Something Wrong When Toddler Always Thirsty

. Blind dates

There are days when the daily activities no sense. It's not about to want it or not, because in the end everything becomes the same. I intend, however, when it was fully and positively in a low-cut from reality and not the slightest intention of returning to the ranks. What then, "reality" and "ranks" are just two words ridiculous. Most of us can not even define what real and surreal thing : these are complementary components of a mind-set to feel more or less safe . themselves, mostly. ranks And for what, as a rule of devilishly prepackaged?
morning leggiucchio articles and blogs here and there and the only comment I get is: Stop thinking for a moment. Take a break. Just run like hamsters in the wheel. Do not you realize how heavy is useless and feverishly this perpetual smashing into things, this constant hive swarm around the same, always there, there, there with head. Too much head. Stop, real estate, in silence. And try to look at who you might be if you stopped not be for several hours.

Lab 8 Hardy Weinberg Problems Number 6

Even before leaving home I knew that I would spend the rest of the evening to write, because what I was heading was the most anticipated event for me in recent months: " Blind Date", the concert in the dark Cesare Picco. I was excited when I turned off the light before you close the door, knowing that when I get back nothing would have been the same.
I am a little 'difficulty in dealing with this post. First of all because, again taken by the disruption of the event, I yet fully recovered verbal language. Second, because while I was in the theater I was a canvas on which the emotions came to him like buckets of paint, and now, to be effective in my descriptions, I try to get back into that world from the chair where I sit in my room. It helps me because it is just now coming into possession of the recording of the first "blind date" (which took place in 2009 in Milan), on sale at the exit from the concert along with other disks Peak, which partly owned. But enough with all these hats introductory ... togliamoceli and let's go to the theater.

"It plays with your eyes closed, in the dark at heart." (F. Chopin)

The hot lights of the reflectors bathe the stage for the first few minutes. Slowly, the volumes are lost in simple and thin yellow lines. The piano keyboard becomes a calm sea of \u200b\u200btiny flames, which burr is up and down stroke from the hands of Caesar. There is only one bull's eye vertically above his head. My bulbs are clinging to the last centimeter of outline remained, until it is lost completely in total darkness. As if I had let go of the jacket, I let myself be carried away by the current, with confidence. Yet they are distracted by the lack of vision. I can not concentrate on the music, because I'm experiencing all the rest of me that I usually forget. I understand to be present with all of myself there, at that time. The mind continues to work. While the visual arts such as painting does not have the immediacy of the moment - and the picture does not completely - the improvisational nature of this music has no doubt the coincidence in time between conception and birth of the idea. And 'there with you, is happening at that moment, and will never be the same in another moment the world. Caesar is the genius of all this through: I seek - without really trying - with the look and I realize I have my eyes wide open. Do not even feel the need to beat them. The forehead is raised, the mouth contracted. Every part of me reaches out to listen to him and myself. The music glides from soft melodies and delicate to severe tremors and dissonant, leaving do Whether the company from almost psychedelic sounds, percussion, hand on wood, scratched directly on the strings, strong and weak breaths whistling by the pianist. The sounds of Gershwin, Debussy and style of the pieces together in a mix Peak indefinable. Rattles agitated liquids and almost make me think of schools of small fish. I have tears in his eyes and let the tears fall down her cheeks. Wiped them with her hands and I realize that nobody could see these acts happen. It 'so blind that if I get close to someone's face without a sound, this might not notice my presence. I'm free. To cry, to smile, to touch my face. Without being seen. The perception of time that passes makes me fear the moment where the light will return and when this happens I'm annoyed. I would have remained in the dark with the music of Cesare for many hours. The light, however, gives me another idea: when it rings, he is music. His body is totally at the service of it and twists, rises and sits uneasily. As if he had into a force that moves independently of his will. From start to finish, he never opened his eyes do not look at her keyboard. The lights come back on in the room and he is preparing to play the last notes. Seems to conclude on the highest, which roll slowly one after the other like crumbs. But he decides to offer them a contract with a single low key. Together, land and touch the sky, slowly. Caesar takes the keys rolled until the notes do not fall asleep, dropping his fingers with the force of gravity, under the keyboard. Silence in the room. A contemplation of the miracle of magic. And then applause.
After several exits and returns to the stage, Caesar took the floor. E 'visibly tried, I am on the third row and see his hands tremble slightly. Feet and legs moving nervously, trying to catch my breath and I thank you all for the power they felt by each of us. He speaks of his concept of "Blind date" and then goes to a " Hikari (Japanese for" light "), a piece he composed and inspired by a legend that once a year the Emperor was alone in the royal gardens of Kyoto to contemplate the sunset for all its people. Here then return to music in a new look, after a concert that has already been sunset, night and dawn: a cyclical nature of which one becomes a part, as the natural and daily alternation of light and dark.

