AFTER THE APOCALYPSE 
DEVOTION
DEVOTION
CONFLICT 
CONCERTINO
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
What Is A Level 3 Food Alergy
GALLERY OF PAINTINGS GALLERY PAINTINGS AND ILLUSTRATIONS
AFTER THE APOCALYPSE
DEVOTION
DEVOTION
CONFLICT
CONCERTINO
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Buying A Twin Malm Bed
story in April 2008 on www.rivistaparliamone.it
THE CAT AND THE
Pussy (Characters: Madame, a monk, Monsieur, Lisette, Cat Napoléon)
Buddhist Priest: very flattered by Madame, talk talk without stopping encouraged by the gestures of assent to her adoring listener and unconditionally. Monsieur
: sitting in his chair, air between distracted and irritated as the various attitudes of her and take the turn the talk. Monsieur is jealous of Madame, his exaltation to annoy a whim, a new project just met a person and the urgent need to share it with someone (preferably a patient person capable of listening). Since Madame has a very high opinion of himself she happened to have an irritating feeling of being misunderstood, but when a new enthusiasm overwhelms the other party should be available soon and he can not be Monsieur, concerned only to the races (the 'be treated the wife with too much sufficiency has always been a thorn stuck in his heart but now makes far less evil, as is kidnapped by the fascinating oriental philosophies with unlimited lives in various forms in various sizes consolatory in theory wants to know everything, greedy and insatiable.
Madame and the monk had met in a rustic brasserie very fashionable and talked with some kind of excuse, instantly taken underground understanding derived from a mysterious feeling affinities to the existence of which there were both ready to swear or swear.
listeners or followers
Without knowing what to do without him missing
anonymous citizen
she always on the way to seduce or be conquered ...
friendly conversation followed the meeting of the bistro table on the quiet waltz musette liqueur many smiles coaxing and looks attractive, flattering each other. Then phone calls (endless if she called) meetings for the apparent accident (architects carefully ...) and finally an invitation to tea with Madame (bonzo elated!).
"come to a castle with the 'sign of the dragon" had she said with undisguised pride of caste, look away finger to fix a double chin.
Yet here they are now here, living room full of scented silk cushions vases of hydrangeas delicious ash furniture art nouveau light soft shadows wary of lampshades, including two conversations in a passionate debate, but also a bit 'exhausting.
Monsieur pose in his chair to listen to but carefully over time developed a method to slumber with his eyes slightly narrowed (Madame knows that and he refrains from calling in question). Also that afternoon would pass without making a mess but it was a punishment for him to see her so flushed to grips with that guy who pontificate endlessly and with a flourish improbable on theories and alleged spiritualistic and pleasant truth .. Col
makeup for special occasions
desirable that Madame was
fresh coiffeur nail lacquer red
repertoire of grimaces
nose up and annoying and pathetic
some cough ...
of Solidarity with all the cat Monsieur Napoleon bored yawns languishes, No hunting butterflies, but only to the pet that is lovable genius of which he is patron of the house owner, and the elegant prisoner. Lightning in his unhappy dart sideways glance you see that you feel bored by some of his meows steeped in melancholy, curled himself up close between her soft feathers spleen. Priceless wise man knows that the best way to cure boredom is snoring and sleep trying vortices happiness unattainable or pretend to contemplate the flight of a fly a branch in the wind and suddenly a banal gesture can run as long as the time, tired and useless . It is left to live like the world ended chosen as a dwelling, grumpy king untouchable.
The six announced here at the clock and the cat peeping in the chair of Monsieur, rubs him with his pants and moved by irresistible Gatteschi egocentrism comes out with a "miaooo" formidable padded softly on the carpet and showing the magnificence of its silver cat , proudly announcing.
peek distracted by Madame monk and his mouth half open, Madame is irritated by the intruder but the monk stood up shooting the cat like giving the appearance of a ghost conjured up and exclaims:
-Look, here it is the last dimension first to be reborn as a man!
right effect produced by Madame sortie on fixing the cat as if she saw him for the first time, annihilated and ecstasy.
Napoléon who likes not only admiration and quell'esagitata attention to himself rears his tail in protest turns his legs and leaving it for today bye bye cerimonietta tea with delicious pastries s'odon only moments in which Argentina tinkling of spoons and touches on the musical porcelain with a few harmless syllables uttered here and there carelessly, dissolved quickly in the evening. He turns one last time before you cross the threshold see the shapes in the gloom with a muffled "meow" deep disgust of commiseration for Madame contempt for the monk and then waved to the peaceful and respectful distance Monsieur, from philosopher to philosopher.
