What a thought-who then makes you do is now to be standing up and write shit on the net? -
In fact, if one thinks is right. Who am I doing this? no, just that I was bored and I finally turned on pc. Finally
Why? Because since they are no longer a youngster slakers totally irresponsible and immature but brutally am a young actively used quite brutally immature and irresponsible I have not the time to be bored. All
to despise boredom, in my day. There was a song on Malinconoia Masini (Masini should write treatises on the craziness that ... more songs) and there was a widespread view that evil was bored. Actually I have always felt comfortable boredom. My nature to be a bit 'so passive, but to me not doing shit like that. Crazy. To cultivate my passion I had a lot 'of time between zero and twenty-five years and non lo sapeste, per non fare un cazzo è necessario non avere assolutamente nulla da fare (aiuta non avere nemmeno nulla a cui pensare, o comunque nulla di pressante). Così ho dovuto presto sviluppare una serie di tecniche per farmela passare. La mia più recente scoperta in questo settore è il mondo dei blog. Ma in un modo o nell'altro scrivere è sempre stata la maniera migliore per vivere attivamente la noia.
(In verità esiste un modo migliore per farsela passare, ci sono riuscito per qualche anno, si tratta di giocare con le macchinine ot-uills, con i trasssformer, con i Gi.Ai.Gio con le micromascin e con i personaggi di I-Men. E soprattutto con i LEGO. Poi sei li che non fai un cazzo in cameretta, decidi di fare una storia in which one of 66 red mustang two men jump out of LEGO that are actually secret agents but you imagine them as facts and Lolly Bo and have to find where is hidden the bottle cage of micromascin that contains a prisoner who then in their friend Reality is a strange little man who comes from a trassssformer those with the man-of-robot-head and suddenly, on organizing the most beautiful highway in the middle of the desert then the white embroidery on the quilt made hand from mom, you feel terribly stupid.)
at the moment but it seems really impossible to be bored for good.
A few years ago really the germ of the responsibility I cursed the days and corrodes the mind, fueling the anger of my guilt that I had also identified with the wisdom of the fourteen years as the primary enemy of peace, and swore that I would have been wiped out forever, only to find myself on my back now that I go into the thirties with the pace serenity of a lame nonvedente going to pull the decisive penalty in the World Cup. Leverage
so my rare moments of boredom trying to keep alive the habit of inventing stories, hoping that this take over and become an excuse to get rid of commitments and broken balls, leaving me free to be bored in front of a blank page, playing it becomes a cluster of signs, hoping that they tell me something nice.
And you who read here, my brother, you pay the consequences.
groping.
