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prefer the cinema.

I prefer cats.
I prefer the oaks on the River Warta.
prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.
prefer me that he likes people to me who loves humanity.
prefer to have on hand a needle and thread.
I prefer the color green.
prefer not to say that the intellect is to blame for everything.
prefer exceptions.
prefer to leave early.
'd rather talk about other things with the doctors.
I prefer the old-hatched illustrations.
prefer the ridiculous to write poems, to ridicule not to write about it.
prefer not round in love anniversaries, to celebrate every day.
I prefer moralists who do not promise anything.
prefer a kindness to a gullible wise.
I prefer the earth in civvies.
prefer the conquered countries to those conquerors.
'd have reservations.
I prefer the hell of chaos order hell.
prefer fairy tales of Grimm to the front pages.
prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
prefer dogs with uncropped tails.
prefer light eyes because I have dark.
prefer drawers.
prefer many things that I have not mentioned here
many not mentioned here as well.
prefer zeros in bulk that are not aligned in a digit.
prefer insects to the sidereal time.
'd knock on wood.
prefer not to ask how much and when.
'd even consider the possibility
that has to be a reason

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Conquer your soul

You can not say the spring: "I hope that you arrive early and hold you back that much. "

One can only say:" Come, bless me with your hope and stay longer you can. "

(Coelho)

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How can I breath When I feel your thoughts all over me?

A look that crosses confusedly at the rate of tachycardia pressing, trying to follow and impress upon the memory words as possible, as in the feeling of secretly snatch them from the sight of someone else.

Applications are crowded together, there will be no response, they will not spoken out loud for fear that their sound can reopen an abyss of "if".

Anticipation, hope, opportunity, forgiveness, love stabbing, tears, night, the night sky long questioned, words spoken in the air to cover the distance ... it's all already burned, played the first time in a rash, as in a casino without consequences. But we still carry with us the debt of our sins, and this we know, both.

'The show must go on', but this is already known. It's the 'how' remains a mystery.

Maybe it was the moment, perhaps we were to be mismatched, maybe it was those around us, maybe it was all that and nothing at the same time.

Perhaps, after all ... I force myself to breathe, I mean. Maybe I should live more than to sip wine instead of ruminating on his life. Maybe I could really drink a glass of wine. If only I had a rocking chair and a porch, so that it would be the perfect place.

Close to Heaven, were enough to hear your thoughts but not enough to let me carry in his wanderings.

In a sweet purgatory, which is what most suits me.

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Let go, finally

trivial and inevitable end of any applicant thought.

We are not allowed to know how to predict when, but his relentless approach can never be caught unprepared, distracted.

The mental condition and preparation psychological "letting go", regardless of the more strenuous and strong conviction, sooner or later as a secret rule of life reaches every corner of our past existence.

reveal how, when or why, explain what you have saved in a workroom mental scenes imprinted in my eyes is impossible, if not untouchable. A secret that, that lurks in the heart and is released automatically from the dust of passing time. He also inexorable.

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I remembered reading something about a small door that some churches in the South of France allowed access to some category of people. I also remember always seen in those parts, or rather in the Basque country, a strange font alongside the regular
... Who passed beneath that little door? Who scored drawing water from a holy water blessed confidential? As you know stratigraphic analysis of a memory is greatly facilitated by the network. Well, after only a few minutes of trying, in the fog here materalizzarsi furtive shapes who bow awkwardly to pass under those doors are too low to allow access to decent. Heads bowed under the shame a hat adorned with a ridiculous red tape to hide behind corners groped for themselves the horrible duck leg attached to the crimson robes: the Cagots enter the church in silence, they are men, women, children, have silently down the aisles. Many are forced to endure the scorn and offense in the name of unfounded discrimination that wants them descendants of the "C ani Goths" or by the Saracens, who were forced to announce their arrival by playing castanets castanets or as lepers, isolated from rest of the population that prevents them to the point of not having certain descriptions of their physical appearance: " They were tall, blond and blue-eyed ... but no they were small and dark .... "They had webbed hands and feet, gave off a stench unbearable ..."
In comparison to their treatment, the condition of the Jews was enviable. They lived on the margins of the community, they had a name, but only the first name followed by the word "Cagots, could marry only among themselves and when they died they were buried in the ground desecrated the doorways of their homes often had a carved head of a man , misshapen, the same one that was on their water bowls, but they were often wooden troughs or basins.

Vere demons threshold, women were often Cagots midwives, while men working wood and stone. It is said fact that they were originally a tribe of nomadic Palestinians " masters of stone" , endowed with extraordinary powers, arrived in France as a result of the 9 Templars returning from the First Crusade led by Jean De Payns and then moved in Pyrenees under the protection of the Cathars.
A history of oppression and struggle, which since 1360, an era where there are already reports of the harassment they were subjected to climb to 1844, when, in spite of equality and dignity restored to them by the French Revolution, were still forced Cagots in Lower Navarre, to suffer humiliation and harassment. Many communities have tried to erase the shame of a past so dark, chipping away the effigies of holy water and lintels and murando, unnecessarily, the small ports that still whisper the story of ... Cagots

(The site links and bibliography are extensive, I found it very interesting Ulysse Robert, Signs of infamy in the Middle Ages, edited by Silvana Arcuti, 2000 Rubbettino )