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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;CUABSXk6eip7ImA9WhRWFkQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485</id><updated>2012-01-04T08:15:58.712-08:00</updated><title>DamoreDimorte</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>75</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/blogspot/KgfE" /><feedburner:info uri="blogspot/kgfe" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUICQXs_eCp7ImA9WhRWEE8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-6782463159165763667</id><published>2011-12-27T15:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-27T15:12:40.540-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-12-27T15:12:40.540-08:00</app:edited><title>Il banchetto dell'Amore</title><content type="html">&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Posato sopra il tavolo della cucina,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;c’è il cuore mio che aspetta di essere servito,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;c’è tutto dal buon vino all’insalata,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;ed io che nel frattempo faccio da intrattenitore…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;qui al banchetto dell’amore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;A turno i commensali si aprono il petto,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;e servono il cuore crudo come il pesce dei Cinesi,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;tendono le mani giunte e aspettano che…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;un Angelo custode che si veda…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;si porti via il dolore…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;qui al banchetto dell’amore.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Rito di chi crede in Santi e Spade,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;e fuori è pioggia e come è pioggia è neve,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;il freddo ha tramortito i corpi di chi…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;ha voluto banchettare,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;è andato via il dolore,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;qui al banchetto dell’amore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-6782463159165763667?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q8spcgLrumF47vVrWtEnWPYMC_s/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q8spcgLrumF47vVrWtEnWPYMC_s/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/JAM0PWqzy9o" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/6782463159165763667/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=6782463159165763667" title="0 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/6782463159165763667?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/6782463159165763667?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/JAM0PWqzy9o/il-banchetto-dellamore.html" title="Il banchetto dell'Amore" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2011/12/il-banchetto-dellamore.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8CQX04eSp7ImA9WhZTEE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-8531059321000351478</id><published>2010-11-17T12:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-13T01:34:20.331-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-13T01:34:20.331-08:00</app:edited><title>...</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/TORBwPrf4zI/AAAAAAAAAW8/1FvcPbD5reo/s1600/uomo_solo1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 120px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/TORBwPrf4zI/AAAAAAAAAW8/1FvcPbD5reo/s200/uomo_solo1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540625738671055666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:hyphenationzone&gt;14&lt;/w:HyphenationZone&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable  {mso-style-name:"Tabella normale";  mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;  mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;  mso-style-noshow:yes;  mso-style-parent:"";  mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt;  mso-para-margin:0cm;  mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  font-size:10.0pt;  font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-ansi-language:#0400;  mso-fareast-language:#0400;  mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;E proprio quando ho più bisogno di te, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;mi accorgo che non ne hai di me..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Non ti ho cercata, non ti ho voluto, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;chi e cosa sia io per te&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;è  un brutto risveglio &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;essere e non essere quel tutto&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;di cui vorrei fortemente &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;esserne il protagonista.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Rifiuto ogni comparsa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;E il silenzio ha più  sapore&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Di ogni tua ambigua parola..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Io non ti amo…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Io &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Non&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Ti&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Amo…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;M’inganno e mi condanno in silenzio..&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;Io non mi amo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-8531059321000351478?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UPLlaifJ_iH_J2ijSMX3owxc2qg/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/UPLlaifJ_iH_J2ijSMX3owxc2qg/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/QJGG7lZdJqc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/8531059321000351478/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=8531059321000351478" title="2 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/8531059321000351478?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/8531059321000351478?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/QJGG7lZdJqc/blog-post.html" title="..." /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/TORBwPrf4zI/AAAAAAAAAW8/1FvcPbD5reo/s72-c/uomo_solo1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2010/11/blog-post.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUUBQn07cCp7ImA9Wx5VGEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-5629893620798952086</id><published>2010-10-12T05:40:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-12T05:40:53.308-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2010-10-12T05:40:53.308-07:00</app:edited><title>antica Tecnica Jedi</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://comixed.com/2010/10/09/4-koma-comic-strip-ancient-jedi-technique/"&gt;&lt;img src="http://cheezcomixed.