Bumps That Itch On Your Tailbone

Another long pause, yet another period of calm due to my problems.
I try to sleep and to soothe headaches, but do not always succeed.
However, I want to apologize for my absence, but now that I have a PC here at the clinic I hope to do better.
You do not abandon me.

"There is no escape for those living on the run", it also says Palahniuk.

This is the third installment of the chronicles of madness Romeo


THE CHRONICLES OF MADNESS - # 3



was spent just over a month after the last explosion of my passenger, but I felt I had acquired a new clarity, a strong and surprising perspective.
The angle at which you look at things is crucial, though sometimes we tend to forget the deeper meaning.
We face with the surfaces of others knowing that people are different mediums together.
This is very useful to know the angle at which the radiation we get to the other fluid.
A portion of us will always be rejected, the same as angle of arrival although opposite to the bisector of the sum of the two, while a part of our band will be possible enter in half of others.
If we know enough and that our means by which we come, we can predict the direction of our fluid.
But we know the angle of arrival to determine the deviation of our band once the interruption.
Here, the trick.
We must be careful of things to optics, refraction at the corners.
We can try a thousand times collide with a surface of another, but if we get the angle wrong with our whole band will not reach the right point. And then you will be treated just a waste of forces, a futile attempt.
If you have the foresight to understand, and then to decide the angle of attack, then you can penetrate and hit the heart.

Recently I had the opportunity to refine my technique and started to exercise to take advantage of this capability.
I could manage things well because it recognizes the different approaches have to be according to the situations that they came in front.
Where could even luckier to have a sort of power, to spell, so as to come in the media and others strike at the heart of things.
If the situation required that I was sympathetic and gentle, suddenly I become a young man, well educated, caring and willing to help others, all blandishments and empathy.
If, on the contrary, it was necessary that I was rude and dominant, here shot of my transformation into a bad boy way. As a new
Leonard Zelig. Or tree from the shore, if you prefer not to break that bends ever.

The night of the party got the results of two applications of my technique. Opposites and surprising, from some points of view.
In those days I began testing my skills using my methods on two very different girls, both interesting and somewhat unique.
Cristina was apparently a very shy and reserved girl, the kind that takes years of knowledge to them on their side.
Beautiful, dark brown hair and eyes are not too long magic can be just as sad as the girls.
really did see her in and, as a glance, could easily seem like the prototype of the girl hard, dell'introversa of wood pussy.
In fact, just had to be, with others.
I saw them all those guys that turned around, stunned by its smell, like dogs running around the boss who brings them food.
With me it was completely different, another person.
He lost that air of being superior and celestial and became flesh and blood like any other humanoid.
I could penetrate through it stunning and somehow putting it in a position of apparent submission.
the envy of all his acquaintances. Cristina
the goddess, Isis, the woman of your dreams.
I had at my feet and I did not even try too hard to maintain homeostasis in this report.
The trick was in having guessed the angle at which you had to collide with his soul, with his girl I ever sad about being old and deep wounds. The unmatched
always seems to have a dark past that haunts. The
easy for him but really, the dark past full of problems, only that they vent with interpersonal relationships. With sex, with drugs. It's their escape. Cristina
so it was a beautiful and haughty problem refractory to reports, those who, with their velvet eyes steal the souls of men unprepared.
I would say that was part of a well in type.
In this case, then served up close, pretend not to notice and even if you could, to treat it a bit 'wrong, as if she were one of many. Without
never give the impression of being interested, I turned around like a vulture Cristina problems revolves around a carcass map. I began to cibarmi her just accidentally exposed himself to my attack. Sferrai that I, of course, using an angle measured with the required expertise.
She was a highly intelligent, yet he saw nothing, did not even have an inkling, not the most distant presentiment the fact that I was applying a rigorous scientific method and make it my own.
I knew two weeks ago when he invited me to the graduation party of some of his friends, two new doctors well-dressed and smiling, ready to break through any door without ever turning around to see his own shadow that follows them. Lucky them, so light and determined not to see the misery, not to notice nothing at all.
the party also met Anna, ready to party with us-not that I give a shit, the title earned by graduates "junior novel (that's how you call it now?).
she had known the night I saw for the first time, Cristina, at a dinner at the home of mutual friends.
It was just that night that I decided to try my "corners" of the two.
But if things were easy with Christine and the curiosity to try my ability to force myself was born also a kind of relationship with Anna I did not have the same success.
gave me a big problem, a hard, as they say.
I saw inside, fuck, she was translucent, as if all my manners and my techniques were useless.
The funny thing, moreover, is that Anna was not a difficult as it was Cristina, than I can say that one of those girls seemed nice and helpful, giving confidence to anyone who knows them, without particular distinction. Anna was in fact the classical type easy to conquer, perhaps those with real problems in their past but who have much more strength than you think, so my attempts to undermine his world did not work at all.
I tried to log in to his soul with every corner I knew I had used all perspectives, all of them.
Nothing to be done, for me it was impossible to penetrate a wall, a fortress.
is a paradox, but for others it was probably easier to win, unlike Cristina, but I could not find a way.
Not that I wanted to win for it or take it to bed, since I had already Cristina (which I liked a lot more), only that I was curious to experience again my methods.
Of course, there was also a good dose of ego and desire for power behind everything, I knew, but it was mostly curiosity.
In short, all the party looked at me with envious eyes because I was the new boyfriend of the beautiful and unattainable Cristina, but I could not build on more modest and accessible Anna.
a mystery to me.
I would have expected to struggle a lot with the first, instead I found myself in the situation opposite to that dictated by appearances.
The theory and practice do not always coincide.

we arrived early enough, walking down the street that passes under the tower and leads to the establishment, just behind the Triennale.
We had the expression on the faces of enthusiasm mixed with embarrassment typical of new couples who are to participate in events that expose them to all other acquaintances.
On the one hand you feel excited to show your partner to your friends, the other is perceived as being under observation, the center of attention and gossip, so that even the most ordinary gestures become like a little 'mechanical and clumsy.
I pretended to know the happy herd of gourds which were at the party and I thought to myself just to go to the counter.
Of course I was happy to stay with Cristina, probably I should not wish anything better in life, I was aware of but, as usual, inside me was already alive the feeling of oppression that black I condemned to live as an outcast from some time now. It was a conceptual
snake that lurks in my bowels and suffocated me with its coils inside. It made all my attempts failed.
The perfect girl, writing that began to flow, have got away with two murders.
I had to be in seventh heaven, but I felt suffocated. I was again feeling
explode my passenger and I let him go I realized that was the only way to continue to support myself and the world.
Men can not stand, do not bear the whole of humanity, I tell you. This is why we kill, We shoot, launch missiles or there to make us jump with explosives in crowded places.
is for the same reason that those who conceived thought of forcing us to sleep.
We sleep because we would not do to put up with for 24 hours straight. Odieremmo us, we would come to kill us.
We sleep for one third of our lives so that we can live with ourselves fucking. I
I knew I could not repress certainly pushing all this crap again in some remote part of my mind, then, once we arrived, I began to think like trying to put out the sparks of oblivion I crowded thoughts.
Of course, I could just get rid of pleasantries related to new and interesting knowledge, I fiondai the counter.
alcohol kept me good, faded in me the desire of nuclear apocalypse that I felt at times. So I left
Cristina to a group of four or five suitors chapels always wet and I sat on the stool of the bar, at that time, fortunately, not yet crowded.
heard them try it with my wife, but I did not care. I had the keys to the house, the kids would stay out tonight as the others. While
smiled to hear their ridiculous ways of bullies to get in competition with one another and to show more cock cocks chicken, I decided to order a drink. A double vodka
was what we wanted, at least temporarily to fix my demon.
my taste with the tongue tip the liquid inside the glass I could notice the change in taste that occurs when the distillate comes into contact with the taste buds and the cold due to the low temperature of the drink was giving way to 37 degrees of my flesh and in this passage seemed to catch the water phase separation in alcohol, which evaporates, leaving the outer surface of my mouth a cool feeling dry.
While I enjoyed that moment and wonder I felt like every time at that precise moment he was alive the taste of corn on my palate, something distracted my thoughts sharply.
vivid and joyful was the voice of Anna, who greeted me with a "eeehhhiiiiiii" long eternity.
He sat in beside me and ordered a daiquiri.
His gaze was like a loaded gun pointed at heart, I had no way to escape that threat and I felt terribly difficult, in ridiculous difficulty.
We began to talk about issues mostly futile, and I could not concentrate much on conversation, since I was not able to control his inquiring eye.
But they were not only the eyes, no, it was Anna who rejected all of my techniques and respond to attacks with new and more powerful methods of submission. He did that trick with the mouth, or slightly opened up his lips, gracefully moving the jaw toward the fixed jaw jaw, as if he was gritting his teeth without touching them together. As the face that you do when you feel a slight pain, or an insect bite or a small burn.
He did well when he laughed, leaving in this case more discovered all his perfect white teeth stood out in the light glistening with saliva.
these small movements of the muscles of his face were to me at the same time delicious and horribly annoying, since not only distracted me from my meticulous techniques, but also managed to capture me and let me in in his world, in his game.
that I would end with her questions, with an interest in her and maybe even the dangerously expose myself in person.
It was like she already knew everything about me, how I can not say, perhaps through divination rituals that followed the meticulous control of the other apparatus through facial expressions and use the jug.
In any case it was dangerous for me because I could get to the point of telling all my problems, my pleasures, my passenger.
Fortunately, the holidays are full of annoying characters that pop up suddenly ready to break off the dialogue-quasi-serious that come alive in front of the bar counters.
Thanks to some friends of Anna, in fact, I managed to avoid sounding my self even more and then vomit to keep from in front of my interlocutor.
frantic few moments of hugs and kisses, jokes vulgar and obvious, smiles and handshakes, and this was enough to break the spell and save me from error.
Then we came upon the festivities, and she with him in a full suit of at least € 1000, there was a spree, I rejoined the sweet Cristina and walked away from me trying to be evil thoughts, do not say a normal person, but at least not a crazy homicidal geek. The evening was short
slipping away from cigarettes, drink and pee. Around 2
however, in the middle of the night and the festivities, Cristina moved away to talk with some friends and I was again trapped by Anna. At the
"I do not think you think all the things you say," I asked if we could get out a moment from the pit and go for a smoke in a place where I could avoid having to read lips to understand his words (and in this case it was dangerous to read lips, his mouth being his best weapon).

