:00farfalla<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />"E se diventi farfalla nessuno pensa più a ciò che è stato quando strisciavi per terra e non volevi le ali" - Alda Merinifranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-58189611533046208092017-09-10T15:40:00.003+02:002017-09-10T15:40:25.972+02:00La mia droga si chiama Julie<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ErVqep33HLTAUz1IBoXw-XrAORMWJYmzBNaGwXQv9YPGo-YPC-pR3CjelEI6FJK8oUXQAwG8hnvCRp7QnGx7A1DYVt8FaLdFlgjX9nH4dwlJbFDLD3nO3ZssJpFyZjnJsKZHWVRq8ZA/s1600/_FS_6646.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ErVqep33HLTAUz1IBoXw-XrAORMWJYmzBNaGwXQv9YPGo-YPC-pR3CjelEI6FJK8oUXQAwG8hnvCRp7QnGx7A1DYVt8FaLdFlgjX9nH4dwlJbFDLD3nO3ZssJpFyZjnJsKZHWVRq8ZA/s320/_FS_6646.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Sei talmente bella che guardarti è una sofferenza<br />- ma se ieri dicevi che era una gioia?<br />Una gioia e una sofferenza.<br /><br /> - François Truffaut (La mia droga si chiama Julie)franzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-11843835955194728682017-09-04T00:32:00.001+02:002017-09-04T00:32:55.853+02:00cara beltà<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33rBzS5t7sNCzNZDNoozBQPJ7fzWbrmUveDkI-FDr2FqvDqt94dV_dCovNiIh3ZPFX8kA25wAVqhTID9mPmCHRmw7aQHS-tGspRABhnPN9FsvaYxBms8KTuf5wBDXaZduzZmIYBVrRjY/s1600/MartaTuips_+%252814_OK%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33rBzS5t7sNCzNZDNoozBQPJ7fzWbrmUveDkI-FDr2FqvDqt94dV_dCovNiIh3ZPFX8kA25wAVqhTID9mPmCHRmw7aQHS-tGspRABhnPN9FsvaYxBms8KTuf5wBDXaZduzZmIYBVrRjY/s320/MartaTuips_+%252814_OK%2529.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
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<br />
Cara beltà che amore<br />
Lunge m’inspiri o nascondendo il viso,<br />
Fuor se nel sonno il core<br />
Ombra diva mi scuoti,<br />
O ne’ campi ove splenda<br />
Più vago il giorno e di natura il riso;<br />
Forse tu l’innocente<br />
Secol beasti che dall’oro ha nome,<br />
Or leve intra la gente<br />
Onima voli? o te la sorte avara<br />
Ch’a noi, t’asconde, agli avvenir prepara?<br />
<br />
- Giacomo Leopardifranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-71195717214558256072017-08-24T15:14:00.003+02:002017-08-24T15:14:51.388+02:00più grande della sua colpa<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvAOMotMTrOYG2Xp8g64g0CSUCBW_0qbF5THlygvO01kukFbafdR-Gi8S2gibESQl5rRqiE1nBDsglM3BY5POFZReHD3YZm4iUuArpoCEdup6xHNrJ68XD9Y2x0WAVGSAlwGbwNn_xmA/s1600/_FS_6491.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJvAOMotMTrOYG2Xp8g64g0CSUCBW_0qbF5THlygvO01kukFbafdR-Gi8S2gibESQl5rRqiE1nBDsglM3BY5POFZReHD3YZm4iUuArpoCEdup6xHNrJ68XD9Y2x0WAVGSAlwGbwNn_xmA/s320/_FS_6491.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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"E' vero che una ragazza che si concede illegittimamente tradisce un impegno di fedeltà verso il suo sesso; ma si tratta di un impegno tacitamente accettato, e non già assunto con giuramento; e siccome a soffrirne è, prima di tutto, il suo stesso interesse, la sua stoltezza è infinitamente più grande della sua colpa" - Arthur Schopenhauerfranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-63302113104657569292017-08-20T14:37:00.000+02:002017-08-20T14:37:03.985+02:00nei boschi senza sentieri<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0J64pvRnn9_AUF4P61HWmYo0C8dS4eyRCfW04XWCnQ1D4MmTbeTOKgoYhyphenhyphengf5yOOHaIiokZC8KZRwCv9xVBeQ2rVjt8rxm4GeAzN6bhNMpVZNFwU__IlpRs1YMNTOqr7QEDlRmVKV6uI/s1600/_FS_6710.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0J64pvRnn9_AUF4P61HWmYo0C8dS4eyRCfW04XWCnQ1D4MmTbeTOKgoYhyphenhyphengf5yOOHaIiokZC8KZRwCv9xVBeQ2rVjt8rxm4GeAzN6bhNMpVZNFwU__IlpRs1YMNTOqr7QEDlRmVKV6uI/s320/_FS_6710.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><br />C’è un piacere nei boschi senza sentieri,<br />c’è un’estasi sulla spiaggia desolata,<br />c’è vita, laddove nessuno s’intromette,<br />accanto al mare profondo, e alla musica del suo sciabordare:<br />non è ch’io ami di meno l’uomo, ma la Natura di più.<br /><br /><br />- George Gordon Byronfranzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6014665379882443608.post-50076949006587771122017-08-17T01:02:00.005+02:002017-08-17T01:02:49.594+02:00la nuova Justine<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />"Bisogna chiavarla, fratello, disse la Dubois, e chiavarla bene; non vedo altro mezzo per convertirla" - Donatien Alphonse François de Sade(La nuova Justine)franzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03672232747643052782noreply@blogger.com0