Cyst Hurts When Period Is Coming

The angel of the highways - David Rondoni

(photo: Henri Julien Felix Rouseeau - The Sleeping Gypsy)

He was sitting one night on the guardrail
pitched in light orange
of a great lamp. The fog


wet rancid - -
life, he said,
animal life, as he brushed the massive


caress of trucks that are like dreams on the highway.

I find him more
a gesture that only virgin
that of dawn, said
setting the hands, and cried
idiot.

(I met him a thousand times to return from somewhere

when traveling in his sleep on morartiane

end or tangential vascorossiane
and then break up in burrows, my poor angel

my stubborn and like him - -)
or my life, I repeat and repeat, do not feel the dawn

in bones and joints, but
salt and just the wind that removes
ever, that never subsides.

David Rondoni
The bar time
Ugo Guanda Publisher

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And then find yourself ...

Sometimes books,

seem to really tell us.

(...) From the living room window in the wooden building was seen throughout Libery Street San Francismo burn red and green in the rainy night. Dean made the most ridiculous thing of his career in the few days I spent with them. Grim work which consisted in going from house to house with stacks of brochures and samples chegli gave a representative of a new pressure cooker, and demonstrate how the housewives. The first day was a storm of energy. I walked with him through the city to make appointments. The idea was to be invited to a dinner and at one point jumping up and show how the pressure cooker. "Boys," said Dean excitedly, "this work is even more crazy than I did for Sinah. Sinah sold encyclopedias door to door in Oakland. No one could escape. Fired a long speech, jumped up and down, laughing, crying. Once introduces us to the house of an Okie where everyone was preparing to go to a funeral. Sinah knelt down and began to pray for the salvation of the soul of the deceased. They all cry. He sold a whole lot of encicolopedie. It was the craziest man in the world. I wonder where he is now. We were pretty young daughters to him and down certain palpated in the kitchen. This afternoon I found a woman's delight ... we went in his beautiful kitchen, I put an arm around her shoulders and forward with the demonstration. AH! Ummmm! Fantastico! "
" Keep it up, Dean, "I said." Maybe one day will make you the mayor of San Francisco. "He had prepared a number of pressure cooker all the details in the evening practice was with me and Camille.
One morning the I found naked near the window, watching the sunrise San Francisco. He looked like he wanted to be really charged the mayor of San Francisco one day. But his energies were exhausted. a rainy afternoon came the representative of the pressure cookers , wanted to know where he was kicked out Dean. Dean was lying on the couch.
"Have you tried to sell these pots?"
"No," Dean said, "I have to start another job."
'Well, and what you going to do all these samples? "
"I do not know." In absolute silence the representative took up his pots and sad he left. I was disgusted with everything and everyone, and even Dean. (...)

From the Road by Jack Kerouac

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103.

Each appliance has its own sound. High frequency, low frequency, intermittent, continuous. The stand-by of the television is a whistle around 10,000 hertz. Do not really feel it. You can tell when you switch it off. The boiler has darker shades, is around 3 kHz. A house - I mean, every house - is suffused with a symphony of sounds. Just stretch your ears. The refrigerator is louder, but is not continuous. Turn on, turn off, turn on, turn off, turn on. The computer is similar to the TV. Change only the color signal stand-by. A district, each district is the sum of many houses, many of the symphonies, of thousands of red lights lit day and night, atonal arrangements. The discharge of water is pretty much on the 300, but I could be wrong. A city is a collection of neighborhoods that are a collection of houses that are a set of sounds. Every city has its matrix, its dominant sound. To all this I was thinking this morning, walking with hands in his pockets and his collar turned up. I thought of the magnificent crescendo of the kettle, the perfect view of the heating pipes, stolen gracefully. I thought the rustling softly in the leaves of ficus in the center of the terraces. At the polyrhythm of walks of people who mix and add to mine. To the explosion of green light. In this orchestra there is room for everyone. There are no files, there are no sections, no podiums, no lights on the lecterns black blacks, no trombone with puzzles a week under the chair. The sun beats time. The night is a crown on a break from the four quarters. But it is only because people are sleeping.

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102.

The sun came shining and hot. We slept until mid morning when we woke up We were smiling and full of energy, despite the almost ten-day walk in the mountains we had left him not a few signs. We resumed the journey, but not before he made light of blueberries lifesaving. The trail ran fast, like a treadmill at the sides of which ran in turn banal images of trees, bushes and mountains. Things to fitness center. Images from Desktop, Swiss stuff, natural paradises that seem fake. He began to mumble a melody absurd, those who used to invent when he was lost in thought. They passed this way two or three hours. Then we began to hear the murmur of the river in the distance. We stopped and looked into his eyes, thinking - is done, we have now! - And reading the same thought in the eyes of others. It was a moment, and immediately began the descent. We held hands and went down very fast, approaching the goal. The muscles, the knees bend slightly, his arms to maintain balance. But the legs are light, the steps do not make noise, a noise almost imperceptible, perhaps, dampen the sounds around you to become inconsistent, which cancel out, the pounding of my heart that you get to the head. We arrived at the river, gasping for breath, and in the blink of an eye we were already shirtless, arms thirsty immersed in water.