This is a tedious night.
Sounds like the beginning of a Poe novel, terror, mystery, or simply a book of Harmony. Maybe it's taken from Proust's Recherche.
is certain is that I keep you in doubt for a few moments as I confess that the incipit is mine and is mostly pro (u) static.
's one of those romantic nights, but not in the sense of candles, glances, kisses, tasting of Chablis and Petit final fuck hairy carpet before the fireplace. No, none of this.
Romantic in the sense of Sturm und Drang: storm and surge. Type of Caspar guy on top of the mountain surrounded the fog, or foam that sculpts storm with its brute force stacks, cliffs, walks and sometimes even of lovers in love with any car and suitcases for the weekend to Lerici. Remember a little 'Byron and Shelley is not it? About Ah, for those who did not know who they were ... one is the name of a beagle and the other with a cherry liqueur. In this regard I think it's time you come to make you a (liquor).
short, Sturm und Drang = Rain and Fuck.
storms mentioned, sirocco t'appiccica clothes to the skin, wind infamous, annoying clicking sound of the drops on the glass (I do not envy those who sleep in the attic, but terribly envious who, in the attic, he tenderly holds between the covers), internal disruption, angry exterior, women, love, marriage, children, and more that can violently disturb the sleep of a poor soul who lives in this world. Of course, all seasoned grimly with two drops of tears (human) and two slices of romance, if it eats sugar-free is really disgusting.
It's a little 'damned poet, almost bohemian, right?
Only here there are only a Bohemian crystal, absinthe is around selling colored syrup (if you want to waste time at least try cube, slotted spoon, top hat and scarf great color), the true poets are engaged to give the harp as the storytellers (Stone) Asterix and we're just cursed you.
Because in the end you are alone with your thoughts and feel inane, Onan and, in short, useless against the evolution of events to the point of feeding a distrust of fate, past et future, and feel a certain sternal pressure back halfway between duodenal ulcer and the attack of angina pectoris. Then you do not know whether to take a proton pump inhibitor (typical pornographic term) or simply an appeal to aspirin and Anthony, of course, the protector of animals (animals that are not / are others).
Citing the two words key (+ ulcer angina), you already know what I'm talking about: l'amour! And down here ...
quotes Dante, Petrarch, nihilistic philosophy psychos, novelettes, soap operas, tips Tombeur de femme and longshoreman, serious and less serious psychoanalysis, dialectical proverbs and admonitions of the various friends and cronies. The more you have, and so forth. "What does not kill you makes you better," "the moral law within me", the whole series of aphorisms copied effect "random" from the dedicated website.
Surrounded by such great sadness dapper, reach the highest stage of confusion, the cosmic apotheosis of romantic disappointment, what all the great psychiatrists, including Freud, Jung, defined as "BBB Member" or "state-Bracco Baldo-Bau". Walking silently, eyes glassy and handbags, nasal speech and phlegmatic. A short, boring.
But that is often swept away like sand on a map. A breath, a slap and go, as he had never tarnished the names of those deep ocean, the signs of the delicate dried, the triangles of the mountains and forests of the foaming curves. Why abandon the scarf from the back bohemian, I found the warm heart at the thought of a smile, a curl of a rebel, the tickle in the night. The heat rises, and rises, remove words, thoughts, phrases, burn the heart and lungs, from your lips until they had touched that much more attractive flowers, does not arise in the night that the gasp of that dream you called, often and with love, simply love.
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