In the space that separated us from the place where I was bringing to his knowledge, there were at least 200 people, two rows of cars, traffic lights and a pickup truck stopped on the sidewalk to work as a kiosk sandwiches and drinks.
I had to follow a focus in as not to attract people's attention, now I had become more careful in the preamble and in the preparation, you never know some little detail in the future can be a big mistake.
then walked with his head down, trying to keep myself surrounded by people so confused by my profile and that of my victim with the others that followed the small road, or who were preparing to cross the traffic lights.
Once across the road, we began to walk more calmly, talking about all the things that you should not talk about anything, from his childhood through to more recent demons.
I was now completely clear and I confessed that I was bringing in a brutal murderess, was not scared and that I should therefore never agreed to come to see the central water supply which was right in front of the room.
also seemed amused when changing the subject I explained what they were and why those tanks was necessary to have activated carbon filters.
However, it was enough to distract me and walk around the tree until you reach the rear area that was completely hidden in the shadow of any artificial light, but it was she who had the most brilliant idea: "Climbing".
And so we were inside in the dark, without the eye could see (the only eye which I was worried was that of the camera, luckily, was oriented towards a single area of \u200b\u200bthe station).
Anna enjoyed walking in front of me while I was trying to understand how it was possible that my behavior had not suspicious.
When we arrived in the darkest hour, the hostess tanks with filters, I felt the tremor, what I had been accustomed to recognize.
Hands pulse and sweat, the veins on his temples beating, arrhythmias, the throat swells and does not want to pass the air.
The black figure of Anna was ahead of me in the dark, leaving a trail of scent and I was ready to relinquish control to my passenger.
The weapon that the impetus was decided to use the belt I was wearing, a strip of nylon is thick and strong.
I felt his eyes shoot out of the cavity, so the heart pumps blood with violence, but my hands were firm and decisive.
I removed the belt and quickly wrapped around your hand, turning it a few times, as is done with a rope when you have to pull more effectively.
Almost without realizing it, I went quickly to my victim quickly by passing the tape over the raven hair that covered her head and, as soon as I passed the face, pulled me toward the belt with all the violence inside me.
At that point, crossed my arms, to multiply the effect of my strength.
The result was frightening, terrifying.
Her neck made a tremendous noise, like a heavy stone that is dropped from the roof of a building or even as two big cars that collide in a traffic accident.
I was frightened to hear that noise, so that suddenly loosened its grip and dropped the dead body of Anna turgor.
killed him with one shot, a snap.
Take a life to a young girl unaware of the intentions of his murderess is a matter of moments, then if you have physical strength and timing, it becomes very trivial.
So much hard work to come, stay alive, fighting with this crap of entropy and then comes a strange and almost kills you with a belt. Really
I wonder, should you ever have children, if I have the courage to throw fire on the other souls of this world.
Probably not, I could never do wrong so big in the blood of my blood.

No one noticed my absence (this is the good of the party), only Cristina approached me to ask where I'd end up.
replied "piss", easy to put more than expected, given the frenzy of those processes that were not quite as popular, some designer of interior architecture had decided to do for three quarters promiscuous.
However, I spent yet another hour drinking vodka and smoking cigarettes waiting for the mess broke out.
I was sitting talking to Christine on a couch in the middle of the garden of the premises and despite the terrible heat, I could not sweat and feel a great feeling of liberation, almost of joy.
I felt cool and relaxed, like after an orgasm.
Then, the casino broke.
No one could find Anna, his phone rang but the call did not answer.
I was only aware of, I only knew that his phone was two hundred yards from us, quivering, lit up and played in the dark, like a lost that calls for help from the bottom of a valley endless and lonely.
the minutes passed and then the minutes became half an hour, people began to leave the club and the garden consequently emptied hordes of revelers who occupied it.
The only people not to leave the premises were close friends of Anna, those with whom she had come to the party, those with whom he was supposed to go. Even
Cristina was concerned, kept saying that Anna was not the girl from leaving the place without telling his friends.
In the eyes of my companion could read clearly an omen that it was gradually more and more real and concrete.
It was very sad.
It is always sad to see someone thinking of a person who suffers in one way or the other disappears.
As for me, I'm a beast, a selfish prick, a murderess, a rapist, a strangler.
I do not have a heart, I have no feelings, I just shit and guts warm.

We left ourselves a disco when it was morning, we head towards the house of Cristina, who was increasingly concerned about her friend's disappearance.
When we got home we undressed in a confused way, spreading through the rooms and clothing coming almost on all fours to the bed. We lay down and waited embraced sleep.
Cristina was breathtakingly beautiful and my heart bastard ran strong to remind me that my insides were outside the domain on my person.
I tried not to think about it and closed my eyes.
In sleep, I dreamed of being the center of an ancient Roman amphitheater, on a warm but windy night. I felt terribly scared and turned around wildly looking for something, while a round moon in the sky stealing the ice in the sun light to project on grimly throughout the building.
Suddenly, a vision of my blood froze in my veins: once under the amphitheater, in the shadows, a human figure with a black robe holding something in the large cap waved her arms up to the face. The sight of that person to me petrified, causing a feeling of horror in me that never in my life I had tried. It was like looking at death. Slowly
this person moved from the language of shadow that threw the stone arch on the ground and finally I could see what was holding in his hands.
was a baby.
A tiny baby wrapped in a brown blanket.
The child did not emit moans and sinister figure, not talking to me, the only sounds I could hear was the wind and that which, more in the background, seemed to recall the engine of a large vessel or, more simply, that of a central water distribution.
Then the frightening figure with the black robe sprang up raising the child's arm, holding his ankle and leaving him dangling upside down. The small
began to scream so loud and I could feel his fear, his ancestral feeling of being in danger.
I wanted to take action, do something, tear it from the hands of that "thing", but I could not move from fear.
not even moved a muscle, as in a hypnagogic paralysis.
Suddenly the dark shape he opened his hand, leaving the child to fall to the ground.
I screamed very loud, woke up sweating completely opposite Cristina, who with one hand on my chest trying to calm down. Then I
riaddormentai in the fetal position, pressed against the warm body of the woman who stood by my side.

Upon awakening I felt the usual feeling of nausea and vomited several times after, I realized one thing: that sound dull and continuous never stopped echoing in my ears. Over the
hours waned, but from that day, hearing disorders have persecuted me, causing me severe headaches.
then I began to understand.
I released dell'insofferenza life regurgitating my passenger, who took something from the world as a pledge for my stability, but then, the world, with a kind of retaliation would take something to me.
altering the visual field, chipped a tooth, leaving a trail of distant noise inside my head.

Format For Marriage Invitation

Notre-way est un voyage
Dans l'hiver et dans la nuit Nous
cherchons
notre passage dans le ciel où rien ne luit

sang as the Swiss Guards through the River Berezina.
unaware of their fate, sang a sad song that turned out to be an omen of death.

Perhaps we are all ignorant, we do not know, we can not predict.
and decipher the omens are very difficult undertaking.

why I want you all to know, why is that there appears to be much lighter than an omen, a flash of intuition.

I want you to know.



The following script is the second story of the chronicles of madness and describes the second meeting of Romeo with his Dark Passenger.