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/08af0758-39f5-4da0-b441-84e47a7f354f.jpg" title="4 koma comic strip - Ancient Jedi Technique" alt="4 koma comic strip - Ancient Jedi Technique" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;see more &lt;a href="http://comixed.com"&gt;Comixed&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-5629893620798952086?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wXUHd8AdfrYXCZAyGa-BUpo-vPQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/wXUHd8AdfrYXCZAyGa-BUpo-vPQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/FsEw-9WbFB8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/5629893620798952086/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=5629893620798952086" title="0 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/5629893620798952086?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/5629893620798952086?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/FsEw-9WbFB8/antica-tecnica-jedi.html" title="antica Tecnica Jedi" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2010/10/antica-tecnica-jedi.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ak8DSH04fip7ImA9WhZTEE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-3977009882206543677</id><published>2009-09-23T08:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-13T01:34:39.336-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-13T01:34:39.336-08:00</app:edited><title>voglio annusare la Coccoina...</title><content type="html">&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/Sro7nJVknVI/AAAAAAAAAWs/Cov2dhzCwLM/s1600-h/coccoina1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 147px; height: 141px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/Sro7nJVknVI/AAAAAAAAAWs/Cov2dhzCwLM/s200/coccoina1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384681848182185298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;..Voglio spalmarmi il Vinavil e poi togliermelo come se fosse una pellicina. Voglio usare i pennarelli per poi avere tutte le dita piene di piccole striscette colorate. Voglio rubare la merenda ai grandi. Voglio credere che il mio soldatino si sposti all'ultimo momento e schivi il proiettile. Voglio credere che l'astronauta è un lavoro che si può fare solo di notte, perché di giorno non ci sono le stelle per atterrare. Voglio credere che un mio amico è un mio amico per sempre, e non ti tradisce mai. Ma soprattutto voglio credere che Babbo Natale il carbone te lo porta solo se sei stato cattivo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-3977009882206543677?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px; height: 138px;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SVPPYbpc4EI/AAAAAAAAAWU/AXY6Xwb3Hkw/s200/untitled.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;em style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Non so cosa teneva "dint'a capa",&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;intelligente, generoso, scaltro,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;per lui non vale il detto che è del&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Papa, morto un Troisi non&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;se ne fa un altro.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Morto Troisi muore la segreta arte di quella dolce tarantella,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;ciò che Moravia disse del Poeta io lo ridico per un Pulcinella.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;La gioia di bagnarsi in quel diluvio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;di "jamm, o' saccio, ‘naggia, oilloc, azz!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;era come parlare col Vesuvio,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;era come ascoltare del buon Jazz.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;"Non si capisce", urlavano sicuri,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;"questo Troisi se ne resti al Sud!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Adesso lo capiscono i canguri,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;gli Indiani e i miliardari di Holliwood!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Con lui ho capito tutta la bellezzadi Napoli,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;la gente, il suo destino,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;e non m'ha mai parlato della pizza,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;e non m'ha mai suonato il mandolino.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;O Massimino io ti tengo in serbo fra ciò che il mondo dona di più caro,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;ha fatto più miracoli il tuo verbodi quello dell'amato San Gennaro.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:85%;" &gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;R.Benigni&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;em style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-2006546933135861783?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/prwDv9X5PirwNh8A6gOd4pI8otw/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/prwDv9X5PirwNh8A6gOd4pI8otw/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/gi-dLSs9Ng0" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/2006546933135861783/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=2006546933135861783" title="3 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/2006546933135861783?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/2006546933135861783?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/gi-dLSs9Ng0/pulcinella.html" title="Omaggio a un &quot;Pulcinella&quot;" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SVPPYbpc4EI/AAAAAAAAAWU/AXY6Xwb3Hkw/s72-c/untitled.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/12/pulcinella.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0YMQHsyfip7ImA9WhZTEE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-7585571285221375733</id><published>2008-11-22T12:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-03-13T01:39:41.596-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-03-13T01:39:41.596-08:00</app:edited><title>L’Osservatore...</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SShrim8wZ6I/AAAAAAAAAWM/8YzyKqzwDpM/s1600-h/Eye.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271581606152267682" style="float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 169px; height: 142px;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SShrim8wZ6I/AAAAAAAAAWM/8YzyKqzwDpM/s200/Eye.