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Quando il dolore afferra proprio te. 163°

Ci sono momenti della vita in cui il dolore afferra proprio te.

Un dolore tagliente come un rasoio, freddo come un candelotto di ghiaccio, lacerante come il morso di una tigre.

Tocca a te passare attraverso la tempesta, adesso, non hai scampo.

Allora vorresti chiudere fuori tutto il mondo e stare abbracciato ai tuoi cari, in silenzio. Vorresti addormentarti profondamente per non soffrire.

Provi un dolore così quando muore una persona che ami. Una madre, un padre, una sorella, per esempio.

It is true that death is nothing. Death is a great deal, because it changes you. More than any joy.

That person is so important for you leaves you alone, in spite of your pain.

She's gone somewhere and you'll never see her again. Never again, nowhere. Never, under any circumstances. You can go look in the dark bottom of the seas, you can walk without stopping and searching among the crowd of all countries of the world, take all the deserts and all the cities, but no more.

can not hear you if you speak.

This loss will seem incredible, but the world continues indifferent to exist and always the same, even if you cease to be the same as before, because that person is no longer so important here.

When the pain you must endure your touch and wait for him to leave. It will happen when you learn to live life without her. Sooner or later you can, and pain will replace a deep sadness and nostalgia later.

And then be able to smile, remembering the times spent together. It's already happened before.

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La scuola deve insegnare a pensare. 162°

The school should not instill anything. But even the household must inculcate anything.

"inculcate" means "limestone in the foot", "introduce a force." I do not think it desirable to levy an education based on the introduction of ideas and principles.

coming from school or family, provided that principles have no value. Argue that public schools should not be in passing, but the family is a bit 'like saying "public school teachers slap our children. We want to be the ones to slap. " A madness.

The school must, first of all, teach to think. With his head, obviously. To do that we must learn to read, to write, to love life and the world. The world is enormous. Life has many facets. We must learn to decipher the world and life. If you learn to perceive the good and the right, the bad and wrong emerge by themselves, accordingly. No need to indicate what is good and what is bad. Enough to teach to see, understand and reflect. That is why those who are absolutely in bad faith does not want to be taught to think of the boys. If you learn to think we can no longer make them believe that the abuse of power, dishonesty, bad faith, the badge, selfishness, are good and beautiful.

We public school teachers we must teach thinking. I can not inculcate principles, otherwise they are not principles, but basic information. Fill the heads of information is useless. Indeed. Serves only to those who want to manipulate the minds and lives according to their own advantage. Give the information to use them without teaching is equivalent to providing the ingredients to cook them without teaching. If you do not give you the tools to use what you have six in their hands. You're depending on them.

We must teach our children and our children to think for themselves.

learn to defend against rogue by the exploiters, and will enjoy the beauty of life. Free.

Solo chi non ha interessi personali da salvaguardare può insegnare a pensare. I professori di scuola pubblica non hanno interessi economici da salvaguardare, questo è certo. Ecco perché fanno paura.

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La professoressa ha l'influenza!

La professoressa mi incarica di dirvi che non ha potuto scrivere perché ha l'influenza.

Vi manda tanti saluti!

Beatrice

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If you're like me you can not film buffs have seen "Casablanca"

Film of 1942 by Michael Curtiz with the great Humphrey Bogart, the film is a "legendary" in the history of cinema. At the beginning of the Second World War, the American expatriate Rick Blaine runs a club in Casablanca, Morocco controlled by pro-Nazi regime of Vichy France. The criminal Ugarte arrives in the room with the letters of transit Rick stolen, which would allow to move freely by the Germans in occupied Europe and, therefore, reach the neutral Portugal and from there to arrive in the United States. Meanwhile Ilsa Lund, Rick loved by Paris before the war, arrived in Casablanca with her husband Victor Laszlo, leader of the Czechoslovak resistance. When Ilsa fell in love with Rick believed her husband was dead, killed by the Nazis in a concentration camp, and discovered that he was still alive, had suddenly left Rick without explanation, to return from Laszlo. But now they need Ilsa and Laszlo the letters of transit to flee to America and continue their opposition to Nazism. At the end of Rick and Ilsa Laszlo will start on the plane to Lisbon, the Nazi is killed by Rick and between it and the Commissioner for Renault born a beautiful friendship, which began with the famous phrase: "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. "

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Ho una brutta sensazione. 161°

Purtroppo è da un po’ di tempo che ho una brutta sensazione. Quella di essere intrappolata in una enorme fregatura.

