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All red, all red frames

Red is the splendor of living.
(Rudolf Steiner)

When I no longer blue, I put the red.

(Pablo Picasso)

I loved the red:

dove avrei potuto trovare un vermiglio perfetto?

(Paul Gauguin)

Voglio che il rosso abbia una sonorità

come una campana.

(Pierre Auguste Renoir)

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Baudelaire, an alchemist of human feeling

C'è un autore che non mi stancherò mai di leggere né di ammirare: Charles Baudelaire.

This amazing man, that Heaven, God, the One (or his) has delivered horrid world two hundred years ago, was not only a sublime poet ... or acute essayist and enthralling ... or a maverick run away from home to only nineteen years old ...

Baudelaire was above all a keen observer of humanity, and a man who lived humanity, in all senses the best and worst that it entails.

But he was also endowed with incredible, unexpected gifts of alchemist.

Why Baudelaire knew sublimate the horrors and pains more common and human, leading to levels of poems and beautiful pictures, and in the incongruent their extreme nature.

This tendency of the Baudelaire I riscrontata all his writings, but particularly in two ...

The Flowers of Evil are surely the most famous works of Baudelaire, as well as appellitivo which most grants is that of poet.

But Flowers of Evil are not simple combinations of words in rhyme in the poetry of Baudelaire abundance of raw images, coupled with the most passionate invective. The subsoil of the human spirit in Baudelaire emerges with a roar; emerge Death, wounds, dependencies, frustrated desire, all emerge a series of figures "ai margini", dalle prostitute agli accattoni ai pigri gatti al rinnegato Caino.

I Fiori del Male sono un coro di voci discordanti, potenti che nascono direttamente dal nostro inconscio e dai lati oscuri di ognuno di noi. Normalmente, susciterebbero il nostro disgusto.

Fra le parole di Baudelaire, nulla risulta più armonioso e affascinante di questo coro.

I Paradisi Artificiali sono una raccolta di "saggi romanzati" sui temi dell'alcool e delle droghe, vie attraverso le quali l'uomo cerca di sfuggire alla realtà piatta e crudele di tutti i giorni.

Baudelaire parla per esperienza vissuta, ma non fa mai il suo nome: in these essays / stories painted a lot of "anecdotal" stories of anonymous people who have experienced the joys (and the infinite pains) of substances surprising place. One can not help but smile, and almost moved, because in these stories show the solidarity of an author who seems to speak more of himself than others. But above all, one is bewitched by gradiosa Baudelaire's prose, which turns ironic and essayist decided engaging. It 's impossible not to be entranced in front of the descriptions of the artificial states of ecstasy caused by opium or hashish. It is not trying or not these substances, but safely and be led by author and picturesque.

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New books purchased (while waiting for the professor to give you calm down ...)



are officially in crisis, because today I had the nice thought to go to the library with a fat wallet anxious to be emptied ... and now I do not want to do is just read the new books come into my house! (In addition to monthly copy of Rolling Stones)
The problem is that they are in full two weeks of school nightmare, full of checks ... sigh! (All this is deeply unfair

... Not to mention that I have read other books for the study of philosophy, in view of the question ... I find the willpower needed? (I doubt it)



almost at the last minute I discovered the series Classics of free thought in the Corriere della Sera, and this week released two booklets are very different but very related to my interests: first, Second Treatise of Government, John Locke, the which we mentioned in school about the English Glorious Revolution. The second is to Galieleo Galilei Starry Messenger; think, in the previous question of philosophy almost half the class chose as approfondiemento! It might have been complicit in its brevity?

But two other books that they send me in crisis, seriously undermining my commitment to study ...

finally came out Forbidden, Tabitha Suzumi! I had mentioned in the previous post, and now I have cornered a copy today, and I'm dying to read it * _ *

certainly does not help the wonderful review published by LivingForBooks of Yuko, who put me us itch to read it now ... sigh! I have a reason to end up in a hurry to study ^ ^

Another book that tries while resting on my bedside table is the association of blood, Susan Hubbard. This paperback edition economic TEA in a novel already published a few years ago by Bloomsbury Publishing. I was intrigued even then, then I forgot to buy it ... and I did well, because this is the edition paperback, con una copertina anche migliore ^_^

La trama promette una solita storia vampiresca, ma ho fiducia in questo libro soprattutto perché era uscito per la Salani, che finora ha sempre proposto storie solo apparentemente banali ...