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;... Dal suo angolo fa ciò che è nella sua natura. Guarda con occhi velati ciò che lo circonda e ritrova nel suo vagare, orrori comuni, sentimenti carichi di contrasto. L'osservatore guarda e pensa,assorbe e trae conclusioni tenendole per sè. Guarda attorno a sè e cela lo sconcerto per ciò che osserva. Manifestazioni di caos che vorrebbe saper padroneggiare. L'osservatore è dotato del nome della temperanza, nell'abitudine allo sconcerto talvolta trova tregua. Nel groviglio dei propri pensieri, con immensa pazienza riesce a ritrovare un filo logico con cui sgarbugliare il nodo e trovare una verità dove tutti i tasselli si incastrino in un mosaico perfetto. Un mosaico la cui vista provoca una lucida rassegnazione. L'osservatore, nell'edonismo dato dalla bellezza illuminata e dall' emozionalità del buio trova la perfezione. Nello stesso squilibrio risiede un naturale equilibrio. Il naturale equilibrio delle cose. La ripartizione biunivoca che risiede nel nostro stesso corpo. Due braccia e due mani con cui poter ghermire, toccare, palpare. Due gambe e due piedi con cui potersi muovere, calpestare. Due narici con cui poter respirare, due labbra da dischiudere per poter svelare, assaggiare con avidità il sapore. Due orecchie che si riempiono di parole, che captano rumori e suoni, melodie in cui perdersi. E due occhi. Due occhi con cui osservare. Con cui risucchiare ciò che ci circonda. Ma un'anima. Una soltanto. Con cui elaborare le immagini e renderle proprie.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Desolante carenza di osservartori. E' questo ciò che l'osservatore, inesorabilmente osserva&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-7585571285221375733?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vf6zbRNsRzjSaWU7Qum0OvQZ4UI/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/vf6zbRNsRzjSaWU7Qum0OvQZ4UI/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/jYGrUo5rhcM" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/7585571285221375733/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=7585571285221375733" title="3 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/7585571285221375733?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/7585571285221375733?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/jYGrUo5rhcM/losservatore.html" title="L’Osservatore..." /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SShrim8wZ6I/AAAAAAAAAWM/8YzyKqzwDpM/s72-c/Eye.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/11/losservatore.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU4GRnw6fSp7ImA9WxRVGUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-4719380252307946927</id><published>2008-11-17T16:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T16:25:27.215-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-17T16:25:27.215-08:00</app:edited><title>MATRIX...?</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SSIJgUxAJVI/AAAAAAAAAWE/mEt6e4LEHfs/s1600-h/photo_movieMatrix-quoteSpoon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269784964911605074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 156px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 109px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SSIJgUxAJVI/AAAAAAAAAWE/mEt6e4LEHfs/s200/photo_movieMatrix-quoteSpoon.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;Intuisci qualcosa che non riesci a spiegarti. Senti solo che c'è. È tutta la vita che hai la sensazione che ci sia qualcosa che non quadra nel mondo. Non sai bene di che si tratta, ma l'avverti.È un chiodo fisso nel cervello, da diventarci matto. La risposta è intorno a noi, è il mondo che ci è stato messo dinanzi agli occhi, per nasconderci la verità. Che siamo schiavi di una prigione senza sbarre, una prigione per le nostre menti.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-4719380252307946927?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yVP2QN9m3QN-1o2paunpb7l5J1M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/yVP2QN9m3QN-1o2paunpb7l5J1M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/GmMwtpt0_o8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/4719380252307946927/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=4719380252307946927" title="2 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/4719380252307946927?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/4719380252307946927?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/GmMwtpt0_o8/matrix.html" title="MATRIX...?" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SSIJgUxAJVI/AAAAAAAAAWE/mEt6e4LEHfs/s72-c/photo_movieMatrix-quoteSpoon.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/11/matrix.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0ECRXs4eCp7ImA9WxRVFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-4287667512580524539</id><published>2008-11-14T09:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T10:01:04.530-08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-11-14T10:01:04.530-08:00</app:edited><title>Le parole sono importanti</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SR28lgXnOdI/AAAAAAAAAV8/b0Gqc1Z1TMs/s1600-h/contenuti_web.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268574491623504338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 178px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 97px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SR28lgXnOdI/AAAAAAAAAV8/b0Gqc1Z1TMs/s200/contenuti_web.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;E’ innegabile il fatto che Obama sia di colore, forse la sua pelle e’ piu’ scura di quella di Colin Powell, decisamente e’ piu’ chiara di quella della Rice, ma questa definizione, questa sorta di perifrasi per riferirsi ad Obama mi sembra fuori luogo.&lt;br /&gt;Potevate scrivere: “del senatore dell’Illinois”, “del candidato democratico”, “del leader democratico”, “di Barack Obama”, ecc ecc. Con tutti questi sinonimi, con tutte queste alternative, c’era davvero bisogno di ricorrere al colore della pelle????… e quando mai Mc Cain e’ stato indicato come il senatore bianco?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perché ci sono parole che sembrano dire altro dal loro suono?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-4287667512580524539?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QnBgMw--IpVpsQeWo0NjJkDLxnc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/QnBgMw--IpVpsQeWo0NjJkDLxnc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/meAcpU0Abs8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/4287667512580524539/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=4287667512580524539" title="3 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/4287667512580524539?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/4287667512580524539?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/meAcpU0Abs8/le-parole-sono-importanti.html" title="Le parole sono importanti" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SR28lgXnOdI/AAAAAAAAAV8/b0Gqc1Z1TMs/s72-c/contenuti_web.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/11/le-parole-sono-importanti.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkQERHc_eSp7ImA9WxRXGEs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-6301818139412081337</id><published>2008-10-22T08:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-24T09:05:05.941-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-24T09:05:05.941-07:00</app:edited><title>Ritornerà consueta..</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SP9LN4D8xiI/AAAAAAAAAVU/haPCRQ9uWfU/s1600-h/Amore.