Before crossing the threshold output can not avoid hearing "The cats live among us and learn to closely resemble" then turns to look at the bald little man with the mouth that stain to the white foam body covered with a tumbled dark from which two arms agitated trying to break free scoring in the air confused logarithms, and think "What an imbecile!" He almost grandiose wonderful cat would therefore have to look like an individual of this kind?, ohibò. Spoetizzato by such vulgarity, Napoléon decidedly low profile claw out the front door and curled up on the steps ... ...
porphyry rose
the cat wants to remain vigilant in love
straining every shadow in every
Greetings from the vague noise ... Francois boy passing a bicycle boulevard hum of voices out there in the house closest to the sound of the postman on leave squeals of schoolchildren who thronged to the brassiere of brakes screeching on the pavement birdsong hidden among the branches of camellia walk ... lovely little girl humming Lisette!
Lisette Lisette and the cat back to life Lisette vision approaches that dream image of sublime harmony of movements of gait tender dove Lisette next breath that regenerates is insinuating mild and tender caresses, and he is rapt in ecstasy Gatteschi humanly unattainable .
Now follows the scent trail of heavenly aromas and is a tacit agreement on a point, a secret ceremony.
passes before sitting room sees the same scene of the two conversationalists Monsier breathless and overcome by sleep, but is now intent on something else. Here
Lisette climbed the stairs to imagine lying in her bedroom little girl on her bed dreaming and stop for a moment, undecided. Ventured one step then another then another on must enter through the gate disclosed she is crying, beautiful and unhappy, grasping the corners of his favorite pillow covers her face with them to protect themselves from an unknown enemy, yet fearsome. The skirt is broken down on the bare legs move slightly from the sobs of the three buttons undone chemisier long hair spread Lisette is there, beautiful and inviting.
-Miao
... A call, a sigh.
-Miao
... A lament, almost a plea.
Lisette sees the tears dissolve a smile stretches his cheeks a soft light touches of his eyes gleaming wet. Lengthens on the floor, grabs him tightly in her arms and hearts all around her becomes severe, the melancholy vanishes. Now the embrace
hath been dissolved and she lies supine on the bed, her hands open and abandoned eyes watching the last rays filtered through the lace. The cat
victorious advance of the dunes very slight pause in the body of Lisette keep its valleys felpeggia quivering savoring the subtle flavor of waiting.
silky At the edge of the skirt stops, hesitating for a brief moment, looks to meet and Lisette is liquid but strong-willed ... In the shadows hear a groan, the yield is craving for.
Then the cat sticks his head in china chink open the skirt, stretching out to conquer the coveted aromas, stun, happily greedy and insatiable.
... While feels faint and distant, muttering in a whisper:
-Napoléon, oh oui! ... Mauro
Cristofani 
THE CAT AND THE
Pussy (Characters: Madame, a monk, Monsieur, Lisette, Cat Napoléon)
Buddhist Priest: very flattered by Madame, talk talk without stopping encouraged by the gestures of assent to her adoring listener and unconditionally. Monsieur
: sitting in his chair, air between distracted and irritated as the various attitudes of her and take the turn the talk. Monsieur is jealous of Madame, his exaltation to annoy a whim, a new project just met a person and the urgent need to share it with someone (preferably a patient person capable of listening). Since Madame has a very high opinion of himself she happened to have an irritating feeling of being misunderstood, but when a new enthusiasm overwhelms the other party should be available soon and he can not be Monsieur, concerned only to the races (the 'be treated the wife with too much sufficiency has always been a thorn stuck in his heart but now makes far less evil, as is kidnapped by the fascinating oriental philosophies with unlimited lives in various forms in various sizes consolatory in theory wants to know everything, greedy and insatiable.
Madame and the monk had met in a rustic brasserie very fashionable and talked with some kind of excuse, instantly taken underground understanding derived from a mysterious feeling affinities to the existence of which there were both ready to swear or swear.
listeners or followers
Without knowing what to do without him missing
anonymous citizen
she always on the way to seduce or be conquered ...
friendly conversation followed the meeting of the bistro table on the quiet waltz musette liqueur many smiles coaxing and looks attractive, flattering each other. Then phone calls (endless if she called) meetings for the apparent accident (architects carefully ...) and finally an invitation to tea with Madame (bonzo elated!).
"come to a castle with the 'sign of the dragon" had she said with undisguised pride of caste, look away finger to fix a double chin.