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E se appendessimo un lenzuolo o un panno bianco alla finestra...

appendessimo And if a white sheet or cloth at the window? Remember the rainbow flags, flowing on the window sill is visible dissent in the face of our country's participation in the Iraq conflict, and the sheets hung to challenge the mafia? A white brush on cities and towns to indicate the need to turn the page and the desire to start over.
Italy is not all in favor of Prime Minister. Lots of indignant citizens, free tools to express their emotions, make their choices, ask what you can do. Intimidation, now daily, to journalists, television presenters, insults, disdain for women in Parliament calling or occupy seats in municipal councils and regional authorities on the basis of their relationship, say personal with the President, one another spofondando the country in a climate shameful, endangering freedom we thought was acquired.
The majority of the country is with Berlusconi? Polls (their polls) still give them everything and despite winning? And we hang our flags, affacciamoci the windows and see who is our neighbor, we test whether strain our indignation ...
counted!! Maybe they'll find a lot to be tired, being tired of a politics that is unworthy use of power, arrogance and insolence, circus and unpreparedness, political blackmail and theft and lies and fiction.
revolutions you can do with a flower (carnations remember?). Why not with a sheet?

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Pagine dall'inferno

There was a small Christ on the wall of the room. Hung up and crucified, as rightly expected to be a Christ in a hospital. And there was a moon pledged to escape the embrace of the deadly fog that hung over the city. Those were my points of reference: to the moon volarmene away on one of those brooms in hospitals and never miss the Christ to vent my anger on someone, and my despair.

anyone in high places, the Master of Masters ...

Why disease? Death has a way, the tour concludes: birth, growth, reproduction, and then death. But the disease is not logical, especially the condition of the chronically ill is absurd. E ' an 'absurd and profitable inventions and the hospital has its own theater, the temple that houses his chilling performances. Broken into pieces we scrutinized, invaded by cannula, inserted into rotating casings, fast facts, subject to interrogations in which they ask questions, but do not expect answers, you decide fate ... Then
- teaches business administration - will standardize procedures, patients are classified as: those quiet, mangy ones, those who already have a foot in the grave (but no illusions, we can, we must stay alive though apparently dead.) The statistics have to give satisfactory results, the hospital company has to work if nurses - overworked - sometimes wrong medicine, doctors take turns, so each of them knows just something that evaluates the patient according to his own yardstick, and who constantly see is only the bed partner who - as in the trenches - down with the near relations of those who share the same war.

Then there are the diagnosis on which therapy is based. You are suspect - reading your-whether it's another patient, but you look good and say it. Also because it would be useless as the teachers, the category that you are familiar with having been part, doctors are never wrong when it happens and their mistakes if they swallow the earth.

you treat the piece pertaining to them: in my case the brain. And the rest? The stomach hurts, his stomach twisting? The spasms that haunt you? Does not concern them, are not gastroenterologists and your condition does not include spasms of this magnitude. Stains such as urticaria? "On his return home to go to a dermatologist," and "move, not s'impigrisca" and while trying to explain that you do not stand up have already left the room as fast as elves, and you fell back on your bed of pain and look at Christ and if you think the laugh, knowing that cast out the merchants from the temple would no longer make sense because the merchants and their temples have conquered the world. Now.

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Boh! Forse non ho capito? Possibile, ma improbabile