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260005591551362594" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="131" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SP9LN4D8xiI/AAAAAAAAAVU/haPCRQ9uWfU/s200/Amore.jpg" width="169" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Che sia Sogno o Realtà, bu, non saprei. Da tempi immemorabili, la domanda mi si affaccia al cervello, e procede cosi: “ma sei innamorato?” e si anche da prima e durante Lei , si quella lei di cui già parlai una volta. Alle volte è il preludio(la domanda) a un lunghissimo monologo di pensiero articolandosi in direzioni più distanti, altre ancora invece, il suo contrario, resto veramente in silenzio, ma dico veramente nessun pensiero nessun suono,nessuna risposta, come se preso alla sprovvista dalla domanda inaspettata, talmente grande, talmente impetuosa da paralizzarmi; in balck-out momentaneo poi riprendo la vita senza traccia della Domanda. Alle volte ci penso no.. e vorrei…ma, cambio idea..a cosa penso? Se sono o non sono inamore?? Ma si può dire in-amorato, dentro l’amore? O potenzialmente pronto come un facocero in primavera? Avrei potuto anche dire Colibrì, ma il Facocero ruba sorrisi..lo so. Fondamentalmente forse non comprendo la Domanda.. ok..basta per oggi..Domani ritornerà consueta.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-6301818139412081337?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MnuoROgFSV4Gwc6HoP6TKlNYLKM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/MnuoROgFSV4Gwc6HoP6TKlNYLKM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/nkNULQnYkjU" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/6301818139412081337/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=6301818139412081337" title="3 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/6301818139412081337?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/6301818139412081337?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/nkNULQnYkjU/ritorner-consueta.html" title="Ritornerà consueta.." /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SP9LN4D8xiI/AAAAAAAAAVU/haPCRQ9uWfU/s72-c/Amore.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/10/ritorner-consueta.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0MGRngyeSp7ImA9WxRQEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-6710519993479005703</id><published>2008-10-03T08:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-03T10:37:07.691-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-03T10:37:07.691-07:00</app:edited><title>parole non dette</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SOZBzB3fkbI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/8WHQkwp0V4Q/s1600-h/galleggia.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5252958360304587186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 178px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 110px" height="104" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SOZBzB3fkbI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/8WHQkwp0V4Q/s200/galleggia.jpg" width="174" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;Che stupidi che siamo...quanti inviti respinti, quante parole non dette, quanti sguardi non ricambiati...certe volte la vita ci passa accanto e noi non ce ne accorgiamo nemmeno,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;immobili galleggiamo insilenzio.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-6710519993479005703?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q5X1LBL46g9bE6HLbN0INTyZh90/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q5X1LBL46g9bE6HLbN0INTyZh90/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q5X1LBL46g9bE6HLbN0INTyZh90/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/q5X1LBL46g9bE6HLbN0INTyZh90/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/jaWoS8yzDV4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/6710519993479005703/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=6710519993479005703" title="2 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/6710519993479005703?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/6710519993479005703?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/jaWoS8yzDV4/parole-non-dette.html" title="parole non dette" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SOZBzB3fkbI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/8WHQkwp0V4Q/s72-c/galleggia.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/10/parole-non-dette.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEERng8eCp7ImA9WxRRFEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-5395010229091286713</id><published>2008-09-26T10:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-26T11:26:47.670-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-09-26T11:26:47.670-07:00</app:edited><title>Tutto il resto fa volume..</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SN0pUHPpA6I/AAAAAAAAAPI/3984OTE9yUk/s1600-h/vita_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250398166102639522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="143" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SN0pUHPpA6I/AAAAAAAAAPI/3984OTE9yUk/s200/vita_.jpg" width="159" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;La vita che sia ricompensa di se stessa, il desiderio e la consapevolezza di non attendere nulla di più di ogni giorno concesso, con il peso e la leggerezza che può portare. I giorni migliori di un uomo si contano sul palmo di una mano, tutto il resto fa volume.. nelle tonalità fra bianco e il nero io vedo infinite sfumature di grigio.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-5395010229091286713?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z8ubAUyRhptfmjy4wJpQWrwiaCQ/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/z8ubAUyRhptfmjy4wJpQWrwiaCQ/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/YAWdoRqUEAg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/5395010229091286713/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=5395010229091286713" title="2 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/5395010229091286713?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/5395010229091286713?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/YAWdoRqUEAg/tutto-il-resto-fa-volume.html" title="Tutto il resto fa volume.." /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SN0pUHPpA6I/AAAAAAAAAPI/3984OTE9yUk/s72-c/vita_.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/09/tutto-il-resto-fa-volume.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IFQ3w8eCp7ImA9WxRRE0o.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-3259982833790713733</id><published>2008-09-24T12:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T12:38:32.270-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-09-25T12:38:32.270-07:00</app:edited><title>..per poter ricostruire</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SNqO4RDJODI/AAAAAAAAAO4/OCGVd4Rd6iM/s1600-h/puzzle_particolare1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249665412954142770" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 157px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 108px" height="110" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SNqO4RDJODI/AAAAAAAAAO4/OCGVd4Rd6iM/s200/puzzle_particolare1.jpg" width="160" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;Ci sono pezzi mancanti, sento un richiamo che ogni giorno prende vigore, la voglia di sradicarmi da quello che è il mio terreno cercandone un altro più fertile, non ho nulla che mi trattiene non ho nulla d’importante qui, tranne la paura di cambiare abitudini. Vivo ora una staticità quasi oppressiva che cadenzialmente si ripresenta ogni giorno con identiche abitudini, lavoro, famiglia... ma io non mi vedo e non mi sento protagonista non c’e niente e nessuno che abbia una qualsiasi attrattiva. I giorni mi attraversano senza lasciarmi un segno sorrido e rispondo ai vari “come va’?” per inerzia. Bisogna demolire per poter ricostruire, mi ricordo questa frase ogni volta che mi guardo allo specchio, ma rifletto solo il nulla piacevole nulla in contraddizione con me stesso, avrei quasi voglia di stare male per avere almeno la percezione di essere vivo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-3259982833790713733?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kNb1OuSi2QtwCTJZucKopcaJooA/0/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kNb1OuSi2QtwCTJZucKopcaJooA/0/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br/&gt;