Lia Sophia Party Ideas

I started writing this blog in April 2009 and I have told many stories, some quite interesting and others much less so. Which responds to the character of "play room" that I have given from the outset in this space. The fact is I see much changed from when I started writing more and more often about my more distant post, I realize there are more representative than they are today. This is perfectly normal, it is indeed worrying to the contrary. If a hard core remains within each of us, it is true that many other aspects change constantly. Clicking on the link in my past makes me smile the way I write and things that I decided to share , so that I could easily remove some of the not erode in any way shape of my current figure. Do not deny that, but I wonder if some post are really what they want to be known by those who understood in here: in 2009 if my audience was small and selected, more hours I can not say the same thing. I do not know, maybe it's time to do some 'cleaning, take pictures as a child and put them in an album in the drawer. Often when you have someone always under the eyes is more difficult to realize that grows: the blog have given me the chance to see this change even on myself, which is known to be not quite simple. I wonder, however, from the peak of my current confidentiality, whether it still wants to leave open the album to passersby.

Cervix Silver Nitrate

The album in its strings, my. Let's cut

My absolute favorite instrument is the cello. I believe that one day not too far away I'll buy one and learn how to play. He has a warm, full, proud, stern, noble, porous. His sweet voice and knows how to be discreet and live very well on its own. It is never cocky and vain as that of the violin, and even gruff and serious as that of the low. The first time I saw one was 1988 when I started playing the piano, taking lessons from a Scottish teacher who was playing in a trio of piano, violin and cello. It was not love at first listen because at the rate of year-end the young students of cellist could not be issued to those wonders of sounds vaguely acceptable. I remember very well that I wondered then what could push a kid to want to come to terms with the cello, because I think it is a tool that learns to love when you have a certain musical maturity and a fine sensitivity to the nuances.
I play the cello in an orchestra, playing my part with all the others and making me overwhelmed by the power of the union of harmonies.
What I propose is not a performance for my taste, but we must rely on Youtube. But worth a reference: for phrases from 4'54''on, I could die.

Hear the sublime sadness of Brahms:

Look here instead rises and falls as the voice of the cello to accompany the violin:

soul I take the throws where he believes. By the way, is part of the soundtrack of " 2046," I'll be ready to savor after a week of pre-immersion audio visual. I can not wait to hear it come on the scene ...