"Good, very good ..." and le gambe sollevate a fatica ripiombano sul letto. L'ottimismo è d'obbligo: il malato deve migliorare. Se non si scoprono le cause della sintomatologia, l'importante è sedare i dolori. La prima volta che ti vedranno in piedi, magari arpionata a un deambulatore, arriverà un altro "brava" (alle foche al circo  almeno un pesce per gratificarle, a me nemmeno un cioccolatino). Intanto prelievi ti dissanguano, mostri d'acciaio ti accolgono nel loro ventre infilata come una sardina nella bocca di uno squalo. La macchina ti scruta nel cervello.
Poi sfilze di dati misteriosi che non sembrano precludere ancora al rimbambimento totale. Qualche neurone solitario e un po' smarrito circola ancora. Aghi nei polpacci, volti meditabondi, tumor markers draw attention: one is high, but descriptive treats is false. What does this mean? Should not worry, but m'inquieta.
Do not worry: there are batteries that turn the concern of psychotropic drugs in Ridarolo or dotage. Where have all the data (or those deemed essential) the income does not come back: the identity takes over and the diagnosis is hard to establish: a tap me the gift of a general lowering of mood that treated with a drug-based Ser / control unit despite the implicit promise of serenity in that prefix ser me to find after a few minutes grappling with an EKG because my heart did not like. Applications irritate doctors, the source of the terrible attacks cramp is unknown but are stabilizing in time and recurring patterns. Was depressed at fixed hours? Two to three? Think it's a battuttacccia but is made in all innocence. The important
would reactivate the muscles. It would take a physiatrist, but does not arrive. Be consulting him after leaving hospital. Some tests are missing, waiting to report, but time is running out and my bed waiting for another patient. They greet me smiling, my next bed watching me bend over for yet another attack by those who have made me stay overnight. No comment, as I have done I saw his neighbor, who had preceded it, get bent at an acute angle, bent out ad angolo retto.
Boh! Forse non ho capito. Pochi neuroni? Possibile, ma improbabile.

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Tabitha Suzumi - Forbidden

Keira di The Book Lover ha appena postato una bella antiprima fresca sul nuovo romanzo young adult che verrà pubblica da Mondadori - ed io accolgo l'incitamento a parlarne, perché the author of this novel is to watch ...

How can something so wrong make you so happy?

So reads the sentence on the cover of Forbidden , Tabitha Suzumi novel, due out for the series Shout (Knopf) the January 25.

The protagonists of the story are Maya and Lochan, two brothers separated by a year apart and connected by a dysfunctional family which find themselves looked after, despite his young age. But to combine these two teenagers is something else: a deep complicity, ready to be transformed into a feeling so true extent prohibited and "peccaminso ...

short, it is certainly not an ordinary children's book, it boldly tackles a serious subject and issues such as incest. True love may be enough alone to make "right" in a relationship?

Tabitha Suzumi, author of London, the Japanese father's side, is not new to strong arguments. If you visit her beautiful website ( http://www.tabithasuzuma.com/ ) you will notice that the plots of his books are full of original and profound themes, books that have won many prizes!

For myself, I Forbidden already dug up Interner, and will wait impatiently for the time to read it. Not all authors find the courage to take full advantage of the freedom given by the writing, and talk about issues so difficult: I can not wait to enjoy this book! ^ _ ^

___________________________________________________________

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Disasters school and a new author to watch

Today I witnessed the construction of a crossbow.

No, I'm not kidding: When hours of mathematics, a friend of mine has built a small leaf craft, using pens, pencils, Scoca and a clothes peg! O___O

... Do not judge! ... how do you know that is not a new Einstain (shortening, I know, we're probably only fancazzisti great, but ...

You can not even give us wrong ... I mean .... the names of the trigonometric functions appear to be fatal diseases! you like a human thing called prostaferesi?! X___X

Cooomunque, this little half sclero half intro I need to introduce the next in which talk of a forthcoming book, Forbidden, Tabitha Suzumi , author convient that we keep an eye on ...

Why I wrote this post?

Well, but come on ... crossbow deserved a place of respect, nee? XD

Phrase of the Day:

The ambition is not damnable, or to dishonor the ambitious appetite has to have co glory 'means honest and honorable . (G.)

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Rilke - The night and the soul

In the lap of the snowy night, silver,

immense stretches sleeping, everything.

Only an eternal suffering is awake

inside my soul.

And I wonder why he is silent

my soul, without spilling on her lap

who dreams at night?

Colma me, all Traboch

to put out the stars.

[Rainer Maria Rilke - The night and the soul]

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Two short readings that fill your heart with rage + = Rime Moments of happiness negligible

This creature so supremely pucciosa is the common wombat, an Australian marsupial that is facing extinction. Geo & Geo gli ha dedicato, ieri sera, un documentario che me ne ha fatto innamorare. Non si potrebbe mettere una taglia sui cacciatori di frodo, nee? XO


D'accordo, sto parlano di vombati per non pensare che le vacanze stanno per finire X___X
comunque, oggi voglio parlare di due libri piccoli ma splendidi, che mi hanno accompagnato in questo ultime ore di relax ...