Yet here they are now here, living room full of scented silk cushions vases of hydrangeas delicious ash furniture art nouveau light soft shadows wary of lampshades, including two conversations in a passionate debate, but also a bit 'exhausting.
Monsieur pose in his chair to listen to but carefully over time developed a method to slumber with his eyes slightly narrowed (Madame knows that and he refrains from calling in question). Also that afternoon would pass without making a mess but it was a punishment for him to see her so flushed to grips with that guy who pontificate endlessly and with a flourish improbable on theories and alleged spiritualistic and pleasant truth .. Col
makeup for special occasions
desirable that Madame was
fresh coiffeur nail lacquer red
repertoire of grimaces
nose up and annoying and pathetic
some cough ...
of Solidarity with all the cat Monsieur Napoleon bored yawns languishes, No hunting butterflies, but only to the pet that is lovable genius of which he is patron of the house owner, and the elegant prisoner. Lightning in his unhappy dart sideways glance you see that you feel bored by some of his meows steeped in melancholy, curled himself up close between her soft feathers spleen. Priceless wise man knows that the best way to cure boredom is snoring and sleep trying vortices happiness unattainable or pretend to contemplate the flight of a fly a branch in the wind and suddenly a banal gesture can run as long as the time, tired and useless . It is left to live like the world ended chosen as a dwelling, grumpy king untouchable.
The six announced here at the clock and the cat peeping in the chair of Monsieur, rubs him with his pants and moved by irresistible Gatteschi egocentrism comes out with a "miaooo" formidable padded softly on the carpet and showing the magnificence of its silver cat , proudly announcing.
peek distracted by Madame monk and his mouth half open, Madame is irritated by the intruder but the monk stood up shooting the cat like giving the appearance of a ghost conjured up and exclaims:
-Look, here it is the last dimension first to be reborn as a man!
right effect produced by Madame sortie on fixing the cat as if she saw him for the first time, annihilated and ecstasy.
Napoléon who likes not only admiration and quell'esagitata attention to himself rears his tail in protest turns his legs and leaving it for today bye bye cerimonietta tea with delicious pastries s'odon only moments in which Argentina tinkling of spoons and touches on the musical porcelain with a few harmless syllables uttered here and there carelessly, dissolved quickly in the evening. He turns one last time before you cross the threshold see the shapes in the gloom with a muffled "meow" deep disgust of commiseration for Madame contempt for the monk and then waved to the peaceful and respectful distance Monsieur, from philosopher to philosopher.
Before crossing the threshold output can not avoid hearing "The cats live among us and learn to closely resemble" then turns to look at the bald little man with the mouth that stain to the white foam body covered with a tumbled dark from which two arms agitated trying to break free scoring in the air confused logarithms, and think "What an imbecile!" He almost grandiose wonderful cat would therefore have to look like an individual of this kind?, ohibò. Spoetizzato by such vulgarity, Napoléon decidedly low profile claw out the front door and curled up on the steps ... ...
porphyry rose
the cat wants to remain vigilant in love
straining every shadow in every
Greetings from the vague noise ... Francois boy passing a bicycle boulevard hum of voices out there in the house closest to the sound of the postman on leave squeals of schoolchildren who thronged to the brassiere of brakes screeching on the pavement birdsong hidden among the branches of camellia walk ... lovely little girl humming Lisette!
Lisette Lisette and the cat back to life Lisette vision approaches that dream image of sublime harmony of movements of gait tender dove Lisette next breath that regenerates is insinuating mild and tender caresses, and he is rapt in ecstasy Gatteschi humanly unattainable .
Now follows the scent trail of heavenly aromas and is a tacit agreement on a point, a secret ceremony.
passes before sitting room sees the same scene of the two conversationalists Monsier breathless and overcome by sleep, but is now intent on something else. Here
Lisette climbed the stairs to imagine lying in her bedroom little girl on her bed dreaming and stop for a moment, undecided. Ventured one step then another then another on must enter through the gate disclosed she is crying, beautiful and unhappy, grasping the corners of his favorite pillow covers her face with them to protect themselves from an unknown enemy, yet fearsome. The skirt is broken down on the bare legs move slightly from the sobs of the three buttons undone chemisier long hair spread Lisette is there, beautiful and inviting.
-Miao
... A call, a sigh.
-Miao
... A lament, almost a plea.
