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One of the neighborhoods of Palermo, which has always fascinated me, Bonagia. The wide roads, green bins, the campaign that you do not want to give fenced, children gray as asphalt, threatening and squalid buildings, the shacks - but a few are now - with two floors, which form the corner, the mountains behind , near the ring. Bonagia is a paradise so improved. I'm sorry to leave those places, those streets, those memories, but after Lucio enlisted there was a real man, at home, and my sister and grandmother were afraid of looters. They decided, after Aunt Clara said recapitatagli to our letter from a particularly hairy trucker, to dismantle everything and move to the country, at least until the situation calms down a bit '. Now I'm the man of the house, even if I only have 11 years. But I feel the heavy load of responsibility on him. Help to load the new 500 and give a last look, the car in the highway away, the neighborhood Bonagia, with its spire, the rose windows, the arches and capitals, with embrasures and galleries, many generations ago, we put a cd fake Venditti. The day is fresh. Keep your windows closed. Someone dropped a stink. I swear that's not me! My grandmother and my sister do not believe it, try convincing a way to exonerate themselves, just a moment before we stop at the roadblock. Very few, actually. And one is even in a wheelchair. GIVE U.S. THE MEANS. We intimate the guy with the necklace shaped like a swastika. My mother pressed the accelerator pad and races through that group of sfasciallitti. The guy in the wheelchair loses grip and falls to the ground. We laugh, but the smell of the fart is still with us.

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Bonagia's like Nostradamus

do not know if you pulled the money, in any case, just go a little back in the blog, looking through my tales to witness the scandal of the premier Before this scandal was actually uncovered by the newspapers (Republic and El Pais in the first place).

I had already spoken of the harem of the premier * of its women, such as purchase and would use it at will. All this has proved true, as often happens, the reality beyond imagination.

The scandal of Villa Certosa is the most literary success is a Chairman of the Board since the time of the First Republic (second only to "kiss" of Giulio Andreotti), and this is mainly thanks to me.

I am convinced, in fact, reading the blog entry, that the leaders of Mediaset, Berlusconi's publicists, constantly read my writings. After reading them compare them with the reality of everyday life and draw their observations. their plan is to make life more and more like my stories. If I would pay for this I'd be rich. Pay me that!

Sorry if I have not updated the blog for some time. The fault was mine, the political climate, my last trip, and the crisis of my addictions.

Ugur my power to write so many new stories as soon as gray and brighten your lives, for a while.

Greetings prophetic.

M.

* The word "premier" is silly, I hate it, because Berlusconi invention. Use it as little as possible, if you please. much better, "Chairman of the Board."

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Sourdough.

(dedicated to Moreno, Sebastian, Emily and all my other friends bakers)


Fuck. Whip. Heavy velvet curtains. The cold air conditioner whirlpool. The snap on my skin. Fuck. Whip. Watery eyes but I'm happy. I remember Claudia dressed completely in leather. I can not stand the latex, while the skin, that is. It smells. He belonged to an animal. Vive. You seem comfortable with the rubber cock. What kind of people have become? I think as you do crack the whip on my buttocks. I want to talk, but I would say to stop, then say nothing. DICK. When pleasure becomes unbearable I close my eyes. But not quite. From the window of opportunity remains open I see the distorted reality. Claudia is like an ice cream poison, a cataract insensitive. I do carry the touch. The feel is tutto.FRUSTA. All touch. As the skin is impregnated with sweat and generates sweat. Grates catch a glimpse of the passers-up in principle, have to queue for a sfincionello. Ironic, no? A long line that twists up to four quarters, for rationing. But do I care? Are baker and my wealth is directly related to others' poverty and despair. I'm the only baker left and so I can take the luxury of me hanging from Claudia, the daughter of the goalkeeper, Piana. No. I do not longer enough cannoli. I am not longer enough cannoli, give me your daughter, if you want bread. But Claudia is perfect. Fuck. Whip. There was no need to teach her anything. It's like exit out of the sourdough. I feel rise. Now I know what it means to be happy. Now I know. It's the fear, the certainty that that big rubber cock penetrate me. The desire, in the end. Above all desire.

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1022 days

I'm a bitch. I'm the bitch of the premier. I was not but they have become. I've become to love, you have to become Nicola. When I saw Saturday night in a wheelchair, aged, worn, broken, defeated, destroyed by the irony of life and love I could not help but break away from the others. He stood up from the wheelchair, has taken steps toward me and I have embraced. To drop it, to protect it. Then we kissed. I do not know why I did not understand, but I felt in another life, in another room, in a parallel dimension. 1022 days were clear we had not seen, I never stopped counting, inside of me, everyday. I still remember that morning. That I was going to do a masters degree in fashion and fashion design in Milan. The night he goes to my house the night when we stopped for a moment to cry, either, even while we were making love. Then, that absurd promise. To wait for the end of the master, to understand, to understand, I said. And I know that he was waiting in the heat of Palermo, and I know fake gay fashion designers, journalists, horny, old ladies champions of lifting and infidelity. Then I went back to Sicily. A little bit disgusted, a little changed, really ashamed. Shame not to have become the artist I wanted to be, shame for leaving him there, our love. Only in yellow. That time I called. Someone had told him that I was back. Love me? Asked in despair, crying. YES, YES, BUT WE CAN NOT STAY TOGETHER. I told him, and erased his number from the phone. Then things went quickly after the election. Now James Sacfidi, the premier, said he forgave me. I was his favorite but I have become his bitch. I've become to love.