THE CHRONICLES OF MADNESS - # 2

The second time was in a different way, was like a conscious stream, controlled, conscious, warm, almost pleasant.
The first murder had been the breaking of the walls that deal with any water, just as happens to the dams, when the fluid pressure overcomes the cohesion of the concrete.
The water had poured over the valley, following the slope, controlled only by the acceleration of gravity. The reservoir was emptied, going to create a new reality, this time dynamic and continuously over time. The sudden and tragic event
left room for the endless flow of water, certainly not yet calm, but aware of their freedom and free flow constraints that would set aside all the nuances of laminar and turbulent motions.

Clara met her at random, in a sunny and muggy afternoon in mid-June.
I could not explain precisely why I had gone to the gardens of Porta Venezia, maybe I was going to mingle a bit 'to the people to have new material to write about, or I just want to feel like a human being, one of enjoyment in those trying to walk under the leaves of the oaks of the park.
walked slowly breathing in the air, trying to understand the differences in temperature between the sunny areas and shady ones, while, with the corner of my eye, I saw a poster that caught my attention quashed and for a moment the yellow flash that continued to appear every time my left eyeball trying to see beyond the normal range.
I approached the metal structure that housed the poster and noticed with pleasure that the posting was about a live music event, which was pretty interesting for at least a couple of reasons: it was free and the bands listed were all more or less all worthy of note.
rare thing for another, in this city that forces the city to conform to the iconography of the dandy dandy. Concerts
interesting, whether pop, jazz or whatever, were difficult to find in Milan, apart from two or three local who courageously pushed a certain type of culture. The fold
tremendously tank of the city was a space shield against the youth culture, the real one, not the one made only of dancing and Lacoste.
Everyone, from citizens up to the municipal council, had helped to create a ghost town, built on the apparent well-being, the machismo, the image and, above all, on economic self-interest.
In essence, there was very little. It was all smoke and mirrors. The entertainment
youth were pre-, pre-printed as ordered by the city itself.
the evening there was really little to do there in the way of nightlife and the way of the aperitif. The maximum Goduria was run both, one after another. The local
clearly reflect the essence of the city, best represent the concept of emptiness is beautiful and full of substance.
Even the bread that was consumed in the city seemed to be subject to the same attitude, in fact had a wonderful crisp skin, but inside, there was nothing but air.
The clubs were then placed fake, paper mache, where mass die of heat you had to pay a blunder and be dressed like weddings.
Inside the club could be seen, if not yet had their eyes stuck in windows that the city was laying on the apples of their citizen-zombie, the whole truth that lay behind the appearance: young women, men, children and older people, all with the "Sunday dress" (as they used to do 50 years ago) to pretend to be better than what it really is. All
happy to look like small Briatore, the Berlusconi in grass, with their faux-elegant cocktail in hand, the way they do defiant. It was really a reflection of urban culture in which there were reflected the basic principles of ethics Milanese
_ Always have, wherever possible, a lovely presence, a well-groomed appearance. Show
_ to be wealthy (although not it is) with manners and clothing. Better a shirt that signed a dozen T-shirts normal.
_ Smiling always, to give the idea of \u200b\u200bsuccess, happiness, the "good life".
_ Choose carefully the people who are close. It would be better if they too were winners, but never better than you otherwise may go unnoticed and not stand out in the group.
_ If you have a Porsche, for God, the keys hang from the neck!
_ snorting cocaine, the powerful do, then you will be powerful too.
_ Never speak of politics, is terribly out at most some powerful praise that has made a lot of money, in order to make further clear what is your lifestyle. You are the party who wins, remember this.
_ The price of things is directly proportional to their validity.
_ The beautiful music is what you listen to beautiful places. In contrast, in a place without input selection there will never be decent music. On the other hand could be a place for homeless people.

seems exaggerated this list, an exhibition of banality, a mockery, a grotesque caricature of the new-yuppies.
Unfortunately however the list faithfully reflects the foundation of the culture that the city was the most popular, without exaggeration or stress of any kind (not even to the point 5). It is unnecessary to specify
that the city was not only image and appearance, there was clearly the other side of the coin, a creeping underground culture, albeit with difficulty, through the veins of Milan and Milan.
There were still places where young people could go to congregate, play music, make art or just relax without having to prove to be the coolest or the richest in the district.
the room where the event was one of them.
In that place, situated on the banks of the artificial lake city, I had spent many evenings, often trying to kill my usual demons with alcohol.
I was trying to poison them, to fit them a little good ', and sometimes I could not.
So there I was always happy, the beer was cheap and the bands that played were always the highest level.
We had heard some of my favorite bands and surely the whole post-hardcore scene of northern Italy had gone from his box.
So I was intrigued by the list of names shown on the poster, more than half of them knew, they were bands that I liked and that I would have liked to see together in a single evening.
The festival took place the same evening and, just when I thought we would go with pleasure, gasping and I heard a female voice behind me: "Uh, cool, can also play the Zu."
turns his head quickly and saw the girl was behind me, was sweating and was dressed in a sport. Evidently he had just stopped running, you could still see the pallor of the effort spread on her face.
He had a white cotton undershirt which stood out from the shoulders tanned, while lower sprouting of small breasts almost sharp.
was very pretty, with light brown hair tied to form a ponytail that was going to break sull'attaccatura neck.
smiled, looked like a jovial person.
I told her that I liked the Zu and I added that I would definitely go to hear them that night.
She said she could not come because her roommate, with whom you would have to make in the local, had left and now no longer had the passing car. As he pronounced the words "transition" and "machine" made a grimace, like those that often make the pretty girls, when you blink and pretend a sorrow so.
There was something explicitly sexual in that sentence, and I knew immediately that was really a request, enough front object.
I told her I'd gone to take me, no problems, so I was alone and I had some problems in the car seat.
"Really?!? How nice of you! "He said excitedly, passing his hand through his shorts before stretching it to me.
"My name is Clara."
"I am Romeo I said.
That night, without even realizing it, I was under 21 at Clara's house.
I saw her come from the right side of my car, had a long dark skirt, a big shoulder bag and still wore her hair tied up.
Shit, I said to myself, that's nice.
When Clara got into the car greeted me and kissing cheeks twice, to be honest, I am a little embarrassed that unexpectedly encounter.
As I drove to the area east of the city, she started getting a lot of questions.
Where do you live, what do you do in life, you live in Milan, live alone, what have you studied and all menate.
I replied with an endless series of lies and, just at that precise moment, I realized what was happening.
the perfume had to be sandals or something, I got into pinch my nose and mucous membranes, making me nervous with every breath. She spoke while
continuously, like a machine.
also said something intelligent, was not a dimwitted, but my thought was now irrevocably fixed to the spring evening, when the beast inside I devoured my humanity out of the cage and pounce on its prey first.
I could not think of anything else.
continuously revised pictures of naked and abused his body lying in the bed of a small room of the building's student Bocconi. The beast that time
caught me off guard, off guard, because I was not expecting anything like this and because I knew I had the evil within.
But this time was playing cards with the Dark Passenger.
I felt it move inside me, as I warmed the blood through the veins, the heart, arteries, capillaries.
The feeling was calm, perhaps apparent, but I felt I had everything under control.
I took a side street, andandomi to put in a parking lot near Idroscalo anonymous.
The sky was now becoming black and the plants that surrounded the small square shield me from the rays of the moon, helping to embrace the darkness.
When I switched off the engine I heard the first salirmi blast of heat from deep within the bowels to the tip of the hair.
Sweat began to drip from his forehead and sideburns, going to gather in small droplets that still had proper size to survive the gravity remain attached to my face. But I felt
grow and form menisci limp as a result of their weight watery. They were about to fall, crashing.
All around me was giving way to a larger force, the drops of sweat were not the only ones to be ruled by something higher.
"Are we there yet?" I asked the girl with air naive and innocent.
I answered that I had parked behind the restaurant to avoid tail of the main car park.
But she saw something in that moment, you probably could see the flash of the demon in my eyes, or must have been trembling in my voice betraying my euphoric state of monstrosity.
I saw fear on his face. And that expression
lit in me strong and sudden desire to hurt her.
I wanted to beat her and make her suffer, I wanted to kill her.
The thirst for death had occurred in a clear manner, without delay, and this time more pleasant experience than the first.
Like anything else, the first time is always too adrenaline-filled excitement to enjoy it fully.
By the time you get used to, the euphoria is forever, but you can better enjoy the moment.
I was enjoying the moment.
I nourished her fear and felt an irresistible pleasure in knowing that in a few small fraction of a second she would be dead, wrapped in my grasp or under the blows of my knuckles hard and bony.
Without saying a word, she spun her body fat by sliding on the seat with one hand while trying to reach the door handle.
He gave me his back.
I was very fast: the Passas your right arm around his neck, taking her from behind.
Then, with his left hand, I helped tighten in the pincer of bones and meat.
I must have very strong close, because I heard crunching all its bones within my grasp.
His feet were moving constantly and his knees banged against seizures every part of the car, until she was able to lever arch by pointing your heels on the dashboard.
At that point, completely lost control.
I was excited, I felt I had an erection and I knew that I was only beginning. I enjoyed
shit, because I had complete control. She could not escape and that gesture of rebellion fueled more the devil that I carried inside.
suddenly I pulled my mouth to his face and a bite tore the whole left cheekbone.
I tightened the teeth with a brutality that shrapnel in the collision between the arcades, so I was able to tear any fabric that I had bitten.
inside of my mouth felt his flesh and his subcutaneous fat mix with my mucous membranes.
not a lot of blood came out, but the fat that flowed was disgusting, yellow and thick. Relentlessly continued to emerge in the laceration, producing an effect very different from the wounds that we usually see when we cut ourselves without going too deep.
It was horrible.
She shouted in a desperate, rather than the pain of awareness of the end.
was realizing that his trip was over, that his life of exile and a young girl was fading for ever, in the damn car, between the coils of a human beast.
was a cry sad, disillusioned, as if he had glimpsed for a moment all that was really the meaning of life: an infinite void.
I felt sorry, I felt pain for her, poor girl.
suddenly loosened his grip, spitting out pieces of his face on the seat.
through the opening bounded by the thin lips and well designed there was no more semblance of a gas exchange.
was dead. The
downloaded it without even fall, I just opened the door and pushed his dead body hot asphalt of the parking lot.
At that moment came in the car, suddenly, a dozen mosquitoes.
As I drove to exit the open space, I began to cry.
I cried because I could not bear the consciousness of having broken another life. I had put an end to the path of a beautiful and intelligent girl, I had no breath left in the middle of a deserted parking lot, his face torn and the body still warm, to make food from insects in summer.