&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kNb1OuSi2QtwCTJZucKopcaJooA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kNb1OuSi2QtwCTJZucKopcaJooA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/hst8qaeSu8g" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/3259982833790713733/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=3259982833790713733" title="2 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/3259982833790713733?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/3259982833790713733?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/hst8qaeSu8g/per-poter-ricostruire.html" title="..per poter ricostruire" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SNqO4RDJODI/AAAAAAAAAO4/OCGVd4Rd6iM/s72-c/puzzle_particolare1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/09/per-poter-ricostruire.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUFRn06cSp7ImA9WxRREUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-2912712569318533388</id><published>2008-09-23T12:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-23T12:30:17.319-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-09-23T12:30:17.319-07:00</app:edited><title>eco... sussurra</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5249299012018216850" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="137" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SNlBo7Mnn5I/AAAAAAAAAOw/js9eZ1Jpsjo/s200/178426200_1afae09f9a.jpg" width="182" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;il Ricordo è un ritmo armonico di note lontane,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;eco nella mia memoria sussurra odori e voci che più non sentirò,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;immagini sbiadite si tingono di purpuree sfumature di presente&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;e perdersi nuovamente ai primi raggi di sole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-2912712569318533388?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ysvdBDUdH3BsBsTf4iHajCRB1s0/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/ysvdBDUdH3BsBsTf4iHajCRB1s0/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/jzTWPNOVGFY" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/2912712569318533388/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=2912712569318533388" title="1 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/2912712569318533388?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/2912712569318533388?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/jzTWPNOVGFY/eco-sussurra.html" title="eco... sussurra" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SNlBo7Mnn5I/AAAAAAAAAOw/js9eZ1Jpsjo/s72-c/178426200_1afae09f9a.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/09/eco-sussurra.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YAQnw6eCp7ImA9WxRTFk4.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-4072230248994096784</id><published>2008-09-05T09:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T09:12:23.210-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-09-05T09:12:23.210-07:00</app:edited><title>Credo...</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SMFaN2kDVHI/AAAAAAAAAOo/JE1xqqmFgzk/s1600-h/radiofreccia.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242570635267495026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SMFaN2kDVHI/AAAAAAAAAOo/JE1xqqmFgzk/s200/radiofreccia.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;... nelle rovesciate di Bonimba, e nei riff di Keith Richards.Credo al doppio suono di campanello del padrone di casa, che vuole l'affitto ogni primo del mese. Credo che ognuno di noi si meriterebbe di avere una madre e un padre che siano decenti con lui almeno finché non si sta in piedi. Credo che un'Inter come quella di Corso, Mazzola e Suarez non ci sarà mai più, ma non è detto che non ce ne saranno altre belle in maniera diversa. Credo che non sia tutto qui, però prima di credere in qualcos'altro bisogna fare i conti con quello che c'è qua, e allora mi sa che crederò prima o poi in qualche dio. Credo che se mai avrò una famiglia sarà dura tirare avanti con trecento mila al mese, però credo anche che se non leccherò culi come fa il mio caporeparto difficilmente cambieranno le cose. Credo che c'ho un buco grosso dentro, ma anche che, il rock n' roll, qualche amichetta, il calcio, qualche soddisfazione sul lavoro, le stro**ate con gli amici ogni tanto questo buco me lo riempiono. Credo che la voglia di scappare da un paese con ventimila abitanti vuol dire che hai voglia di scappare da te stesso, e credo che da te non ci scappi neanche se sei Eddie Merckx. Credo che non è giusto giudicare la vita degli altri, perché comunque non puoi sapere proprio un ca**o della vita degli altri.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-4072230248994096784?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IDhsYge9mekz7_2wic6jDr_p1jM/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/IDhsYge9mekz7_2wic6jDr_p1jM/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/hS7Wl9_wT80" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/4072230248994096784/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=4072230248994096784" title="3 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/4072230248994096784?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/4072230248994096784?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/hS7Wl9_wT80/credo.html" title="Credo..." /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SMFaN2kDVHI/AAAAAAAAAOo/JE1xqqmFgzk/s72-c/radiofreccia.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/09/credo.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0AESXc6eCp7ImA9WxRTE0U.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-5087290916690334198</id><published>2008-09-02T11:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T11:55:08.910-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-09-02T11:55:08.910-07:00</app:edited><title>Instabilità</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SL2L0sCwQkI/AAAAAAAAAOg/AH6bWyM1CI4/s1600-h/instabile.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241499278621295170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SL2L0sCwQkI/AAAAAAAAAOg/AH6bWyM1CI4/s200/instabile.