Posters About Fire Prevention

In recent weeks, things are happening to me that can barely hold together. I've got more or less voluntarily, a series of requests to go outside to stir something inside. I did not think the effectiveness they might have, I just put on your plate and eat. Now I realize that I'm assimilating and are starting to go out in a different guise: the mine. More than one person spoke of my outlook on things and the world, directly to me or virtual channels. I force myself then, for a moment to look through the eyes of someone else to see how my style can be deciphered. The way they communicate is something so dermal that you can almost feel it. It seems a bit 'as an effort to warn the flow of blood in his veins: the only way that you have evidence for is to get a cut. Understand what their code of communication and learn to master it looks a bit' to an act of this kind, because often it is also intimately painful and not always what comes out is pleasant and acceptable. A spot of blood on clothing can create discomfort, although paradoxically it is the most true and there is natural in us. The look on things and the world is our interpretation of what we live, but few are able to analyze and understand their characteristics in a deep way. Why should, after all? Today's society does not impose or, often, requires it. Indeed. So then takes over something that I consider one of the privileges of being photographers: the inescapable awareness of the ways of their communications. Some people do not feel quest'impellenza speculative, but for a photographer should be a matter of physical and spiritual continuity - rough pass me this expression - between what you have inside and the need for outside. As you may have already guessed by reading my other post, for me, a photographer is not one that captures parts of the world with mechanical contraptions, but consciousness walking with the obsession of the communication. In my opinion, "photography" should become a subject of high school, and because it would encourage the development of a sense of critical mass of abnormal visual messages that are now proposed and absorbed in a worryingly indiscriminate, and because it would help young people to know much better themselves.
few days ago I had a heated confrontation with a former partner of my fashion course, following the publication by his picture on Facebook of a bum at Termini Station. I looked at that picture and I have examined as are accustomed to do: The primary elements that compose it and the choices (assuming they have been such) the best operating techniques to convey the desired message. This is a bum sitting on a bench in a track while you are nibbling a sandwich. On the bench there is a brick of fruit juice and a plastic bag containing, presumably, the "personal effects" of the homeless. The shot cut the face of it at the top of the nose, thus excluding the view of the most important part of the face, and below mid-calf. The perspective suggests that the approach used is a mediotele and the aperture is wide open, because almost nothing is discernible in the background except - for me now unmistakable - floor of the station. There are no other persons or items to suggest, as erroneously countered later, the comparison with the welfare of others or any other reality. The picture was turning black and white and is not part of a series. The impression I got from the image was that of aseptic and simple observation of a situation. The photo did not say anything about the person portrayed denotes any planning step. Faced with what seemed to me then a depersonalization free and detrimental to the dignity of a person already evident difficulties, I turned directly to the photographer ask him why he had taken and published that photo. I quote verbatim (including spelling) its progressive responses to my requests for clarification.

"My photos have no reason, it's me who are motivated to take."
"I shot with the heart and the heart can not control."
"(There is) no message or many messages .. I leave it to others to publish the significato.il day that 'a picture," not obvious "that will have' a meaning it will write my own 'under the photo although it will be 'just my personal meaning and is not' told to you or other people give you the same feeling. tell me, what meaning would you give to this picture? "

A no avail my efforts to understand what seems to me obvious, that the photographer can know what he is doing and what they want to communicate. This first shooting, not afterwards will be responsible for ' interpretation of others. It is a photographer who does not put these questions. There is a photographer who acts before thinking, but it is only a snap that wants to enrich its portfolio uncritically of street-photography making nice with his friends for having "seized" a moment (a tramp who eats?) and have shown an arbitrary artistic form with a photo black and white. Omit the record of the actions of other participants in the discussion, friends of the "photographer" that have taken place alternatively in pseudofilosofiche digressions at all relevant to what you were talking about surgery or chocolate from the blue "emotions", allegedly instigated camaraderie and allegiance to the relational-genital. But the worst thing is that the debate has been truncated by the individual who, after giving me the young teacher and asked to keep my critical lessons elsewhere, has closed the curtain on the democratic debate by deleting comments and any subsequent possibility of comparison me and Alek, who also acted constructively to open the views of that group of stupid. A few minutes later, just not a trace of dissent at the bottom of her beautiful photography , deleted all comments from first to last, careful to leave all eleven "I like it." The beauty is also said to accept negative criticism. I leave you only imagine what I then wrote separately.
Now, beyond the sickly infant each other, the case has given me the opportunity to try yet another great bitterness against prevailing mediocrity of the masses that leads to flatten out at ever lower. My thoughts immediately went to whom this kind of makes battles almost every day and wondered where some people may find strength and encouragement to change positions that have the air of not wanting to be changed and that instead they are brought forward with conviction. It is useful if a duty, to find the culprits for this situation - education, media, politicians, etc.. - How much it would effectively be able to instill even a little doubt in the minds these now lack the ability to think for themselves. To those you spend to propose a constructive goes all my respect, because my liver would not hold the anger I feel when I encounter some reality around me. Especially if they are people that boasts the title as a photographer, when it is clear that there ever conceived the idea of \u200b\u200bbeing cut to see who has blood in it.