Lisette sees the tears dissolve a smile stretches his cheeks a soft light touches of his eyes gleaming wet. Lengthens on the floor, grabs him tightly in her arms and hearts all around her becomes severe, the melancholy vanishes. Now the embrace
hath been dissolved and she lies supine on the bed, her hands open and abandoned eyes watching the last rays filtered through the lace. The cat
victorious advance of the dunes very slight pause in the body of Lisette keep its valleys felpeggia quivering savoring the subtle flavor of waiting.
silky At the edge of the skirt stops, hesitating for a brief moment, looks to meet and Lisette is liquid but strong-willed ... In the shadows hear a groan, the yield is craving for.
Then the cat sticks his head in china chink open the skirt, stretching out to conquer the coveted aromas, stun, happily greedy and insatiable.
... While feels faint and distant, muttering in a whisper:
-Napoléon, oh oui! ... Mauro
Cristofani
Buying A Twin Malm Bed
story in April 2008 on www.rivistaparliamone.it
THE CAT AND THE
Pussy (Characters: Madame, a monk, Monsieur, Lisette, Cat Napoléon)
Buddhist Priest: very flattered by Madame, talk talk without stopping encouraged by the gestures of assent to her adoring listener and unconditionally. Monsieur
: sitting in his chair, air between distracted and irritated as the various attitudes of her and take the turn the talk. Monsieur is jealous of Madame, his exaltation to annoy a whim, a new project just met a person and the urgent need to share it with someone (preferably a patient person capable of listening). Since Madame has a very high opinion of himself she happened to have an irritating feeling of being misunderstood, but when a new enthusiasm overwhelms the other party should be available soon and he can not be Monsieur, concerned only to the races (the 'be treated the wife with too much sufficiency has always been a thorn stuck in his heart but now makes far less evil, as is kidnapped by the fascinating oriental philosophies with unlimited lives in various forms in various sizes consolatory in theory wants to know everything, greedy and insatiable.
Madame and the monk had met in a rustic brasserie very fashionable and talked with some kind of excuse, instantly taken underground understanding derived from a mysterious feeling affinities to the existence of which there were both ready to swear or swear.
listeners or followers
Without knowing what to do without him missing
anonymous citizen
she always on the way to seduce or be conquered ...
friendly conversation followed the meeting of the bistro table on the quiet waltz musette liqueur many smiles coaxing and looks attractive, flattering each other. Then phone calls (endless if she called) meetings for the apparent accident (architects carefully ...) and finally an invitation to tea with Madame (bonzo elated!).
"come to a castle with the 'sign of the dragon" had she said with undisguised pride of caste, look away finger to fix a double chin.
Yet here they are now here, living room full of scented silk cushions vases of hydrangeas delicious ash furniture art nouveau light soft shadows wary of lampshades, including two conversations in a passionate debate, but also a bit 'exhausting.
Monsieur pose in his chair to listen to but carefully over time developed a method to slumber with his eyes slightly narrowed (Madame knows that and he refrains from calling in question). Also that afternoon would pass without making a mess but it was a punishment for him to see her so flushed to grips with that guy who pontificate endlessly and with a flourish improbable on theories and alleged spiritualistic and pleasant truth .. Col
makeup for special occasions
desirable that Madame was
fresh coiffeur nail lacquer red
repertoire of grimaces
nose up and annoying and pathetic
some cough ...
of Solidarity with all the cat Monsieur Napoleon bored yawns languishes, No hunting butterflies, but only to the pet that is lovable genius of which he is patron of the house owner, and the elegant prisoner. Lightning in his unhappy dart sideways glance you see that you feel bored by some of his meows steeped in melancholy, curled himself up close between her soft feathers spleen. Priceless wise man knows that the best way to cure boredom is snoring and sleep trying vortices happiness unattainable or pretend to contemplate the flight of a fly a branch in the wind and suddenly a banal gesture can run as long as the time, tired and useless . It is left to live like the world ended chosen as a dwelling, grumpy king untouchable.
The six announced here at the clock and the cat peeping in the chair of Monsieur, rubs him with his pants and moved by irresistible Gatteschi egocentrism comes out with a "miaooo" formidable padded softly on the carpet and showing the magnificence of its silver cat , proudly announcing.
peek distracted by Madame monk and his mouth half open, Madame is irritated by the intruder but the monk stood up shooting the cat like giving the appearance of a ghost conjured up and exclaims:
-Look, here it is the last dimension first to be reborn as a man!
right effect produced by Madame sortie on fixing the cat as if she saw him for the first time, annihilated and ecstasy.