Il primo libro del quale voglio parlare è Rime di rabbia, di Bruno Tognolini, edito Salani.

Intravisto mesi fa, e ritrovato oggi in biblioteca, l'ho letto in macchina (tranquilli, guidava mio padre! XD) in mezz'ora circa. E' un sottilissimo libricino di nemmeno 8O pagine - ma sprigiona una forza primordial and unstoppable. The rhymes are poems flavor infant, child, but for this they are able to capture the essence of a common emotion like anger - that may seem a weakness, but in reality are a great force that must be channeled into the right way.




* * * The second book of which I speak is negligible Moments of happiness, Francesco Piccolo, published by Einaudi.

Here we are talking about a reading that you can pocket more. But in the few pages of this book the author manages to condense a flood of emotions, a stream of consciousness - a list of many funny and messy, little moments that color our days. How many moments as insignificant, and instead are the ones that fill us with unexpected happiness? A smile, a bike ride, the smell of a book, seemingly mundane sentences ...
A small tribute to the miracle of everyday life.

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Forever ...

"I know who we are for each other. And I finally figured out what we should do: exchanging rings before an altar and a priest. Should I say yes
aware of your identical response. Only yes and nothing else. And you receive this promise by endorsing it and acts on your heart. I love you .... "The
whispered these words, as the train whistled the call to start. That long string of cars and tracks that would lead Elenoire away from me, perhaps forever ...
Once we were able to tell a love heart made of passion, surprise, a desire to conquer an overwhelming love me ... was eradicated from the earth, from work ... to love another ..
I still remember the taste of that first, soft kiss, stolen at night and his lips parted slightly, more shame for that reluctance. Then I drove accompanying the movement with a look of astonishment and disbelief gave way to space, uncontrolled, with a hint of a smile. It was the top of which I wanted to hold on, convinced that there began the climb towards a goal incredibly complicated but absolutely extraordinary.
We spent three intense years in which life was able to be a part of him still unknown what underlies the miracles and dreams realized. And at that time so short, we had heard to each other, knowing that we must give each other with conscious abandonment.
love for me, until then, had always been a game where the most skilled can win something other. So I enjoyed to stock up on feelings, time, illusions, please. I took everything feminine universe with a force that appealed to me incomprehensible. I knew I was not having to ask for much more, not having to give almost nothing in return.
However, as soon as I saw his eyes clear, the features of angels, the kind gestures, I knew immediately that I would not be able to steal that love, despite the experience, but rather the love could have chosen we electing its representatives.
happened and it was like unwrapping an unexpected gift, or meeting someone you do not know the existence and discover that he had suffered from the lack ...
Honored this task, tacitly given to us for several months, during which the feeling the game to tie Our stories like threads of different colors fused into the definition of the one image. An idyll, a dream ....
So, while I whispered these words in the damp greyness of the station, I was thinking about how everything had changed since then and received his early distance but not physical absence from the gaze toward another place where I was no longer present.
Gorge interwoven nerves and muscles and the voice drew back the power to give space to a thread of sound as a rattle with which to build his name. He turned his gaze and found myself deep in the brown which often dilutes my portrait.
How many times have I lived this scene, in other places and with her other, playing the part opposite to the current one. In those circumstances I came out on top because he understood the script and I knew what the ending would have been history. Aware of this I find myself terrified now, passive protagonist, unprotected and indefensible.
had waited too long for that statement. And I had been staring at his patience and his tireless understanding, convinced that it would enough for an indefinite period in which I could rearrange my feelings reinterpreting my life. That is why I never seriously talked to myself ... Elenoire
the morning when I announced the start I knew that my time was up. I realized that the story had been waiting in vain for my aging, a choice.
said nothing, looking down on her left hand which was still wearing a ring of green stone that I wanted to give her at Christmas. He noticed and closed fist. That gesture, certainly unintended, had the strength to seek the heart more than words heard. In the hand disappeared throughout our life together, rolled up and hidden forever.
The heart knows how to read events even before the conscience. That punch was able to hit in the chest without effort, without moving a breath of air, without movement. Yet it was terrible and painful. In
mind repeating his name as a disc or just crazy ... I got broken in the evening with a head full of her as it had never happened before or maybe I never noticed. So I thought stripped of his name, his presence, nothing would have been the same. I thought that, too, would not have been more man than before. We amplified a feeling of emptiness, of loss, comparable only to death. Without
Elenoire I would come back and just was not enough ... more
The train was the 12.05. Routes the subway connecting the platforms running without thinking, the only conviction to find something unique to say, easy. I devoured the stairs skipping steps three at a time and emerged near the dock in which it was present .. my love. So I declared myself in and I was amazed to see that new awareness.
The phrases uttered were not designed to impress or to force it to retreat in the choice. Rather than a spontaneous eruption of emotion, a confession. His silence
I threw in an awkward discomfort. The yeast anxiety to reach a panic. Her gaze off into space I foreshadowed a void much larger and intrusive. A moment where I thought lose all of me that still did not know fully
... ".. Only yes .. "- repeated in a faint voice pleading, launched against the resignation in the final attempt, unlikely. The train whistled
the last call.
She alternated gaze into the car and then on me, as before at a crossroads, a choice not long overdue.
".. I want to ask one simple thing .. "- she whispered -" ... but you love me ..?!" - continued with all the uncertainty that faded the explosive power of that question.
His voice was like a flash that illumines the darkness of night, the open wound that feel the warmth of living blood.
"I love you .. and forever .. "- I replied without hesitation and without being able to add more. I never had the courage to declare my love, until then unknown even to myself.
He looked at me with a new light that was shining eyes. Her cheeks were painted apricot and its perfume covered me remembering the taste of her skin. Then his mouth parted in a syllable.
Finally, the train snorted, defeated, and began speeding toward the unknown.

