Kitchen Table Diamentions

Bunker, the Craftsman and the Museum of the twentieth century



Bunker Christmas reminds me of who we are for real.
Bunker is true even when a store robbery a few hundred dollars. And then use them to pay for a motel and a prostitute.

This year I tried to dedicate myself to things I seemed genuine. Always. I would not explain evil, it was not a realistic choice to the contrary. It was a desire for concrete and craftsmanship that I felt needed to embrace. To my grandfather, but not all.

Flying through the clouds as it does in Toto Miracle in Milan, for me it is something concrete, real, authentic. Toto for me to really fly and I have no problem saying so. This

to say, as I wrote a few days ago, that often this year and my life (in 2011 there are 30!) had more weight than the imagination of the everyday. The false and lying gods of today are many, so the only way to chase them away, for someone like me, it seemed to go back to Greek mythology and real. Here here, I found the right phrase written by someone who knows better than I speak, "These things never happened, but there always."

The 2010 was a banner year for flights on purpose, reading, writing, images. In my head are wonderful and terrible things happened, apocalyptic and inspiring. Those images moving me reveal a piece of what they are and that sometimes I forget to be. But it is important not to forget that you forgot. If you do not forget to have forgotten, we can survive and not be overwhelmed dall'inessenziale.

year I met people, stories, places that I carry around all my life, that struck me, sick, shaken and beaten. E 'in this spirit that I prepare to start New York. Ready to absorb absorbable and let the wind overwhelms me.

Like the other day, with open arms in the neon Lucio Fontana to enjoy the fresh beauty and fascinating Museum of the twentieth century (up here in photo of Silvia Rizzi). Finally.

Sylvain Jonathan Noxmail

Shoshanna


This was a year full of movies. For many reasons.
Monicelli first. And his manifesto of dignity, as he called Ida.
work second. Inside the cinema, inside the screen behind the screen. Before the film, with its margins, near the boundary.
Touch the cinema. Wanting to touch it. In the certainty that it can be a "strong", could also be revenge, like the Tarantino of Shoshanna.
bell'incendio Most of the story. Then came

Inception.
I write and I fall off the chair. I do not know where to go to the lower level or the upper one.
"What is the most pest resistant? A bacterium? A virus? An intestinal tapeworm? No, idea. Persistent, contagious. Once that has taken possession of the brain is almost impossible to eradicate it. An idea fully formed, including, clings in here somewhere "
So even the burning of Shoshanna could really have happened, might be running now, somewhere.

The danger is always to get lost. In half the stories in the middle of the image, in the midst of dreams.
are the things I have always had those on this list. More food, more water than air. Each has its air chemically. My vital molecules are made of the drugs there and this makes it more dangerous.
Tina knows. For all the nights that was with me no Weston.
The border is always tenuous, between life and death, between truth and imagination. More than you imagine.

But if one thing is true as fiction, it is true or not?
And really matter if it's true? Import label it so if you do not believe in God?
How fake a Picasso bull than a bull right? So why do I like as much? And why look for it and create it if nature has already created its original?

Fiction exudes beauty because it seeks its truth. O reveals.
I chase the beauty.

And if curiosity is insubordination in its pure form, Lolita becomes the fire of his loins. Otherwise would not have existed and would not give scandal. Lo-li-ta.

Maybe.