Se avete voglia di seguirmi nel ragionamento, continuate a leggere.

from a question: are we all equal or not? Let me explain: we are all equal and we have to somehow have the same rights, or are different, have different value, some people are superior to others and therefore we have different rights?

In a democracy, is instinctive to say that we are all equal. But do not let us say, Think about it a bit 'above, before you decide.

do not know if we are all equal.

To do that we should be clear about what it means to be "equal." If it means having the same intelligence, the same sensitivity, same creativity, honesty, ability, desire to work, to work for others, then no, we are not all equal. God forbid. There are hordes of incompetent of dishonest people who do not want to work, who think only of themselves. Are not we all like them.

We should also be clear what we mean by "law": human rights, civil, political, are those who, in a community, it is for each individual. Rights are inviolable and inalienable rights of survival and human dignity: the right to eat at least enough to survive, to live in a sheltered place and dignity, to shelter from the cold, the right health and education, freedom of speech and thought, the right to be treated with respect, to maintain their dignity.

But have to ask, but the rights belong to everyone, regardless of moral or intellectual qualities?

Here, more precisely, this is the question: even dishonest, looters, criminals, fools and stupid people should have rights?

Or should be reserved for more rights for those most deserving, because they are more intelligent, better educated or more honest?

I think there are rights that must accrue to everyone, including criminals, the ignorant, unable to.

Faced with these rights, basic needs, we must all be equal.

Those who earn their own abilities are not rights, but extra benefits. It is right that those who have more ability, more intelligence, more courage would have greater benefits.

And we came to this problem in our society not only happens rarely that a person of value - moral and intellectual - is rewarded, but it happens a lot more benefits that are reserved for criminals and dishonest.

According to the medieval and feudal mentality - sorry if it makes it much easier to highlight the concept - the nobles and members of the clergy were worth much more than the people of the third state. Doctors, merchants, craftsmen, farmers, writers had no real socio-political power. Nobles and clergy were appropriate setsso the concept of value, deciding that the value was tied to the nobility and the rule of "religious." Simplifying again, the concept was this: we are worth more because we are part of the nobility and clergy, and you must serve, revere and work with us because you are inferior. And the concept was accepted by all as fair and even obvious.

power has allowed them to keep things as they were for many years, for centuries, until a different mentality has found its way, has changed the concept of "value" and introduced the concept that we are equal.

I do not want to dwell.

is visible to all (those who want to see, of course) the fact that the Italian company now consists of a minority of rich, filthy rich and powerful, and a majority of middle-class often small children, poor people and poor people. Are not they the ones who have the political and economic power. They are the rich and powerful. And that's what causes me anxiety and restlessness: yell known that that will change things, that will give more resources to education and health, that will solve the problem of unemployment, which will organize facilities for children, young, poor and elderly. They claim that lower taxes, which will help young people, which will eliminate waste, control pollution, to fight the mafia and the underworld.

Instead they do nothing. Leave things as they are and, if possible, worse. They make the rich get rich and the poor poorer. They cut up everything that we use (everything is public), more on what we eat (bread, pasta), and encourage all who use them (all private) and what have they (yachts, villas, air , etc.).. Because if you end up in cow health and education, they do not care nothing about, why not attend public hospitals or public schools.

The powerful claim that we are working for their welfare, to continue to have parties and travel, while we pull the belt.

Floor convince us that because they are higher and we lower our duty to admire them and served and revered.

So we went back to the Middle Ages. And without people being aware of it.

absurd is not a huge rip-off?

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“Amare” significa anche dire “mi dispiace”. 160°

We were fed so much and in many different ways the phrase "love means never having to say you're sorry that we have come to believe the truth irrefutable.

In Valentine's Day I decided to refute it.

then I say no fear that "love" also means to say "sorry". And every time I need, I add.

Why one should never have to say I'm sorry, feel? It could happen if the two were saints, perhaps. O mummies. Or people who never meet. How can it happen, otherwise, two people sharing a life have nothing to be reproached anything? Or that, having, in all circumstances be able to keep quiet and avoid throw shoes or insults such as to compel then to a "sorry" repairer?