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;Infilato in sociali meccanismi, il cervello s’insinua in pensieri e scorciatoie per evitare o alleggerire instabilità e precarietà del nostro tempo, (nostro per modo di dire ovviamente potrebbe essere vero il contrario), leggo nei vostri occhi sfiducia e individualismo, leggo precarietà affettiva e la sua assenza, che porta l’uomo e la donna a distanze diametralmente opposte e singolari, e altrettanto paradossalmente una frenesia, insostenibile per me, a cercare legami improbabili e vacillanti. Con leggerezza ci si trova e con la medesima ci si allontana lasciando irrimediabilmente cadaveri solitari di cuori infranti. La teoria della metà mancante una gran minchiata(mio modestissimo parere) si cerca stabilità in precarietà altrui, che per leggi fisiche sfracelleremo al primo alito di vento. Come uno specialista di Slalom gigante Vi evito attento a non cadere procedo da solo fino al traguardo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-5087290916690334198?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4RG0uYJQu_7As2IQwDEEhfkv6jU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/4RG0uYJQu_7As2IQwDEEhfkv6jU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/1P0K4n7KRFI" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/5087290916690334198/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=5087290916690334198" title="1 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/5087290916690334198?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/5087290916690334198?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/1P0K4n7KRFI/instabilit.html" title="Instabilità" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SL2L0sCwQkI/AAAAAAAAAOg/AH6bWyM1CI4/s72-c/instabile.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/09/instabilit.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkIMQX89eyp7ImA9WxdbEkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-9219069776644167211</id><published>2008-08-08T11:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-08T11:03:00.163-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-08-08T11:03:00.163-07:00</app:edited><title>Risonanze...</title><content type="html">&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SJyKITh33ZI/AAAAAAAAAOY/1isBFvTEUbY/s1600-h/onde.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5232208742383607186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 141px" height="151" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SJyKITh33ZI/AAAAAAAAAOY/1isBFvTEUbY/s200/onde.bmp" width="163" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;Mi sono chiesto se fosse un caso che quando inizi un certo tipo di pensieri e di discorsi incontri un sacco di gente che dice e fa cose simili. O forse prima le incontravo e non ci facevo caso perché non avevo quel tipo di attenzione? Erano quelle che si chiamano “&lt;em&gt;risonanze&lt;/em&gt;”? Non saprei, ma ci sono giorni che tutto dice la stessa cosa.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-9219069776644167211?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/h-MXbFEd-iOP7YTquzMY-33S-5M/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/h-MXbFEd-iOP7YTquzMY-33S-5M/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/2egu-RXsGC8" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/9219069776644167211/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=9219069776644167211" title="0 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/9219069776644167211?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/9219069776644167211?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/2egu-RXsGC8/risonanze.html" title="Risonanze..." /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SJyKITh33ZI/AAAAAAAAAOY/1isBFvTEUbY/s72-c/onde.bmp" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/08/risonanze.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CUEHQX49fip7ImA9WxdbEEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-2968268927927305133</id><published>2008-08-06T09:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-06T10:27:10.066-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-08-06T10:27:10.066-07:00</app:edited><title>Ricordi sbocciavan le viole...</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SJnV5K7W-0I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/aj71TSfO6mQ/s1600-h/rosa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5231447620330126146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 165px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 116px" height="116" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SJnV5K7W-0I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/aj71TSfO6mQ/s200/rosa.jpg" width="161" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ma come fan presto, amore, ad appassire le rose cosi per noi…&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;L’amore, wow che parola! e io, spettatore di quante se ne raccontano e se ne dicono parole che solo pronunciarle dovrebbero far tremare la terra e il mare (ma invece), quante volte ho dovuto sentire: mi sono innamorata, oppure gli ho detto che l’amo, e io lo sapevo che sono solo parole di cui ignorate la forza e la sacralità che solo un folle come me le riconosce in un linguaggio ormai perduto, ma voi le utilizzate ancora, volendogli dare quell' importanza che in due mesi trasformate in ghiande per &lt;em&gt;maiali&lt;/em&gt;, al primo cedimento di volontà o al primo dubbio. Ogni volta che vi sento pronunciare Amore, e tutti quei sinonimi che ne derivano e si sviluppano in frasi più articolate, vedo distintamente rigurgiti di bava e ghiande. Meritereste di affogare ad ogni parola pronunciata senza esserne degni, senza sentirne il peso e la responsabilità di riprodurne il suono… No, io non vi perdono.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-2968268927927305133?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KM1NVFCrg4Q2IMe2WAVuEhhBu34/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/KM1NVFCrg4Q2IMe2WAVuEhhBu34/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/vJmP0tyGZxg" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/2070316090643562015/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=2070316090643562015" title="4 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/2070316090643562015?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/2070316090643562015?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/vJmP0tyGZxg/ricchezza.html" title="14° Anno" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SH9xUmqAREI/AAAAAAAAAOI/9WoFaVpj11Y/s72-c/Nicola2.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/07/ricchezza.