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Los Secretos de sus ojos

La barba folta scura e i capelli neri si alternano alla barbetta rada e bianca come bianchi i capelli, nell'alternarsi del tempo e del racconto, struggente malinconico, come la semplice e decisa fotografia, il corpo straziato di una giovane donna rimanda a torto l'immagine dei giovani desaparecidos nei voli della morte, non c'è sentore di tanghi, un timido accenno di calcio per sottolineare una passione. Grandi interpreti in una recitazione perfetta, la palpabile paura d'improvviso locked in an elevator, men lost forever, unfading love, before the tragedy, the first of the mothers, Argentina, Moreno from the far, far from the ass of the world, strong images to do a headache and a lump in my throat, in the immense tragedy of the twenty-five years imprisoned murderess asked his jailer that at least talk to him, unbelievable conviction. Buenos Aires in the bureaucracy of all countries, dust, and laces of an archive, the mafia and murder, a love in the background as the background of the shots to come to the windows, the shutters of banks ... diverted youth who lose other young, allusions, Peron, Evita ... and Mr. Edwards distinguished, respectable, and that his love never forgotten.

Masterbation Demonsration

Braccianese

It still smells and the desire that rises, the rain washes my canvas shoes and watch in disbelief the incessant comings and goings of the course, once again, and anelletti eggplant and sardines and fennel, the rise dances and rhythms, focuser is shot, my shyness, and I can not find the words, as long as you do not call again, the trolley of shoes and shirt technique uncut, the house with ivy, a "thing" forgotten, I do not able to embrace even in that of Bracciano. Lake, swans, ducks and geese or maybe the sun to that of Caravaggio mocks him, thirty-nine, blood and color, land, zero chemistry, which had found a way of photography? Hopper, America, and seventeen for the time being will not autograph, she looks disgusted, my new book on the cocoa, the streets, the ranks, the party, the surprising discovery, pizza and Necci, pleasure-plank to wine, chianti, the primitive, little sugar tiramisu, no frost, so it is better.

Spritz, Eppie auar, a call not made, of messages in the night, twisted humor, misunderstandings and disagreements, the cockroach on the floor, the anti-inflammatory.

Notebooks delivered strettina jumpsuit, books and even jump Feltrinelli aifon that seems to hearing complaints, questions, hints, wishes broken, caponata jump, jumping chicken, ice cream in the street Via del Corso is not bad, although my point still gives him, then all is silent, I fall asleep at dusk while returning the carts and the captain announces good weather and good visibility, fucking lost and who has making ... damn even the professor. You're not lying and I lose nothing yet another opportunity to understand, even worse than I do and I understand only a voice. There 's been so, it is always the case, experience suggests, moreover, no expectations. We will have more time, with less shyness, a few more words, I licked his wounds in silence, there is no tom tom, stayed with Paul, Mariella us waiting in vain to Piazza Navona, the Roscioli not eat pizza, do not eat the bausbosa Arabic in return soaring contacts and accounts and requests for replication, sleepy look at my Nikon and caress like a puppy, the puppy will actually short, male unexpectedly, the parent's parent, ancestor, vovo, vozinho. .. I play with caramel while the Bavarian flees, paint the rooms and will be better, but feng shui global tour, distribute cards, eat, sleep, I make a run, warm memories of sunset on Braccianese, fortify myself with a candle dispensation from the visits, sad lonely y final.