There are many couples who live together based on good education and that between a "thank you", a "please, darling," a "would you be so kind," but certainly, with pleasure! "spend their lives ignoring the substance, if not cornificandosi politely.

There are many others that insult you (and not even say "sorry" when it's over), but in substance they love and can not do without each other.

love does not mean never having to say you're sorry.

love and desire to be with someone forever, the whole street. And even more.

love means to feel more like part of you. Want to share with that person all the important moments of your life. And his.

Quando ami senti di non essere solo a vivere la vita. Dividi con l’altro le fatiche e le gioie. Ti rifugi fra le sue braccia, gli offri le tue. Dividi l’intimità e il corpo nelle notti d’amore. Condividi i pensieri, le speranze, i sogni e le paure.

Quando ami, i tuoi occhi sanno leggere al di là dei suoi, fino al profondo dei suoi pensieri e dei suoi sentimenti. I tuoi occhi sanno comunicare senza parole, e i suoi sanno comprendere il messaggio. Le tue mani accarezzano le sue in un modo tutto speciale.

L’amore è una coperta per scaldarti, una vela per solcare tutti i mari, un porto dove rifugiarti. Quando ami sai capire, perdonare, dimenticare.

Amare non means never having to say you're sorry. Two people in love can also make mistakes. It is human, make mistakes. If you are tired, angry, sick, sad, it can happen to send the other to that country, and say nasty words. With the one you love you must be yourself. And if "yourself" she wanted to scream a bit 'to let off steam, sometimes I think it's legal. Provided that the possibility is mutual, of course.

it wrong, and unintentionally hurt or disappoint the person you love, you just say "sorry".

Sometimes "sorry" means "I love you."

"Love" also means to say "sorry".

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"Me ne lavo le mani". 159°

If it is true that Pontius Pilate existed and said "I wash my hands" must really say that he has made school.

The parents of a child of four years do not have the money to the table and some teachers have their meal ticket for her.

A mayor (League) said that "it is inadmissible" give up its meal ticket. If the teacher does not eat does not eat anyone in his place, in other words. While it is best to follow the rules to throw the meal, give it. I suppose that if you add the information that parents the African child have four other children, aged between one and eight years, it would not help, indeed, perhaps the mayor could say "had to be more careful not to give birth to five children."

does not say if the mayor was speaking at an institutional level and, perhaps, privately, gave him the good of the child. But I think if that happened it was said loudly in all the newscasts. In conclusion: where the child eats? I do not know. I wash my hands.

four Roma children burnt to death because they are the type of heating they had available was a tin / brazier that, you know, sometimes due to fires that spread in an instant to the bedding, the rags, the plastic of the caravans and who's in it. They are often children. Children like ours, although Roma.

The mayor has requested that additional funds were allocated to solve the problem of illegal camps. The Minister (Northern League) says he does not understand, who does not know, because it has already allocated the money. Too many. But we live in squatter camps in an inhumane way. Every year there are children dying burned. substance of the dialogue: "We have no money and if we had them we would try to solve very different problems and more important." "But then? What should make those Roma, those children? "" I do not know. Do not even pay taxes. It is not my job. Let them go elsewhere. They can not stay in the squatter camps. "(I wash my hands.)

" But they are children! "" I know, but we can not do anything! We are in crisis. We can not afford it. We already have our poor! Do not even pay taxes. The mother left them alone to go looking for something to eat? He did not have. Now shouting? Pretends. The gypsies always pretend. Non-compliance of mourning for people who leave children alone. I urge the mayor to get around at night through the streets of downtown. There are many elderly, homeless and desperate people who sleep in the street. Why not ask the 30 million to give them a home? "

We must wash our hands, in fact.

But there's something terrible behind these allegations.

Despair has no age or skin color. A desperate is just desperate. In the face of despair, we can not wash our hands in the name of the accounts of the laundress, economic interests. Something must be done. Take charge immediately of the problem. Then we'll see how to fix it. Then fareanno all the reasoning necessary.

not always two plus two equals four. Sometimes it has to do five. No other justification than the moral obligation to protect the weak. First of all children. Even foreign children. Even those rom. All. A child is a child.