Napoléon who likes not only admiration and quell'esagitata attention to himself rears his tail in protest turns his legs and leaving it for today bye bye cerimonietta tea with delicious pastries s'odon only moments in which Argentina tinkling of spoons and touches on the musical porcelain with a few harmless syllables uttered here and there carelessly, dissolved quickly in the evening. He turns one last time before you cross the threshold see the shapes in the gloom with a muffled "meow" deep disgust of commiseration for Madame contempt for the monk and then waved to the peaceful and respectful distance Monsieur, from philosopher to philosopher.
Before crossing the threshold output can not avoid hearing "The cats live among us and learn to closely resemble" then turns to look at the bald little man with the mouth that stain to the white foam body covered with a tumbled dark from which two arms agitated trying to break free scoring in the air confused logarithms, and think "What an imbecile!" He almost grandiose wonderful cat would therefore have to look like an individual of this kind?, ohibò. Spoetizzato by such vulgarity, Napoléon decidedly low profile claw out the front door and curled up on the steps ... ...
porphyry rose
the cat wants to remain vigilant in love
straining every shadow in every
Greetings from the vague noise ... Francois boy passing a bicycle boulevard hum of voices out there in the house closest to the sound of the postman on leave squeals of schoolchildren who thronged to the brassiere of brakes screeching on the pavement birdsong hidden among the branches of camellia walk ... lovely little girl humming Lisette!
Lisette Lisette and the cat back to life Lisette vision approaches that dream image of sublime harmony of movements of gait tender dove Lisette next breath that regenerates is insinuating mild and tender caresses, and he is rapt in ecstasy Gatteschi humanly unattainable .
Now follows the scent trail of heavenly aromas and is a tacit agreement on a point, a secret ceremony.
passes before sitting room sees the same scene of the two conversationalists Monsier breathless and overcome by sleep, but is now intent on something else. Here
Lisette climbed the stairs to imagine lying in her bedroom little girl on her bed dreaming and stop for a moment, undecided. Ventured one step then another then another on must enter through the gate disclosed she is crying, beautiful and unhappy, grasping the corners of his favorite pillow covers her face with them to protect themselves from an unknown enemy, yet fearsome. The skirt is broken down on the bare legs move slightly from the sobs of the three buttons undone chemisier long hair spread Lisette is there, beautiful and inviting.
-Miao
... A call, a sigh.
-Miao
... A lament, almost a plea.
Lisette sees the tears dissolve a smile stretches his cheeks a soft light touches of his eyes gleaming wet. Lengthens on the floor, grabs him tightly in her arms and hearts all around her becomes severe, the melancholy vanishes. Now the embrace
hath been dissolved and she lies supine on the bed, her hands open and abandoned eyes watching the last rays filtered through the lace. The cat
victorious advance of the dunes very slight pause in the body of Lisette keep its valleys felpeggia quivering savoring the subtle flavor of waiting.
silky At the edge of the skirt stops, hesitating for a brief moment, looks to meet and Lisette is liquid but strong-willed ... In the shadows hear a groan, the yield is craving for.
Then the cat sticks his head in china chink open the skirt, stretching out to conquer the coveted aromas, stun, happily greedy and insatiable.
... While feels faint and distant, muttering in a whisper:
-Napoléon, oh oui! ... Mauro
Cristofani
THE CAT AND THE
Pussy (Characters: Madame, a monk, Monsieur, Lisette, Cat Napoléon)
Buddhist Priest: very flattered by Madame, talk talk without stopping encouraged by the gestures of assent to her adoring listener and unconditionally. Monsieur
: sitting in his chair, air between distracted and irritated as the various attitudes of her and take the turn the talk. Monsieur is jealous of Madame, his exaltation to annoy a whim, a new project just met a person and the urgent need to share it with someone (preferably a patient person capable of listening). Since Madame has a very high opinion of himself she happened to have an irritating feeling of being misunderstood, but when a new enthusiasm overwhelms the other party should be available soon and he can not be Monsieur, concerned only to the races (the 'be treated the wife with too much sufficiency has always been a thorn stuck in his heart but now makes far less evil, as is kidnapped by the fascinating oriental philosophies with unlimited lives in various forms in various sizes consolatory in theory wants to know everything, greedy and insatiable.
Madame and the monk had met in a rustic brasserie very fashionable and talked with some kind of excuse, instantly taken underground understanding derived from a mysterious feeling affinities to the existence of which there were both ready to swear or swear.
listeners or followers
Without knowing what to do without him missing
anonymous citizen
she always on the way to seduce or be conquered ...
friendly conversation followed the meeting of the bistro table on the quiet waltz musette liqueur many smiles coaxing and looks attractive, flattering each other. Then phone calls (endless if she called) meetings for the apparent accident (architects carefully ...) and finally an invitation to tea with Madame (bonzo elated!).
