How To Seal A Concrete Tub

head and stomach full.

second album NoFx, branded 1989, I joyfully is ill-treated ears in the short-ears headphones journey, and I can not help but think that when they, the NoFx, the 'extracted from the cylinder (a cylinder that I imagine rumpled and dusty, strictly punk), I was 4 years.
Yes, these are nostalgic 3:00 at night. Maybe because I'm
surviving a night with friends like many, many indeed. An evening framed by night, drooping from the branches of trees lit by lanterns and rickety tables in Who have put a little wood to flourish on their surface fresh bottles of burgundy red, appetizers from carnivores to eat with bare hands and almost endless string of useless toast.
This time we went up to Ariccia , but we dug in the inland rural South of Rome, to discover this Fraschetta Tor Pagnotta , where you choose the meat you cook on the grill waiting only you.
( Reddy, in whose veins runs the blood of the 'assigned to the barbecue "promised to others and especially to himself that he would not have taken down her buttocks from the bench, but ...)
binge old style , in the long, narrow rectangle of our table at night. But this is nothing but friendship is the spice to season meats, bruschetta, wine and - finally - coffee, bitter almond biscuits ... special dinner in a filthy and in which those 20 euro per head kitty never seems to end. Like the time around the plank.
the series, we're still us. Someone will bloated holiday in the U.S., someone will go in September to live with the woman, still limps from one temporary contract extensions (I, at the time, until the 8th of August in the library, crossing his fingers and shoelaces) , someone speaks of friends who are married, someone comments on previous trips, stolen kisses and already fantastic his head toward the next flight beyond the Italian border.
One of those nights when all the edges of where you feel that you realize that only the edge of a piece of the puzzle where you grooving to perfection.
And maybe it's just the wine to polish, or perhaps they are the sincere smiles that reciprocate for a lifetime, to make smooth the lubricant red blood that falls in the throat.
Basically these are people who have watched him grow, one of them you have seen the birth, almost, even though it is stuff 28 years ago and could never remember it . When those who had the scooter was a myth, quando una partita a pallone ti svoltava la serata, quando bastava comprarsi qualche birra e finire la serata dentro una macchina a chiacchierare . Quando i torelli alcolici per strada - quando di palloni ne vedevi quattro invece che uno - sapevano farti ridere fino alla contorsione gastrica; quando proprio in quello stesso stomaco non ti entrava più niente, eppure c'era sempre spazio per un-panino-dallo- Zozzo .
E se i pezzi grossi dell'Italia politica, quelli esemplari, ad un certo punto si danno le spalle ripudiandosi a vicenda e condividendo solo la parola "libertà" nel loro riempirsi la bocca e le tasche ("Popolo della Libertà" uno, vecchio stampo; "Futuro e libertà" the other, cool fresh split), I'm thinking the real links. And I am convinced that - despite the multitude of things to tell each other - the real links are those that stand the test of silence, the game looks, smile, life in a few gestures and few words. When you look at someone and you've already said all there is friendship without ulterior motives, without the Knights in the wave (or what is aired). Why
see that you are you and those around you that they are always giving you the comforting feeling of walking on paths known and safe, even if you are so often taken by what surrounds you (and surrounds you and did not fit in vise) does not even have time to watch your feet to see what they are treading. Or look up to see what you're missing.
My guitar has been very out of tune tonight, probably helped a little and hurt by soft fingers, "Anna Karenina " borders on the threshold of 1000 on page 1024, the writing knocked bully, probably pouring in nonsense, but NoFx continue to shout in the ears, while the lovely evening with friends continued to cry in his eyes. And even if my new Serenity inland waters away from me, I look back at old things, invigorated by the will to persist over time. And I smile, why is there still want to feel good. Even now that
NoFx have stopped screaming and the new silence unrolling carpet inviting you both to sleep, is the vigil and also to the twisted cross that is the dream.

I only wish a good night unless poisoned possible. And even when sleeping already, and who does not sleep.

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Xavier Rudd, clean face with bare feet. Conflicts