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0YGQH8zfCp7ImA9WxdWFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-178798612302301855</id><published>2008-07-10T03:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T03:18:41.184-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-07-10T03:18:41.184-07:00</app:edited><title>10/07/2008 12:15:07</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SHXhz9_jhdI/AAAAAAAAAOA/3Sn40rI_3vY/s1600-h/pausa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221327625936668114" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 99px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 101px" height="131" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SHXhz9_jhdI/AAAAAAAAAOA/3Sn40rI_3vY/s200/pausa.jpg" width="145" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;Rullo una cartina, caffè caldo tra le mani, qualcuno è al telefono e parla, organizza la spesa, pere già acquistate, cozze da scongelare, una casa da arredare, io accendo la sigaretta, una boccata , e poi un'altra, le conversazioni si sovrappongono, qualcuno cambierà le ruote dell’auto e qualcun altro deve decidere se cambiare assicurazione, mentre i figli la sera non dormono, la mia sigaretta si consuma, e c’è della parmigiana da preparare… silenzio… la mia vescica fa silenzio e mi comanda, spengo la sigaretta e procedo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-178798612302301855?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qsfRurxEtpxccgZSE9_HSUrQRuc/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qsfRurxEtpxccgZSE9_HSUrQRuc/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/v0kM_FbZHAE" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/178798612302301855/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=178798612302301855" title="1 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/178798612302301855?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/178798612302301855?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/v0kM_FbZHAE/10072008-121507.html" title="10/07/2008 12:15:07" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SHXhz9_jhdI/AAAAAAAAAOA/3Sn40rI_3vY/s72-c/pausa.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/07/10072008-121507.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04DQ389cSp7ImA9WxdWFU0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-8145074335735682092</id><published>2008-07-08T02:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-08T02:39:32.169-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-07-08T02:39:32.169-07:00</app:edited><title>Vertigini....</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SHM1PkA6i_I/AAAAAAAAAN4/U0-c6MrCYvo/s1600-h/tightrope.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5220574934534360050" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="181" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SHM1PkA6i_I/AAAAAAAAAN4/U0-c6MrCYvo/s200/tightrope.jpg" width="181" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;Mi succede, ultimamente, di avere spesso nausea, e vertigini.. escludendo gravidanza, per ovvietà biologiche e dimorfismo sessuale, altrove ho cercato le cause a si fatte vertigini. La salute prima di tutto, lo dicono tutti, e ho pensato di condurre una vita piu’ naturale, iniziando da alimentazione equilibrata e poco calorica, aggiungendo un pizzico di movimento alla mia sedentarietà cronica. Certo mi son sentito molto meglio, fisicamente intendo, ma le vertigini quelle son rimaste..e forse ho iniziato ad intuirne le cause..&lt;br /&gt;Mi son trovato improvvisamente circondato…e pieno di attese e aspettative inconsce indotte da volontà altrui..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mi vanno in fila, una dopo l’altra, senza sovrapporsi. Si staccano, piuttosto, a turno, come pagine di un calendario sfogliato&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;«Chi tende continuamente verso l'alto deve aspettarsi prima o poi d'essere colto dalla vertigine. Che cos'è la vertigine? La vertigine è qualcosa di diverso dalla paura di cadere. La vertigine è la voce del vuoto sotto di noi che ci attira, che ci alletta, è il desiderio di cadere, dal quale ci difendiamo con paura.»&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-8145074335735682092?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oRPcuUWPs4VQey8OXRCcwMvKmlU/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/oRPcuUWPs4VQey8OXRCcwMvKmlU/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/epE5xo7buR4" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/8145074335735682092/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=8145074335735682092" title="2 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/8145074335735682092?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/8145074335735682092?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/epE5xo7buR4/vertigini.html" title="Vertigini...." /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SHM1PkA6i_I/AAAAAAAAAN4/U0-c6MrCYvo/s72-c/tightrope.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/07/vertigini.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0IFRH08eCp7ImA9WxdQE00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-2736133464481009581</id><published>2008-06-12T13:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-12T13:11:55.370-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-06-12T13:11:55.370-07:00</app:edited><title>Nome e Cognome...</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SFGC3ZzUcfI/AAAAAAAAANw/Sdh4NTHlLuA/s1600-h/maschera1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5211090132174926322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" height="182" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SFGC3ZzUcfI/AAAAAAAAANw/Sdh4NTHlLuA/s200/maschera1.jpg" width="184" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;E quando sei convito che oramai nulla può consumare la tua consolidata difesa contro le delusioni, anche quelle meno significative, quelle davvero innocue, bene puntualmente arriva la smentita, arriva ovviamente dalla persona che in quel determinato momento è la più insospettabile e da cui meno te lo aspetti. Mi riferisco davvero a piccolezze, e non hai grandi tradimenti, ma personalmente reputo più fastidiose, sono davvero incomprensibili alcuni comportamenti e menzogne che subisco (abilmente le smaschero, ma le tengo per me), e davvero non trovo alcuna ragione alle stesse, e mi domando, perché? Perché mentirmi quando, molto più facilmente la verità è lì a portata di mano? Io non sono così io non agisco così, né tanto meno permetto di subirlo. Tutto questo mio malgrado m’impone altre difese, e il più delle volte son costretto a dubitare sempre e comunque, fino a prova contraria. Probabilmente questa è un’impercettibile malessere collettivo che attribuisco all’inevitabili maschere con cui ogni giorno ci e vi auguriamo Buongiorno, accompagnato dal solito sorriso. Maschere che nascondono cosa? ‘insostenibile vera natura.. che porta il mio nome e cognome.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-2736133464481009581?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qrolK9I975gRe-R15NkyH5BhU7Q/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/qrolK9I975gRe-R15NkyH5BhU7Q/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/g2GBIkMcTRc" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/2736133464481009581/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=2736133464481009581" title="1 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/2736133464481009581?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/2736133464481009581?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/g2GBIkMcTRc/nome-e-cognome.html" title="Nome e Cognome..." /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SFGC3ZzUcfI/AAAAAAAAANw/Sdh4NTHlLuA/s72-c/maschera1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/06/nome-e-cognome.