In our

Italy, where the powerful have the destiny of the weak, when their economic interests are well before the lives and dignity, "I care" became "I wash my hands." Or worse.

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Viaggio con la mente. 158°

Sometimes the trip. Without using your legs. With no means of transport. Without LSD or other. Only in the mind.

a few minutes. I go where I want to go at that time. It is not fantasy. It is free thought.

Like me with music.

I bring with me if you like.

The places where I have almost always solitary, away from everything. Escape, in short.

A plain sight. Gray, brown, burgundy. I see it from above. I like to see things from above and then declined. A very long road. Silence.

I set out along the road toward the horizon. The sky is white and yellow.

Now I'm riding a camel. As I guess that straddle a camel. I feel the smell of camel and is equal to the smell of horse. The camel is. We walk towards the horizon without haste.

around, always gray, brown and burgundy. It looks like a landscape turned off, but it is not. It is very nice, however.

Light wind on your face. Tranquillity. Silence. Far down there, I like to see a figure who is waiting for me. I choose to see my mother that I no longer have. He smiles. I really like being a bit 'with her, here in my places of the mind. It gives me a hand to help me get off the camel. He smiles and I smile. There are no words that come out of his mouth. But it looks that convey thoughts.

tell her everything about me and of my life with that look. And she welcomes what is beautiful has happened to me. We are together, sitting at a table, eyes on the horizon. We drink tea, even if we never drank together, when he was alive. Always smiling.

The music tells me that it is evening and I have to go back. The wordless greeting and hug. I climb back on the camel, aided by my mother, and go. The return trip takes a minute.

I was fine. Without using your legs. With no means of transport. Without LSD or other. Only in the mind.

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February 6, 2011 @ 1:18 am AJ_is_addictive LINDAAAAAAAAA MY !!!!! Miss you! Aww tà £ o I'm far from an angel, but God will bless you and §! How was your day? # amore

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February 5, 2011, 11:36 pm Affz have to stop calling the people of # AMORE the people think and intimate ja ..! And so educate § Ã £ o same ..!

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Il suicidio di un adolescente. 157°

Suicide in itself is very difficult to accept. But the suicide of a teenager is untenable. Anyone who has somehow crossed his life with a suicide knows that it can be terrible sense of powerlessness that grips you. "Why," "if" and "maybe", you think. Not "why did he do?" But "because I did not understand? Why did not ask me anything? Because no one has noticed anything? If I had said something, even if I had imagined, perhaps .. "

Suicide is the most terrible failures and causes the most excruciating pain. Whoever kills leaves and leaves you with your questions answered. It is the rejection of life and from all over the world, including yourself that remains.

not want to talk to their parents. A parent dies with the suicide. A child who kills himself takes away the parents.

not want to talk to teachers, pain and fear they feel when they read of a teenager who commits suicide. Afraid it might happen to them a child who commits suicide. Pain because suicide is the negation of life, the life that they, at school, should be taught to deal with. And pain and fear as a boy in class who had committed suicide for years that shows that their work did not help to save him from himself and maybe, if they had explained questo, se avessero detto quello, avrebbe potuto salvarsi.

Voglio parlare della vita e dei ragazzi che non sanno viverla.

La cosa più importante della vita è proprio la vita stessa. Tutto quello che facciamo, pensiamo, desideriamo avviene nella vita. Senza vita non c’è più niente. La vita sa essere bella ma anche terribile. Quando si dice di un ragazzo che muore che “aveva tutta la vita davanti” si dice che non aveva vissuto e non potrà più farlo.

Un adolescente è come un bruco che deve diventare farfalla. Noi, che dovremmo fargli vedere la farfalla che c’è in lui, a volte non ci riusciamo. Noi, insegnanti e genitori, che sappiamo per esperienza which will become butterfly, sometimes does not know how to listen and recognize all the pain, all the despair that a boy tries to see themselves and believe caterpillar forever. "Forever" is an eternal time to accept for those who are ill. The boy who commits suicide is incapable of understanding that pain is temporary, that every fool that can happen to be soon forgotten, that nothing happens if you do not have the girl, because sooner or later meet, what you can live your life even if you've discovered to be homosexual, this time called the "best age" is in fact, for many, an age terrible, but it will pass.