Since yesterday I can still hear the voice of Xavier Rudd , arctic in its acute and myeloma and intimate at the same time when it came to slow down. The multi-instrumentalist singer
Australia - with a stage presence that is a cross between a surfer and Aboriginal - enchanted me like few others in recent months. It 's a melodic - electro - ethnic-rock, his ... frame it as it may put a series of adjectives before the word rock. To understand, Xavier Rudd sounds - as well as acoustic guitar, electric and lap - steel (in fact, resting on her lap) and battery - even three didgeridoo, tubular wind instruments typical of the tribes Aboriginal Australia. The sound that comes out is cavernous and vibrant, essential for many of the songs from the blond angel face (barba a parte).
Non sono un suo affezionatissimo fan, non conosco tutte le sue canzoni a memoria (anzi, molte non le conosco proprio... e provare a rimediare ascoltando la sua discografia a valanga nelle ultime settimane non ha aiutato granché), eppure - quando l'ho scoperto l'anno scorso per caso - sono rimasto folgorato da " Home ", uno dei suoi pezzi più intimi (almeno nell' interpretazione ). Da lì, per quanto ho potuto, ho approfondito la conoscenza. Mi ci sono affezionato, l'ho considerato - forse con un minimo di egocentrico mecenatismo - una mia scoperta da diffondere al mondo ( cioé Roma, quartiere Eur and surroundings).
When I came to know - by post on Fb a friend - who would play in the peaceful wooded setting of Villa Ada, I bought a ticket in advance excited. One for me and one for her, miabella S.
arrived at Villa and I miabella with the idea " pic - nic + concert" (armed with beach towels, books, bottled water and Frigoverre with colorful salad of farro), we met Xavier, on board the pond, outside the concert. He was wearing only a pair of shorts (bare feet, they said, are routine in Australia) and protective embrace its beautiful setting the stretch of water full of concentric jets. I shook my hand, of miabella , and I said "It 's him, is he." She smiled at me as could be done against the boy who jumps in front of eager lights of Luna Park.
The same desire led us to shorten the time of the dinner (still my fault) and transfer the read-time directly in concert, using the fence as the back under the stage.
an hour and a half since the beginning of the concert, in the neighborhood it was just the two of us, our beers and our books (for the record, "Anna Karenina " now is the final sprint. I miss 200 pages. .. that are always 200 pages, but for a book di 1024 pagine sono "la-volata-finale", CHIARO!?).
Con pigrizia, la notte ha spento le luci della nostra sala-lettura improvvisata , ha acceso quelle colorate di rosso, viola e blu del palco e ha stimolato la gente ad ammassarsi sotto.
Dopo minuti di buia attesa, è comparso Xavier Rudd , vestito di una camicia marrone pastello smanicata e di un pantalone lungo e leggero da saltimbanco, con orli arrotolati per non intralciare la performance dei suoi piedi nudi, piccoli e tozzi, ma più efficienti di un metronomo.
Ha preso posto sullo sgabello, su uno dei due min i- palchi innalzati sul palco: quello di sinistra, surrounded by his drum skins and its didgeridoo. From there started the friendly and musical challenge by getting looks accomplices, smiles, frenzied improvisations and changes of pace playful against the mini-stage opposite. Surrounded, the latter by an incredible number of skins and cymbals drums, abused by vibrant force and involvement by Andile Nqubezelo , the massive black drummer. From
fair trial, more than anything else nell'amplesso lanky and amused with her five and six-string bass, there was - in the center - Tio Mol onto , smiling child frail in body and light as dark blue afro.
That is to say, perhaps because of a technical oversight, perhaps because of the indomitable power of the six-string bass, during the first pieces at the slightest touch of the strings by Tio departed from the speakers distorted and vibrating board arrogant, capable of probably uncombed.
Xavier has played, sang for two hours, has run more than a little amused to write string to his fellow stage, watching with dreamy eyes. He has blown in his didgeridoo until his lungs (certainly more spacious than those of a human being) it to him 'have allowed, he plucked the strings of his guitar, he cuddled with his vocal chords the eardrums of the public, has taken the time stamping his foot on the wood, and then tore off her headphones and danced and pirouettes, to embrace and final Andile Tio .
After the release of the trio sober, the lights went out and me and miabella S. There are secluded with ears smiling.
There have been rumors and final comments with Silvia and Lorraine Tao cousins \u200b\u200b"and Max Mariani, too enchanted by Xavier (but who have opted for lazy listening Senior on chairs in the back of the auditorium) .
quit Villa Ada, a calm languor of a dinner which has the fleeting thought of the corn goodnight. A quench thirst predictable post-cob, however, and has the thought of the water bottle, fortunately almost immaculate.

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Were you chilled, despite the heat that sticky, like a blanket, was heavy layer on your skin.
you been arrested outside the pitch of the ridiculous to the district tournament, while the two teams that have played before if they gave a thrashing, do not be satisfied with a 11-4 that has never had history. Suddenly something switched on, boys, and sucked all in the eye in midfield.
Were you surprised by so much brutality, mentre gente con rasature fotocopia sulle teste, posture e fisici appena palestrati tipo i rapper bianchi dei video di Mtv , lanciava cazzotti nel vuoto, sperando di incontrare del pieno , e possibilmente di fracassarlo.
Sei rimasto in ascolto degli schiocchi di nocche che colpivano ossa e pelle, dell'isterismo di chi - da fuori dal campo - aggrediva la rete perimetrale come se volesse sbranarla, a dimostrazione di ciò avrebbe potuto fare ad un corpo, se se lo fosse trovato nei paraggi. E il neon dei riflettori brillava sul sudore creando aloni di irrealtà intorno a schiene e braccia contratte.
Sei rimasto in ascolto anche della calm voice of someone who, chest puffed up with pride, and poses, he went out for a walk from the field and and stated in a logical-philosophical "we have to wait them out and then fall asleep a ficult.
... until the case is not dropped a curtain of blood from a broken nose.
The most comfortable, because there just wanted gamble ball in the pit hath been found in draw for all - with drops of dark red - the way towards the dressing rooms, a "Tom Thumb 'directed by Tarantino.
Did you finally listen to your voice that only he could find no words for such (dis ) Human violence, whereas it a packaged, speech, for your property and your lack of action, at least from peacemaker. Coward.