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Books - Best & Worst 2010

Saaaalve!

Happy 2010, innanzittuto! : 3

Yes, another year has begun. It 's time of rankings, so here is my personal best and the worst of the classical plate reading of 2010.

WARNING!

- which lists the books below are not all were published in 2010: it was I read them this year;

- were pardoned, and the disappointment of literature have not been many this year; consequently, the best are more numerous than the worst

- I also added the manga un'otaku because they are unrecoverable,

- there is no provision in the logical order (as always ...) ^ ^ "

So ... with the two great comic WINNERS:

BEST BOOK OF 2010

The Black Jewels Trilogy - Anne Bishop

I think I've talked about this trilogy till you drop ... then I will not continue (even if they are tentatisssima!). The review found on the blog for the rest ... volume not to be missed! A dark-tinged fantasy, a refined work in the colors, original content, engaging and masterfully narrated, with a set of characters which can not be loved. The best of this year, assolutamnte * __ *

WORST BOOK OF 2010

Angels and Demons - Dan Brown

should be a thriller. As for me, was the most soporific novel of the year, maybe even the decade. Protagonist apathetic and insufferable pompous characters almost as much as style, plot unlikely. Not because I speak about the film becoming too acidic.

_______________________________________________________________

BEST ANTHOLOGY

Tales of land and sea

BEST MANGA

Godchil - Kaori Yuki

BEST TEST

Who Cooked the Last Supper? - Rosalind Miles

BEST CLASSIC

tie

The Count of Monte Cristo + The Picture of Dorian Grey

BEST FANTASY

The Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan

BEST SHORT FICTION

Kitchen - Banana Yoshimoto

BEST URBAN FANTASY

Ombra - Elena P. Melodia

MIGLIOR COVER

Reckless - Cornelia Fulke

MIGLIOR RIVISITAZIONE

Alice nel Paese della Vaporità - Francesco Dimitri

MIGLIOR YOUNG ADULT

pareggio

Speak + Wintergirls - Laurie Halse Anderson

__________________________________________________________

PEGGIOR FANTASY

Nihal della Terra del vento - Licia Troisi

PEGGIOR URBAN FANTAY

Il Graffio della pantera - Rachel Vincent

PEGGIOR COVER

666-Io sono il diavolo - Glen Duncan

PEGGIOR PARANORMAL ROMANCE

Paronormal Love - Gena Showalter

PEGGIOR CLASSIC

Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert

WORST MANGA

Romance of Darkness - Chie Shinoara