We adults have a duty to prevent this dead-end despair that can lead to suicide. The boys and girls who do not accept themselves, their lives, and the frustration that comes from the note that is not peaceful as they wish, they may want a permanent escape, an exit from the world to save them, that all gates in a flash their suffering. They do not want to suffer, why not find a reason to do so, because they are convinced that there is no solution. They feel that the pain will only increase, because they will never be beautiful, skinny, how society wants them. Will not succeed, will not be loved. Caterpillars will remain forever, while others are already butterflies.

Dominika was seventeen. He was a teenager. At 9 am on a school he took a rope from the gym, he hung in the bathroom and it was gone forever.

Dominika she looked in the mirror and saw fat. Too fat. It was not like the thought that the company wanted. He tried many times with diets to remove the extra pounds - perhaps only-you saw on his body. The boy who loved chose another. Normal. Right. Love can not be an obligation. But she has been living proof of the fact that his body was just right. Who knows what will have suffered. How will cry. Sola with herself and with her being burn forever. If he had confided. If you had asked us to all of us, even strangers. Had he been able to wait. If he had written in a theme. If he had warned her friends. If he had asked for help from the teacher of the first hour. If there had been a gym rope. If he had written on facebook, maybe one of us would read, perhaps we would have known how to help, we would save him from himself and his desperation to burn forever. Why did they do in school? Why did he do today? Why has not asked for help from parents? If, if, if. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Why, why, why.

Dear Dominika, you were wrong to go così. Bastava solo aspettare e avresti vissuto chissà quanti anni. Avevi tutta la vita davanti.

"Paradiso sto arrivando", ha scritto. Spero che, almeno, esista davvero un paradiso.

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Quello che non serve si butta. 156°

Non solo “Quello che non funziona si butta” (post 83°), ma anche quello che non serve.

Lo hanno scoperto sulla loro pelle cento bellissimi Husky da slitta che, dato che non servivano più perché i turisti erano molto diminuiti, sono stati massacrati con una bella fucilata in mezzo agli occhi azzurri e finiti da un colpo di grazia vibrato con a knife. A bullet for one and no one else, to save even those. That's why the knife. For pity's sake. Because the worker "has seen horrible scenes." I find it hard not to believe it, because the scenes are horrible just thinking about it. The black and white robe stained red with blood are not beautiful to imagine.

The Husky is guilty of being a good dog, playful, strong, strong, sweet and docile. A perfect dog to roam tourists from Vancouver, running on the sled through the snow. But now tourists, unfortunately for them, are a few: What are all those husky? Nothing. What is not needed is thrown, it's simple.

The solution was to kill them like dogs.

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Nostalgia di lands. 155 °

Many assume that to foreigners living in Italy is far better than the one that led to their land and the gratitude that we should allow them to live here. Better? I doubt it.

This morning I crossed the street, just for a moment, the sad look of a young black woman and I felt his great nostalgia.

Foreigners are sad away from their land, even if it is poor or very poor. Although we eat because we make them work (even in black).

Imagine a beach in Africa. Imagine a young black woman who walks in the countryside. Blue sea, clear sky, sand. Colorful outfits, red, yellow, blue, black skin, under the old tree of words, music, silence.

A girl lies down on the sand. Ride with the white teeth. Washing, cooking, pet a goat, ties a white handkerchief on his head and green mo 'turban.

Bring in Italy that girl, put a black coat, replace the sun and the colors of his homeland with the fog in Milan, give her a sandwich from McDonald's and then think again that surely here in Italy There is fine.

There, at his home, far away, she woke with the sun and ended the day with the stars. There were his friends, his family, his children.

Here there is no wind noise, there are no colors, it's cold, ice, snow, confusion, traffic, malice, wickedness, deceit, selfishness, bunga bunga. Above all, there's so cold. Often in our hearts. There are looks for them, for those foreigners who have come from somewhere and who knows what shady deals. Foreigners who steal the work to the Italians. "What if they return to their homes." Would do so immediately, if they could. People pass and

ignores them. Nobody cares what he thinks that black girl from the look sad, and what were his dreams. She was poor, and this must suffice. She's lucky to be here in our beautiful and artistic treasures of Italy full of tourists. The pleasure must, Italy.

Otherwise, why do not you go?