I went home, still crying.
I had killed another, I was a serial murderess, a crazy ill and dangerous.
tried alcohol, I found a bottle of brandy, drank it all in an attempt to disinfect the monster who lived down in the bowels.
vomited repeatedly, weeping at the thought of that athletic body as a mannequin Cowgirl downloaded to the case in the middle of nowhere.
Then I fell asleep.
During sleep, I dreamed of being on a ship in the middle of the storm.
waves high above the bow and invaded the bridge, extending their wet tongue up my feet.
The water was black as death and emphasize the contrast with the white foam with its rivulets tried to drag me into the abyss.
I climbed higher and higher, the trees, reaching sails. But the gulf
swelled into a thousand huge bellies, but to pick me up.
I was terrified, paralyzed by fear of evil that water was approaching vessel to eat a piece of each trip.
finally arrived the wave black and horrible I had ever seen, and swallowed it all.
My silent scream froze in the larynx, but in some ways served to be able to wake from sleep.
was morning, I went to the bathroom and saw myself in the mirror.
I had the right upper incisor chipped in its inner end.
Here's another sign of tangible, physical, real body.
After the first time I was a flash in the eye, now I also had the tooth to remember who I had in me. The
beast.
daemon.
The murderess.
The Dark Passenger.

Dental Cleaning For Dogs San Antonio

Spring is a symbol of rebirth, of life force that returns After overpowering the ice.
Here, alas, we are poles apart.
Spring is a grotesque joke, a poisonous potion that diverts the mind.
The following story is the first of the writings that make up the chronicles of madness.

Here we go, we have entered into his world.

Ps The period is the right one, pay attention to things and if you can not fall in love with strangers.


THE CHRONICLES OF MADNESS - # 1


The first time was almost natural, like a stone begins to roll down a slope.
action governed by some kind of force, a gravity dark precipitates the events by making them spin out of control of the actors.
inertia was unknown, such as that surrounding people's minds when they become normal, even for a moment only, into something dark and unexpected.
In those moments, everything seemed normal, as a reflection of spontaneous and necessary.
probably were his actions, his movements, his words to put things on the inclined plane. The latter, unable to win slipping, s'affossarono completely into an abyss, running almost noiselessly up to the end of the base.

In April they began to feel the scents of the awakening, the nature spread its colors and haunting humans trying to follow the their instincts, becoming carried away by the obscure meaning and direction of the hypothalamus.
I dragged through the streets of the city, trying to avoid the disappointments and eliminating the discomfort that I felt I had out there, somewhere.
I became a loner since for some reason I was leaving the real life.
distinguish dream from reality was more complex task, which required each time a major effort, effort that I was not quite as willing to offer in exchange for that small truth and do not cross.
I had friends, some girls around the projects rather than real life and a clearly distinct from the dream world. Then
slipped and now I find myself always in the company of my nightmares, they, those who accompanied me in the darkest of nights and days through the most lucid and bright.
That evening, the warm air of spring pushed the dust in my eyes while my nostrils drew perhaps beneficial, perhaps annoying, from what little could be distinguished in that chaos of organic molecules loose.
I sat on the stone slab that separated the churchyard from the row of columns, holding a bottle, while smoking you would do later, so that we can return home without having dealt too much to think about the course of life.
The future is terrible when you are no longer teenagers.
When you're young you always have the strength to imagine a future that is better than the present condition, and then when you get older, you understand how it works, how to spin the wheel.
Tomorrow becomes a doubt the worst day of today, the problems will increase, you will have less money or there will be more costs, health will not be as firm as a time, face filled with wrinkles, your teeth will hurt, women do not go more to support your view, no one will blend the meat with your.
All actions of today would not prevent the decline, the move only a little 'forward on the time axis.
And then you understand the futility of these actions, in fact, perhaps you would realize and understand how the search for good tomorrow is indeed a further worsening of being today.
Decadence, stinking, come anyway, but in the meantime we have done nothing but worry, follow the rules, go to bed early, study up stupid stupid, washing dishes, making the bed, buy a car in installments, with exit just because a woman is the only one who accepts us.
If you know the movement of the wheel, all this worry and live very well on the track suddenly seems a futile effort.
I had understood the mechanism, then waited for the decay of granite sitting on the bench, while trying to make me less unpleasant the world by drinking something cool.
The square was, as usual, full of people more or less young people who spent their time in an apparently very serene.
Two girls sat down beside me, straddling the bench, one with his back almost attached to my shoulder.
deliberately avoiding almost hear their speeches, with the fear that they would have disturbed my concern with their frivolity.
I remember that I lit a cigarette butt from less than a minute just crushed under the sole, so as to distract from what was around me.
cigarette and ended up in minutes even finished the beer I had clutched in hand, so I decided it was time to approach the vendor and buy another bottle.
I made all the appropriate steps and lit another cigarette, this time, perhaps, to hurt me.
My thoughts were stopped and the smoke, like a modern Zeno, I was a sort of guilt, a clear sense of what was stupid and foolish to suck the foul-smelling smoke and harmful because it is only a way as any to fight the boredom that accompanies the ticking of time.
While I was intent on these thoughts from person weak (the strong do not smoke or if you smoke it does so with great taste), I noticed that someone was staring at me.
I felt his eyes resting on my face, I felt, as we perceive nearby objects when you have your eyes closed.
did not want to turn around because I knew that I would not be able to look at who was staring at me without pretending a false surprise, because I realized a bit 'of that look.
Then just finished his cigarette and crushed between the rubber sole and the porphyry soil, I turned my head.
who was staring at me was the girl who sat beside me, straddling the bench and with air from stupid.
I had thought were two, especially since she was not the one with my back almost against my arm, but he was the one who sat in front.
Her friend was getting up while my thoughts were focused on smoking, or, this is likely, I was distracted and I did not realize that she was alone.
All this matters little, because the stranger uttered a phrase that I turned away from all the other chores, "but you know I'm falling in love with you?".
The first thing I thought was that this had to be completely stupid, but then I looked around looking for someone to laugh, a prey to the happiness of having cheated his friend Romeo with a trivial joke.
Not so, the option that fits the situation was as before, that the girl had to have mental health problems, not least because it takes to approach someone like me in this way.
At first I threw a joke, but then we started to get acquainted in a rather serious, despite the fact that he kept repeating in love with me.
His name was Paola, a student at Bocconi, Apulia was, plump and dangled from my lips, no matter what I said.
I was not ever do so in a lightning strike on a girl, not that it was a great blow to be honest, but my ego is feeling invigorated and for a time that could vary from half an hour to three hours , I thought no more to the misery of human beings.
We know him a little, 'I told her a lot of balls, I told her that I was a student fuoricorso the faculty of physics, so to avoid possible links to a Bocconi (When did attend the physical?).
Then she started to say a series of banality, stupidity, clichés, putting on a veneer slapped by a typical nice and plump you feel liberated.
My instant peace of mind begins to leave, I felt an uncontrollable desire to stop that his tongue sparacazzate, I could no longer bear his speeches on Vasco (Christ of God) and how beautiful she was.
I decided that I should fuck her in a violent way, there, on time, or as soon as possible so as not to hear her speak.
Within a few minutes, with a skill and an ability unknown to my normal personality, I asked her to leave the square to move into his college dorm room.
arrived at the stable when I had already stopped listening and I could only think that I would fuck to hurt her, to rape her soft body of Bocconi trivial.
was kind to me, even when she tried to be provocative, biting his lips, trying to be desired.
managed to achieve an erection only because I thought that I would have done evil, beating, slapping him, leaving marks that night.
While he was below me, while the call with the worst words that came to mind, as my sweat dripped on the white roof, as I heard his mucous membranes become increasingly soft, I was overwhelmed by a rush of heat that made me dizzy and a demon rising from the stomach.
I never felt like I was drunk as hell at the center of where everything was moving jerkily to the effect of some evil strobe light.
His face was terrible, I could just make out, it was horrible, it was a devil. He had completely smudged makeup, her cheeks red from the impact with the palms of my hands and smeared lipstick on the mouth like they are circus clowns.
Horrible, it was horrible.
a monster spring, where I slipped my dick with all the strength I had, trying not to get scared by the sinister light that poured into the bed.
I heard her moans, hours of use, hours of pain, and I'd had enough.
My hands, a natural characteristic of a reflection, he led his neck, holding up to hurt me, until you hear the sound repulsive stress of the joints of the phalanges.
Its scary face became even more fearful when he realized what was happening.
clown was a formless, raped, raped, with flames in her eyes.
Then it was over, damn the lights went off, the weather began to flow again without intermissions, and I felt the warmth of my cum leak out from the body of the girl.
removed her hands from her neck, and how hard I was shaking, I got a immense pain in the fingers to return in a natural position, while I avoided watching the ghost of my victim.
I did not bother to hide my tracks, I made sure not to be seen.
simply put my clothes and tried to get away from that den of death as quickly as possible.
I did walk your way back home, avoiding the eyes of the people.
I was active in a sort of coma, I felt that the outside world and myself were two different things, I could not understand what was happening.
But I was quiet, strangely quiet, as if what I did was so horrible and great to be ashamed to show myself some form of distress or displeasure hypocrite.
I crossed the line, crossed the threshold of no return.
"The girl is dead" I said to myself, "now is a murderess, nothing will change these things, not going back, time does not forgive. It's like a river, flowing in one direction only. And I'm the human beast, a black beast who loses control, is a madman, a sorcerer under his own spell. "
got home and lay down on the bed.
the Milky Way That night I dreamed, I dreamed of flying to the galaxy between the stars.
I felt happy in my sleep, like a child.