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0ENQXg-cSp7ImA9WxRWEUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-2353151307213803924</id><published>2008-06-03T06:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-27T06:54:50.659-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-10-27T06:54:50.659-07:00</app:edited><title>Fino alla Fine</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://allfreeportal.com"&gt;&lt;img border="0" alt="Image Hosted by AllFreePortal.com" src="http://www.allfreeportal.com/imghost/images/941805300base.gif"/&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/SEVjeHX32WI/AAAAAAAAANo/Rb5mmHMoG7E/s1600-h/300.gif"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Le Guerre Vanno E Vengono Ma i Miei Soldati Durano in Eterno&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;- Non Si Arresta L'Armata Sul SUolo Di Guerra.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;- Ficcarti Piume Nel Culo Non Fa Di Te Una Gallina.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;- Un giorno senza sangue è come un giorno senza sole.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;- La nostra gloria più grande non sta nel non fallire mai,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;ma nel risollevarci dopo un fallimento.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;- I Soldati si contano alla fine della guerra!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;- È meglio morire in piedi che vivere in ginocchio.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;Il vero scopo della guerra non e' morire per la propria patria,ma far morire il nemico per la sua.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-2353151307213803924?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kt-cHYWIUlvFnbCQuupiEV3dvrA/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/kt-cHYWIUlvFnbCQuupiEV3dvrA/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/JMaWN2tYZ9s" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/2353151307213803924/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=2353151307213803924" title="1 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/2353151307213803924?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/2353151307213803924?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/JMaWN2tYZ9s/fino-alla-fine.html" title="Fino alla Fine" /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/06/fino-alla-fine.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DkEARXo9fCp7ImA9WxZVGUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8970137436114602485.post-9107054614174756482</id><published>2008-03-31T02:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-31T02:10:44.464-07:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2008-03-31T02:10:44.464-07:00</app:edited><title>Problem Solving...</title><content type="html">&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/R_CoiX_GnsI/AAAAAAAAAMo/NzRQp_CS4f0/s1600-h/sipario.jpg"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5183828479611150018" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 178px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 148px" height="123" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/R_CoiX_GnsI/AAAAAAAAAMo/NzRQp_CS4f0/s200/sipario.jpg" width="164" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;-Scena Prima- (ambientazione)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Siamo in un Customer Care centinaia di operatori telefonici e altre tante postazioni per ognuno di loro, all’interno di questo Call Center, ognuno ha un ruolo, esistono vari reparti tra i quali, l’help desk, che si occupa della manutenzione software e hardware dei computers che vengono utilizzati in azienda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;-Scena Seconda- (il fatto&lt;/strong&gt;) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Un giorno qualunque di un mese qualunque del 2008 gli operatori del call center si avvicendano come di consueto con i propri turni e puntualmente ad inizio turno cercano postazioni libere per iniziare il loro lavoro, un computer qualunque di una postazione qualunque, non funziona, per l’esattezza il mouse in dotazione era scollegato, ma ricollegarlo non sarebbe servito a risolvere il problema, infatti lo spinotto finale era diverso dall’ingresso sul PC.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;-Scena Terza- (l’evoluzione)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Diversi operatori cercando postazioni libere si scontravano con la realtà de PC con mouse da sostituire, molti hanno taciuto e cercato altro, qualcun altro ha segnalato ai propri responsabili il PC incriminato, affinché i Super Visor (responsabili) a loro volta avrebbero rigirato la stessa segnalazione al gruppo Help Desk per sostituire un MOUSE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;-Scena Quarta- (conclusione)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Un operatore, un po’ più intraprendente (a mio modesto parere) ha procurato un nuovo Mouse da un altro PC NON FUNZIONANTE, in modo tale da rendere operativo e funzionante il suo PC. Semplice ed efficace ( sempre a mio modestissimo parere), ma questo ha provocato disappunto da parte dei responsabili i quali avevano (come da procedura) recuperato un MOUSE per il PC. L’operatore si è visto costretto a scollegare il mouse funzionante da lui sostituito, con il mouse sempre funzionante, ma ottenuto come da regolamento&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#666666;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;P.S. i 2 mouse sono identici...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8970137436114602485-9107054614174756482?l=damoredimorte.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;a href="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GgTb5kYfCnKO5VKvyLD-AXrzuog/1/da"&gt;&lt;img src="http://feedads.g.doubleclick.net/~a/GgTb5kYfCnKO5VKvyLD-AXrzuog/1/di" border="0" ismap="true"&gt;&lt;/img&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img src="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~4/xL9R8tknx3M" height="1" width="1"/&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/feeds/9107054614174756482/comments/default" title="Commenti sul post" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8970137436114602485&amp;postID=9107054614174756482" title="3 Commenti" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/9107054614174756482?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8970137436114602485/posts/default/9107054614174756482?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/blogspot/KgfE/~3/xL9R8tknx3M/problem-solving.html" title="Problem Solving..." /><author><name>lestat</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14067682961370675725</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="16" height="16" src="http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_OXw1RQAF5QM/R_CoiX_GnsI/AAAAAAAAAMo/NzRQp_CS4f0/s72-c/sipario.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://damoredimorte.blogspot.com/2008/03/problem-solving.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