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From post-it to the post.

Since we spent so much time, I would have so much to write for the writing of this post I outline a previously pinned on a post-it.

Since being added, is always a very special feeling to pull out my copy of Generation Boing from the library of the room, which blends the coast until a moment before, including names much larger literature. Usually I lose myself for a moment between the warm colors of the cover (that I know by heart, but which reveals a new detail every time), I open a page at random (nice paper, the graceful font), I read something (I have reconstructed in head before and after the story quell'estratto) and stay with the uncertain feeling that something is mine, but at the same time not. It will not even remotely resemble the notebook scribbled on which history has taken its first steps. Will that - a comparison of his version of the manuscript-spit from home printers - it seems the twin athletic and sleek. Will be the three years spent in the metaphorical drawer. However there are studying at a distance, and I published the book, we smell, it hard to recognize, to give importance to our relationship that in some ways be a time we saw one. But anyway, whenever I put in what is now its slot on the shelf light wood, we greet each other with a wink, and there is no need to add more.

And over the weeks, satisfaction increases rather than decrease, together with press releases, presentation after presentation, bouncing here and there, with canguresco "Boing!", the existence of this book.

Stefano Giovinazzo, my editor, with commendable enthusiasm update the article after article in the publisher's website (click and scroll down, if interested).

Outside the enchantment of the publication, however, I am still a 28 year old Italian - a degree in humanities as a field of Communication Science - struggling to find a job which, at least vaguely, give meaning to these five universities with his foot on the accelerator. Rather than fight, in fact, it's the jackpot in lottery. After a couple of years in advertising agencies to collect "unpaid internship" - which now are more than fashion of (and paid jobs around in less than one drink per hour) - I find myself now (February) to make the clerk-temporary-part-time in a library. At least until July 20th (the date on which I strongly committed to writing at least another couple of posts to give new life and depth to this virtual blog). But the peculiar thing is that, although ambitious work not just on paper, just the I paper handling at work - books, in fact - gives me a rewarding enthusiasm tactile, olfactory, visual and auditory (yes, the books speak to me and I talk to them, but you would have known already from the previous paragraph). So rewarding in many ways. Especially since often a large part of my salary, turning into bags full of books, not crossing the exit of the library. But dealing with clients - talk, give advice, receive advice, to agree with them, "he read hundreds" - can give delicious emotions. Certainly, after a few weeks to learn to distinguish at least three types of customers:

- Customer thoughtful ("I'm looking - says while reciting or reading from a card or mobile phone - book author X Y " )

- customer insecure ("'m looking for a book of which I remember a few words of the title but not the author " or vice versa);

- customer from psychoanalysis ("I'm looking for a book " ). Trying to avoid a face " and thanks to the Ca ... " Psychoanalysis, in this case, it shows my speech to extrapolate from the subconscious interpretation of the customer a title and / or author.

But, as I said, my work Scocchera midnight July 20. And I will hope that it turns into something more serious collaboration with another agency, carried out in parallel and at the time prompted me to write articles like this , this and this .

Life goes on regardless. Although Italy in the World Cup, despite Italy and gagged League ta , despite the Vatican tries to put a cross on priests and pedophilia, despite the slippery stairs of Italian prisons and their prisoners who are careless always there to trip over, despite the clubs easy, despite B. and P (which currently seems to be arrived at "3" is renewed over the web that is only 2.0), although some rubbish due to the fact that many politicians and many mobsters now you wear clothes sewn by the same tailor. Although Robin (my Roll Birroso) I try to fight during the day shots of weights and abs, and that I have the evening in pubs, despite my guitar - to be in tune with my voice - it sounds out of tune.

And even more.

There will always be a new trip (of course, low cost, such as in Malta this weekend June 11 to 13), there will always be some new movies to watch, some new concert expected to attend (such as that of Green Day in October last year, as the surprise free Eric Sardinas a few weeks ago or as the next in late July: Xavier Rudd, Cristiano de André - his own father - and Giovanni Allevi) there will always be some new game of football to play, there's always some new book to read (even if the pages of the 1025 Anna Karenina, sometimes, make me doubt this). There will always be some new story to write, that actually already exists, everything is in your hands after losing out almost a year and finish it as it deserves.

There will always be something that I forgot to write in this post summary.

On balance - especially those of the exaggerated lines of this post and minutes available to me before my evening rendezvous - for the future, I can only wish me this: peaceful existence, written with the " S "capitalized.