The next morning, the awakening was the exact opposite of the night, I remember the nausea and vomiting, tremors and anxiety.
I had left too many tracks, I would find, I over-correct-my life in jail.
I still could not think in a completely gloss on what had happened, because the moments of madness are difficult to re-float, even if only a few hours had passed since the terrible event. Besides, I was really worried about what might happen in the short, imagine that the police would come into my house breaking the door with machine guns pointed and full, to the best action film. I also thought that the investigators would have been a breeze to get to me, reassembling the pieces of the evening.
The girl was in the company of a friend I definitely had seen, then we went to her, the dormitory, where surely some of his fellow university must have noticed me. Finally, there was the most damning evidence: the DNA. My residues were scattered all over his body and my fingerprints decorate every surface in the room. I was sure I would have stopped within a few hours, so do not even tried to run away or go and hide, I knew what would happen and was waiting for the police almost calmly.
He had already made the lunch hour when I made the mistake of turning on the TV: Two TV news at the same time spoke of the murder.
across the screen I saw the entrance of the dormitory, its gate, the marble staircase. My head was spinning like a whirlpool in the throat and not dropped a drop of saliva.
When I then saw the white bag that must have contained the body of the girl, almost choked with my own vomit.
I was finished, I have now captured in a few minutes and I would live the rest of my life in a dark cell too painfully trying not to perish under the boulder of unbearable guilt.
I fell asleep, woke up nearly dinnertime.
The military had not yet arrived, no sign of special forces or FBI.
closed his eyes and slept again for another night.
The next morning I woke up it was dawn, he had nausea gone, the headaches had decreased and I was back some appetite.
I prepared a warmed milk and coffee, as I started to realize that maybe I could go unpunished. It was likely that no one had seen me, also the DNA found, as far as I know I could of those things, belonged to a stranger happy.

Days and also the news began to speak less dell'efferato murder of Bocconi, going right to work on new disasters and new bloody tragedies.
I went back to normal, forcing the bottom of my dark story of madness that suddenly exploded in a fresh and fragrant evening of April.
also rethinking the incident (not that everything would be clear to me, to tell the truth) now I no longer felt sick. I had even more guilt. The stone was rolled into the valley, that's all.
Only by that night, I was a strange defect in the left eye: every time I moved around trying to look hip, a strange lightning came from the corner of my orbit.
Maybe I was destined to bring at least a sign that reminds me of the senseless sacrifice of that poor girl.

Mandy First Time Auditions

memories - memories

In the stories, you know, everything has a beginning.
The following script, one of my memories, explains how I am familiar with the case.
In those days I did not give due weight to things. If I had known
do it, maybe now I would not be in this sistuazione.
E 'of vital importance to know to live in a lucid, recognize the right weight of things.
We must try to locate the hinges, to tap in our favor. I do not
badavo these things, I had one of my arrogant indifference that made me take everything with a laugh.
I thought it was all light.
a stranger, a story of murder.

I did not give due weight to the thing.





FROM MY MEMORIES, February 2007


Two weeks and still think about it. I think that night
surreal and intimate.
I think I did not understand anything but that something I stayed inside.
I do not even know his name, fuck, but you can?
I think I might even be in love, absurd.
So absurd for absurdity, I try to root out the night of my head convincing myself that it is only the fruit of a dream vision caused by the gin. That shit
, gin.
However, in some ways the butterflies go away from the belly.
do: I put the shoulder strap, plug in all I have to connect and position the gain knob to "hell". I
The sound explodes over her face and a fist. Start
a kind of mantra violent and expanded, taking all my time.
Here's how to cast out demons, burn them with the distortion, the damned.
keep pushing, with the pen and scratch the black body of the guitar.
Godo. I feel
knuckles scratched against the ropes, while Stone too bad press on the handle.
thoughts fly away, away. I went into limbo
my golden for a moment I can isolate myself from everything.
continue for about ten minutes, maybe more, until an annoying sound familiar but I awaken the thoughts, returning to reality.
Puff, is the bell.
support the Telecaster on the couch, and while I hear the trill repetition nervous, I headed to the door.
turn the handle and open it.
My heart goes back to the chest and sticking in the throat. She
.
hardly believe it, I'm thinking this is kind of a joke.
Lower your eyelids. The
reopen.
She is still here in front of me. In the second half
analyze from head to foot: it is further elaborates wet. Outside it's raining
the wrath of the gods, in fact. He
wet hair plastered to his face, is beautiful, with shining eyes when I saw how the club.
The shoulder bag has the typical color of wet cardboard, while the fibers of his jeans, the capillary has allowed the water to go back almost to the knee.
then, just when I'm thinking of wearing Vans very nice, his voice breaks my lightning analysis.
"Do not I knew where to go, "he says with a worried voice. I
I can come in and tell you that it can dry in the bathroom, the towels I have, maybe even a hair dryer.
you not listen to me either, looks down and crosses the threshold of entry.
Walk towards the center of the room at each step of forming puddles as big as lakes.
Then he turns to me. His face gives me a deep anxiety, it seems frightened.
But I, for a change, I'm confused.
I am reminded that for two weeks I thought about this stranger met by chance on a cold night surreal.
realize that we have stayed together, I not know her name, her without my knowledge.
Now I think it is legitimate - if not right - present, use good manners, as you would in everyday life.
I introduce myself and then trying to take it a bit 'by surprise: "Oh, I'm *** anyway."
She responds as if I said anything.
not tell me his name.

No. I talk about other things, strange things.
says that I must help her, which could be in danger because he found the narratives about murders actually committed. Then
portrayed, at least in part, saying that maybe it's just one of the stories to be the guide of a real crime.
I believe almost anything, in fact. I'm beginning to think that the girl, the one with the most beautiful eyes of the world, that of which we do not know the name and standing in front of me dripping rain on my floor, has the mind on another planet.
I would ask you to calm down, to catch my breath.
still insist it dry.
But she shakes her head, looks at me with that beautiful face and says "please ...."
At these words, spoken with one voice, can not resist.
I feel like an idiot, but I decided to listen and do at least pretend to believe what he says.
So he began to tell things the right way, in detail.
For the first time heard about the "file". Not even remotely imagine what that word will bring torment.
basically tells me I found this file in his home, where he lives with what apparently is her boyfriend.
I say apparently because she describes the relationship with a certain detachment, wraps it in the fog, never say the words "boyfriend", "husband".
He calls it instead "the guy with whom I live," or, more simply, Romeo.
He tells me to be upset, because it is within that file with the cover of dark velvet that found the ghostly tales.
begin to understand something.
Romeo is - perhaps - her boyfriend is a writer, lives with her and keeps a file of stories.
"It seems very strange is a writer, it should be normal to find the house of his writings, "I say.
She says, terrified that in these stories is precisely describes the murder of an acquaintance.
I remain incredulous, on my own, but I'm beginning to tremble.
I do not explain why.
I feel to be quiet, but slowly, or become bothersome.
's not so much for the stories, history tells me that macabre or fear it's all true. It is rather for its expression. Is devastated. He seems to have just seen a ghost terrifying.
Then he begins to tell the story of her friend Anna.

About six months ago, during the summer of 2006, there was a big party to celebrate the graduation of some friends.
From what I understand had to be something quite big, in a nightclub, with at least 200 guests. Overnight
apparently delirious, with vomiting and revelers celebrated that they do worse.
At the end of the night but nobody finds Anna. The free phone is ringing but no trace of her.
friends start asking each other where he is, then expand the investigation to people less intimate, to ask anyone who is still in the room.
They worry because Anna is not girl to disappear without warning. Even if he decided to return home alone, would certainly warned.
between despair and drunkenness, almost all return to their homes.
remains is the small group of close friends of the girl.
Dawn breaks and still nothing.
They decide to call the family to know if Anna is at home.
No trace.
notified the police, spend a few hours of "settlement" and begin the investigation.
Well, Anna was found the next day.
His body is swollen but there are signs of beatings.
No sexual violence.
She died of strangulation, apparently without having fought.
not have bruises or broken nails and apparently has been used a belt or a band of fabric to block the flow of blood and air. The body of Anna
was found by officers at the station in front of the local aqueduct. From what I understand is a kind of water distribution station, there are pumps and tanks. Clearly, it is completely isolated by a metal fence, but there is no night service that ensures non-violation of the limit.
The only safety measure is a camera, but is fixed at the pump is used only to monitor the proper functioning of the system.
also because it is difficult for someone to come sneaking in a water distribution station, I think. What can be done in such a place?
Maybe I'm not considering the possibility of strangling a girl with a strip of fabric.
From the analysis does not appear that Anna was drugged, drank, yes, but was conscious.
Probably the murderess has attracted the victim in that secluded place and then strangled her, perhaps for a refusal to face sexual advances.
In any case, investigations are still open and any potential suspect has been identified.
discomfort and pain from friends, anger and dismay by families who can not understand who could have done such a horrible act, without a specific motive, without a logical explanation.

The story ends with a long silence.
I am more than embarrassed because she seems even more upset than before.
eyes are swollen from crying and her voice is trembling, choking.
"What has this to do with the file that you are getting?" I will ask my mysterious visitor.
She gets even more obscure in the face and tells me that the file found three or four scripts, short stories that speak of first hand experience of a murderess.
At these tales do not impress, because they think they are scattered notes of his friend-boyfriend.
Then comes the last sheet.
The story about the murder of Anna in detail.
does not leave room for imagination, the author, Romeo, claims to be the murderess.
accurately describes all stages of the evening, the party until the strangulation of the girl.
"It 's all so real," he says, "There are also I in that story, we all of us who were at that party ... I seem to recognize the speech, phrases, things that we said."
then explodes into tears, I approach and our embrace.
I try to calm her, and not without difficulty, I can not.
Then I explain that I work for a publisher and I often deal with writers (or assumed).
often use real stories that affect them, to turn everything into stories, novels or poems.
tried to explain that the smartest thing is to talk with him, with Romeo.
She interrupts me and tells me he has already spoken and that is why she ran away and joined me at home.
He saw her, coming into the house, read the stories of the file.
She tells of how he tried to ask for explanations about these writings, to Anna.
He went on a rampage, has snatched the paper and asked to leave the house.
At this point a question seems obvious: "Why do not you go to the police?".
She said it was not safe, maybe that is exaggerating, after all, is really a writer, might be only ideas, notes, and then "how do I go to the police for the stories found in one who works as a writer? "he says.
Maybe I'm beginning to reason with her, perhaps even shocked by the death of her friend and find that story may have altered a bit 'his perception of things.
I ask what he's going to do.
says she wants to go home, to take the matter to steal it, take it away. So would
way to read it slowly and maybe go to the police with an actual test.
He asks me to accompany her.
I, not knowing to take the first step toward oblivion, I agree.
For your own safety, I can not let her go alone.
And then, I am her "knight" what the casino has ripped from that night, a couple of weeks ago. I can not refuse.
also because she has a kind of magnet, magic and mystery, fascinates me making me miss the references to what is real and what is not.

The car trip to Romeo's house is hell on the streets of the city, the rain and rush hour.
However, unlike the first night, this time we speak.
The story of my work, that is a sort of aide-rounder of a publisher, and often I am in charge of artistic selection.
this is a funny coincidence.
The story revolves around a writer, I might even know him and have him met.
is also quite likely, given that what runs in the city at 99% pass at our desks (in fact, from my own, only a few that come to the big boss).
Maybe I've read his stories, his stories.
Maybe the trash and I have passed into oblivion, perhaps.
Strange though that this Romeo can not remember. Usually I tend to remember all the names of writers, it is useful.
Then he tells me that here in the city still has no contacts with publishers and that the only thing that has finished a novel called "Nemesis", written under a pseudonym, and that is being published by a publisher Florentine.
currently not investigating further, I do not ask what was the name used. Even the publisher does not elaborate Florentine (Naxos editions will be, I tell myself).
I ask instead of the evening where we met and she told me about it quietly, even if a bit 'rough.
I discover, at the time no great surprise that the guy who had hit on the nose was Romeo.
I do not remember anything of his face, I can think of only wearing a dark coat, possibly gray.
naive and stupid, we laugh even over.
I think it's funny to go to steal the stories of this writer to whom I have taken away one night she thanked him with a punch on the nose.
not imagine even a distant one is going to happen, the world of madness in which I am about to enter.
I should refuse to go with it, throw it out of the house, that crazy.
Indeed, I would just have to know that sad night.
am a dickhead because I'm not in my place?
Why I returned to the room, after that there were already gone?
I could dodge this whole thing.
But I did not.

arrive in front of an old palace, are exactly between Romulus and Porta Genova.
I leave the car in a double line with arrows on and get out.
you have your house keys.
We enter the gate and pass the entrance hall that divides two large scales.
Let the inner courtyard and head to the right side.
I look up, is an old railing, a little 'shabby but overall nice.
She stops in front of a ramp leading into a basement.
put the key into the lock a door that closes with the dark paint and makes me nod. We enter
floor, with the fear of being able to find the writer, maybe murderess, I have beaten two weeks ago.
There is none.
She turns on the light before my eyes I see a very large room, with peeling of the columns in the middle. Once it was definitely a factory, maybe one of those full of tables and banquets, with women more or less concentrated in the sewing machine, large quantities of tissue.
What I see is the result of adaptation of the old workshop.
A large studio, with the bed in the middle and many books on the shelves of large wood in the rough.
The environment is moist and certainly illegal, but I like it, it's nice, it transmits a nice feeling.
I could live very well in a place like this, because my house is not much different. As soon as we get closer to the shelf
bigger, my companion in adventure begins searching among the books messy.
not find anything, no trace of the file.
He asks me to help her search for documents in this dark velvet and I try to please her even though I spend most of the time to groom I find the books thrown on the boards of the shelves.
Bergson, Bukowski, Celine, Cervantes, Defoe.
good, I think. There are all classics, even the most neglected by academia.
starting to think that this might be a good writer Romeo.
However, my research does not last long.
She is convinced that the file is no longer there, and tells me that probably took him away he has hidden or made to disappear, to leave no traces and tests.
We decide to leave, after checking the room for about fifteen minutes.
She takes the clothes from a closet, then the laundry.
shoves all in a bag is not very big, then take the money from a drawer and documents from another.
turns out the light and we're out.

back to my home, this time we take less time, traffic is already waning and it does not rain anymore.
We are rather uncertain about what to do.
I can tell you that stay with me as you will, that there is no problem.
She assures me that it is only for one night, because tomorrow is going to leave the city.
says he will reach a friend in Lisbon: "I want to go, I have to change the air, I do not want to know anything about this story."
I feel vibrate the left thigh, midway between the hip and testes.
is the telephone phone.
answer.
other side of the phone there is a great leader, who with her deep voice of opera singer tells me to go to get the first copies of "Spring sterile," the latest book published by us-indeed, his- beloved source of incredible literary talents.
"Ok, great leader," I reply.
notice then the girl that I absolutely have to get out but I tell her that she can stay home, take a shower, dry off and get comfortable.
Perhaps there is also beer somewhere.
She nods and smiles, it seems more relaxed.
agreed to stay at my house, because he still wearing those clothes umidissimi and I think a hot shower at this point is an obvious choice.
The tense atmosphere of the day is about to give way to a strange peace, a kind of feeling peaceful and pleasant than a little out of place with the disturbing story in which we find ourselves, or rather, in which (for now) is her. An happiness
stupid me back from the stomach to see her a bit 'more relaxed and notice that his face also other expressions of anguish over.
How beautiful, I think, then I turn around and handle.
"We put a half hour, maybe step to get something to eat. Would you like sushi? "
" sushi is fine, thanks. "
"All right then. See you later. "
I'm going to close the door when I can still hear his voice
"Cristina. My name is Cristina. "
I smile at her and go home.

In twenty minutes I removed the box with the first copies of "Spring sterile" and headed to the supermarket.
Once inside the store fast food I head to the bar fridge, take two boats of sushi, then head off to pick a few beers, a bottle of Coca-Cola and the way to the last case remained open.
A warm and gentle female voice from the speaker tells me that the supermarket is closing.
Pago, envelopes and returned to the parking lot. Ten more minutes
and I'm home.
The feeling of happiness that comes from having stupid Cristina at home exceeds that of fear and concern about the story of Romeo.
could be the former girlfriend of Hannibal Lecter, nothing that I care anyway.
I open the door and smiling like a stupid salute the lady of the third floor that leads out of the dog.
I climb the stairs three at a time, at the risk of falling and impair our dinner.
Arrival at the door, open it and quickly into the house.
"Here I am ... all right?" I say to Cristina warn of my presence. I do not feel
response.
Across the room and go downstairs to the kitchen.
Nothing.
date back to the bathroom and feel. On the floor
and the marks on the mirror in the shower. Also known
a folded towel a bit 'in a hurry.
Just do not find Cristina.
There are his clothes, is not his bag.
She's gone again.
And this time I left tickets.
"But Holy shit," I say aloud, with a resigned tone, "this is crazy."

to spend the evening with gobbling maki soaked soy sauce, while a couple of liters of beer to help swallow all that raw fish.
I feel like an idiot.
Then I smile and say to myself: "At least now I know your name, Cristina."

King Of The Hill Personality Disorder

Because of Facebook.

I find myself in complete agreement with what is written in this article ...

But for me, is because of Facebook: D

L I N D S A Y D A W N M C K E N Z I E

Sometimes it is better not to touch things that work well

I changed my template but obviously there is still something wrong. Maybe not the best way to start to write something on the blog ...

Images Women In Coffins

Part 2 - Part 1

It 'hard to find words to excuse my long absence.
Almost a year has slipped away since the last time, but my constant headache had become unbearable and the clinic was the only place where you can really relax.
disconnect from the world I left because I needed it.
Now I feel much better, they are also able to reconstruct the end of Issue: I have found things I forgot or did not want to remember. E 'terrible, terrible as is the fact that Romeo is still out there, out of control.
But I'm back, and now I want to close the history for ever, without further delay. At the clinic I also had
time to collect my memories, the memories of this last period.
I've written in the days of boredom and I hope that made you understand.
The characters start to appear and Romeo, I know, I will know straight away.
publish it as well to give you the opportunity to assimilate. You'll also
my point of view on this story.

What is the first public here from chronological point of view, since I fixed my "report" in a clearly delineated in time.
I apologize for having a bit romanticized, 'but I had to fight boredom in some way.

The following memory tells you about the meeting with the key person, the one I have-perhaps by chance or maybe not-dragged into the vortex.
We are in the winter of 2007, towards the end of January.

Anyway, stay tuned, because soon I'll go out to look for the answers.




FROM MY MEMORIES, January 2007:



Disco, are a disco.
not remember exactly why or with whom they came.
But there are.
are in the middle of the track, stagger between humanity pressed in the center of the room, between his shoulder and a boost to the fat kid euphoric.
Check with some difficulty at the bar, where finally recognize Ale.
He smiles as if nothing had happened, and hands me a glass of brew-killing stomach and a slice of orange.
How to say "hey, I drink the stuff with fruit cut above, are a gourmet, a connoisseur, someone who knows how to live, I will."
Sinking tremendous.
must be Long Island, a jumble of mismatched flavors that are used solely to make you lose some 'of consciousness.
sucks, but I can almost drain in one gulp, so to take off thought.
Via the tooth, the pain away.
Ale does not agree, he likes cocktails, Ale is a man of the world and not a sewer rat like me.
trying to communicate his deepest convictions about the goodness of long drinks screaming like a possessed inside my ear cavity.
I understand a little anyway, but luckily I do not care much.
have never been drinking cocktails or long drinks, I will.
them drink, of course, on nights like this, but only up to not get drunk having to endure being in a bad place full of people fucking ridiculous which I care nothing.
are a short way out, but certainly not a pleasure for my taste.
Beer, the cause is good.
clear, crisp and refreshing.
And without a fucking garden inside.
No pineapple or lime (lemon and smaller greens, are all the rage, it seems not to cause constipation, at least if not stuck up your ass.).
Then the spirits, the ones I like, but without mixing too much shit.
whiskey that is so good to ruin with coca cola should be subnormal.
I love vodka, dry and smooth, and rum.
Gin instead sucks, only serves to make cocktails for jocks and men of the world.
Then it makes me sick when you wake up, always.
mean, I go to bed drunk, I turn around in bed all night, then I wake up at 7 and vomiting. All the fucking time.
And always at 7.
So after I order a whiskey on Long Island.
I ask for a Oban, bring me a Jack Daniel's.
You can not have it all from life.
Ale while trying to figure out what happened to the other while I and the others do not even know who they are.
Maybe I drank too much at dinner, maybe that is a headache.
fact is that they are muffled.
I understand almost nothing, while sipping whiskey on the rocks (of course, what you want, we're in a trendy nightclub, drinking whiskey with ice).
I look around on the right, a girl much beautiful but with the horrible shoes, square-heeled type director of elementary school. They may also be brown, yuck.
On the left wing, his face lit up now by strobe lights, now the display of his mobile phone. Probably trying to figure it out, in this fucking hell.
Loose shirt and a wheel on a stool, trying to understand what I have behind me.
Two girls may be pretty and have more than two decades, sexy dancing in the middle of an impromptu circle of people.
horny boys are five or six, plus one with a face like a loser I almost feel sorry for him.
I look at him and I want to drive him home.
I want to say "what are you doing here?", Then take him by the arm and drag it to the car, pick him up and bring him home.
What are you doing here a case?
Alto, perhaps one meter and sixty, glasses and brown wool hair that give his face whisker Nouveau.
is pale and sweaty. And under his eighties sweater, brown with green stripes, he hides a consumptive.
Ride, poor, all excited that he almost moved to see the two girls dancing.
not even know that will never, ever have one that does not even pretty.
laughs now, looking with eyes delighted gaze and accomplice of the other guys, more sgam not see him as a human being, but as a piece of furniture.
Type the chandelier, or the sofa.
He kept looking back, all happy.
soon begin to get a few questions and, unless one is stupid and full of himself, will also begin to understand why can not ever have one like the girl with the gray undershirt.
It is not just bad, but the face you see that it is also tasteless, scialbetto.
He dresses badly, so it may not have ever fucked in Milan (Milan ahh! not have the heart), then it must also be poor, because I do not see signatures on his trendy clothes.
course, because one thing is wrong dress, another dress badly signed.
Anyway, I'm too drunk to try to convince the boy to leave, to get away from those beautiful girls and soulless (quotations top level) that will never have.
'm too stoned to suggest to stay with friends oratory and maybe learn to play guitar, so at least one day could play a role in society.
But as I also have a free role, and they are also drunk and stoned, I stop thinking about that poor boy and try to understand the intentions of Ale, who meanwhile has finished sditalinare the phone.
"I'm out to smoke, let's catch them."
"Ok" I replied, making the thumb to Fonzie.
When I tend to tune into a sort of Fonzie dyslexia and problems with bloating.
Ale deviates from the counter, puts it in his breast pocket his phone and walks toward the exit.
I try to follow him, in the midst of the asses of people banging against me, each with its own rhythm.
A boy with a foul-smelling leather jacket gets in my face, hugs me and I print a kiss on the cheek: "great," he screams.
I seem to know him, and throw a "how are you?", He says, I do not understand.
In all this senseless exchange, I lost sight of Ale.
I perceive to be right in the middle of the dance floor and do not know why I do not think to go outside, where others are waiting for me burning cigarettes.
finished smoking I think the others would come back up.
So I sit back to the stool, rest your arms on the counter, ordered another whiskey.
The bartender I return the card (in the fashionable bars used like this, you do everything with the card) but I can not seem to grasp for straws because of several meters high in front of me the arm.
I move your ass from the seat, and I bent down with one foot on the knee.
A 12 cm heel attempt to divide the knuckles.
I do not know whether to have an erection or angry with the child that while the euphoria of the evening moves on stilts all excited regardless of the hands of the assholes who collect the tiles from the floor.
I get up, I see it.
No, not the little girl with her heels, but the girl behind it.
pouting, eyes shining, eyes fixed on the counter.
Beautiful.
The fixed, but not for me to see, as you would in these cases.
No.
the disk because I can not stop looking at her.
She's got beautiful eyes are so dark and shiny to reflect all the light there is.
He turns and looks at me.
Embarrassment, strange, usually I do not embarrass these exchanges of glances.
So I think it's better to face a tough, however I'm all alone at the bar drinking whiskey the bar, fuck.
I try to face tough, but I put on an expression from Pirlo, with a sprinkling of Fonzie dyslexic. And with bloating.
She pretends not to see my fucking face and responded by lifting his chin toward me, as if to say "what's up?".
I look, I elaborate in a nanosecond and I say by the mouth of Marlon Brando in The Godfather.
clearly tell you that I'm ok.
However you-possibly-understand, shakes his head slightly and turned to call the guy behind the counter.
That comes and stretches out as if nothing had happened with his ear to her lips. I do not know how he can not put on a face like a prick too.
Then I do not know what to order, but I can intuit watching dell'intruglio preparation: split ice, lime (never fails, eh), mint, sugar, soda and rum.
you stretch thin fingers on the glass, grabs him and turns away.
He smiles again and this time I smile, no Fonzie injured, or causes to be stupid.
Anyway, I've lost it. It has already gone into the pit, in the colors and lights Local.
I could finish the whiskey shot, get up and go looking for it. But I do not, it does not seem the case. She was just nice to me, I mean, you can not even blink and ask it to strangers at the bar?
As I reflect on this and other issues of vital importance, Ale arrives with the rest of the company.
Now I recognize them all, more or less.
Flavio, Missile and Andrea.
We laugh and joke trying to scream as loud as we can, so at least there is hope that someone feels. But the words come out of the mouths fragmented that no one understands, the timpani must answer too many frequencies to look after one of those wretched conversation.
We drink yet, but when they are on the verge of leaving 2 or 3 of the 5 senses I stop. Do not want to throw up at seven tomorrow morning (yes fuck, maybe I drank gin).
include a drink and a joke of the missile, which will be purpose whatsoever, whether living or not, there's the 4.
The restaurant is closing and so we decide to go out of balls, because the drunkenness of harassment is becoming "limp" then we feel the need to go home to rest his limbs for a few hours.
Just down the last step of the staircase leading to the entrance see her, leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette while holding back tears.
I am tender, sweet.
The next step in greeting and I do not know why.
She reciprocates by saying a simple "hello", naturally, as if we already knew. Without thinking I ask if it goes well, she nods her head and I can not say anything sensible if not "good night".
Among the smiles and jokes of the friends who ask me who is the girl, I boot the machine quickly, because it starts to snow.
is soft snow flakes falling lightly and icy tarmac alight.
I sit in the car with fatigue, sleek coat that I wear is uncomfortable, I'm not the type to be smart clothes, I can not move packaged as a dandy.
me the phone falls out of his pocket, profanity, put it back away and I light up a cigarette. I try to run while the wipers to move the thin white layer of the glass. The street light in front comes from the windshield and makes me squint.
I can not understand why, but I have to return the girl.
I leave the car in a hurry, around the block and step in front of the room. I can park in some way.
monster bouncer at the "lips" that I have the stamp on the right hand, "we're closing" that's all I can decipher, check first to see the exit of the club.
I can see, we are looking at.
is walking towards me with his head down, and before a group five or six people, maybe his friends.
is close to me, I feel the smell and this time do not hesitate: "Are you sure that you all right?". She says no, take me away, "he says.
walk arm in arm, quick, to the car.
They are incredibly quiet even though the situation is really strange.
I do not think simply.
I do not think what is unusual about this way a person from one place to take her away from her friends (or enemies), its night.
All with two words, in a split second.
As you inhale the cold air from the nose of the snow, I hear footsteps, then a voice: "Where the fuck go !?!". I turn and see a guy running towards me, towards us.
struck him.
Strong, direct, I think on the nose.
My hand makes a sound creepy, but overcomes his nose.
All in a split second away, without thinking.
I hear screams, but she is already at the machine. I also rising, the bouncers are far away, the engine is already on and in a moment we are invisible.


Silence.
We do not say anything.
The machine runs very soft almost without sound, except that the snow is crushed under the weight of the wheels.
I touch your hand, shit, I must have broken something. Is swelling.
But then I think his nose and I am heartened. There is always someone worse off than you are in the world.
I try to talk to her, I ask "where we go."
You I said it was not going anywhere.
Very well, I think I caught a glimpse the unknown and face a guy like that, not to go anywhere.
I ask who was the one who now has a broken nose, she says a jerk, I do not quite understand but I adjusted. Also because it's nearly 4.30.
Guido, without thinking.
I turn on the stereo, perhaps to break the tension, the music is spreading, and I hear the words of the song, I sound so sad, I do not know why:

Stranded in this spooky town
stoplights are swaying and the phone lines are down This floor is crackling cold

She Took My heart, my soul I think she Took


continue driving.
without noticing anything coming to my house.
parking and we go down, still without saying a word. It's all so surreal, snow, the silence of a Sunday morning, headaches, stomach upset now.
I put the key in the lock and the wheel are inside.
I do the usual things, keys on the wall, light, off the jacket.
She keeps on her and walks into the room with me.
"Want a drink? to eat? "'I ask.
I said no, it is in place.
then do not go into the kitchen, but I remain there, under the arch that divides the input space with the room.
I turn to light the lamp light and I feel that she is removing her jacket and that is throwing on the bed.
I'll be back to look at while the bag near the foot rests and smiles, so sweet, her eyes shine like when I saw her at the counter.
In my head I keep thinking that the situation is nothing short of bizarre.
We do not say a word.
But I'm so out of tune that basically all this does not seem so strange.
is all soft, like snow falling outside.
We are close, she reaches out and touches my arm.
Shit, my head is spinning, I do not understand in what size they are.
could also be a dream, maybe I'm back and I'm only sleeping sbronzissimo.
Maybe I'm just dreaming I saw the girl at the counter.
is why it is so weird.
I think I understand.
But then approaches, I feel her smell.
me kisses.
lips are soft, soft as snow but warm inside.
I move my tongue trying to follow her.
Plan, in a delicate, not as it should do with a popular disco and whose name is unknown.
She moves away a bit 'to me, looks at me with those bright eyes and good, smiled slightly and then opens his mouth.
I can inhale his breath is sweet.
So do not resist, I get close, I kissed her.
you kiss you leave, we're going a bit 'stronger now and her arms around my neck shake.
strokes my head, pulling it slightly.
I do carry, so slip on the bed, over his jacket.
We kiss in a lying side by side. Then she moves up, pulling my hips with his hands, until it's over me.
the smooth dark hair falling on her face and with the tips of the fingers brings them back behind your ear.
My hand, still a little 'cold and sore, up along his back caressing and feeling with the fingertips as the skin reacts to cold.
puckers slightly, even when I get to touch the muscles on the concave spine.
He takes off his shirt, then take away mine.
begin to kiss her neck and while my mouth is filled aromas, I can remove her bra.
Now the bodies are crushed, one against the other, I decided.
I can feel its warmth. My breasts pressed on her.
I do not think of anything, let me go, no matter the situation more.
I too got a taste of the olive skin and smooth as silk.
size have a kind of muffled and warm.
I almost did not realize that we are naked, I do not think of anything.
When I'm inside her, I feel it grab the shoulders and shake up the flesh with nails.
not think of anything.
I reach a bit 'over her and still feel when I kiss her breasts just under the jaw.
His mouth against my ear, I hear her sigh and makes me dizzy, as if I had a fever.
close my eyes and not think about anything.
Perhaps we fell asleep like that, one above the other, without thinking.


After an unspecified period of time, I open my eyes.
With difficulty, because I feel my eyelids glued her lips dry.
The glow of the lamp is gone.
Instead, there is a ray like a knife through the holes in the blinds and hit the left side of my body.
When the fog disappears from my eyes, I turn.
And I see that she is gone.
There is in bed, I can not find the bathroom.
The kitchen and adjoining room are empty, it seems that no one besides me has ever been in that house.
For a moment I think I'm crazy, that he really wanted to see everything.
I quit drinking, shit.
Then I look at the table and its smooth surface is interrupted by a curved sheet.
"thanks for everything, you're my knight and .