"come to a castle with the 'sign of the dragon" had she said with undisguised pride of caste, look away finger to fix a double chin.
Yet here they are now here, living room full of scented silk cushions vases of hydrangeas delicious ash furniture art nouveau light soft shadows wary of lampshades, including two conversations in a passionate debate, but also a bit 'exhausting.
Monsieur pose in his chair to listen to but carefully over time developed a method to slumber with his eyes slightly narrowed (Madame knows that and he refrains from calling in question). Also that afternoon would pass without making a mess but it was a punishment for him to see her so flushed to grips with that guy who pontificate endlessly and with a flourish improbable on theories and alleged spiritualistic and pleasant truth .. Col
makeup for special occasions
desirable that Madame was
fresh coiffeur nail lacquer red
repertoire of grimaces
nose up and annoying and pathetic
some cough ...
of Solidarity with all the cat Monsieur Napoleon bored yawns languishes, No hunting butterflies, but only to the pet that is lovable genius of which he is patron of the house owner, and the elegant prisoner. Lightning in his unhappy dart sideways glance you see that you feel bored by some of his meows steeped in melancholy, curled himself up close between her soft feathers spleen. Priceless wise man knows that the best way to cure boredom is snoring and sleep trying vortices happiness unattainable or pretend to contemplate the flight of a fly a branch in the wind and suddenly a banal gesture can run as long as the time, tired and useless . It is left to live like the world ended chosen as a dwelling, grumpy king untouchable.
The six announced here at the clock and the cat peeping in the chair of Monsieur, rubs him with his pants and moved by irresistible Gatteschi egocentrism comes out with a "miaooo" formidable padded softly on the carpet and showing the magnificence of its silver cat , proudly announcing.
peek distracted by Madame monk and his mouth half open, Madame is irritated by the intruder but the monk stood up shooting the cat like giving the appearance of a ghost conjured up and exclaims:
-Look, here it is the last dimension first to be reborn as a man!
right effect produced by Madame sortie on fixing the cat as if she saw him for the first time, annihilated and ecstasy.
Napoléon who likes not only admiration and quell'esagitata attention to himself rears his tail in protest turns his legs and leaving it for today bye bye cerimonietta tea with delicious pastries s'odon only moments in which Argentina tinkling of spoons and touches on the musical porcelain with a few harmless syllables uttered here and there carelessly, dissolved quickly in the evening. He turns one last time before you cross the threshold see the shapes in the gloom with a muffled "meow" deep disgust of commiseration for Madame contempt for the monk and then waved to the peaceful and respectful distance Monsieur, from philosopher to philosopher.
Before crossing the threshold output can not avoid hearing "The cats live among us and learn to closely resemble" then turns to look at the bald little man with the mouth that stain to the white foam body covered with a tumbled dark from which two arms agitated trying to break free scoring in the air confused logarithms, and think "What an imbecile!" He almost grandiose wonderful cat would therefore have to look like an individual of this kind?, ohibò. Spoetizzato by such vulgarity, Napoléon decidedly low profile claw out the front door and curled up on the steps ... ...
porphyry rose
the cat wants to remain vigilant in love
straining every shadow in every
Greetings from the vague noise ... Francois boy passing a bicycle boulevard hum of voices out there in the house closest to the sound of the postman on leave squeals of schoolchildren who thronged to the brassiere of brakes screeching on the pavement birdsong hidden among the branches of camellia walk ... lovely little girl humming Lisette!
Lisette Lisette and the cat back to life Lisette vision approaches that dream image of sublime harmony of movements of gait tender dove Lisette next breath that regenerates is insinuating mild and tender caresses, and he is rapt in ecstasy Gatteschi humanly unattainable .
Now follows the scent trail of heavenly aromas and is a tacit agreement on a point, a secret ceremony.
passes before sitting room sees the same scene of the two conversationalists Monsier breathless and overcome by sleep, but is now intent on something else. Here
Lisette climbed the stairs to imagine lying in her bedroom little girl on her bed dreaming and stop for a moment, undecided. Ventured one step then another then another on must enter through the gate disclosed she is crying, beautiful and unhappy, grasping the corners of his favorite pillow covers her face with them to protect themselves from an unknown enemy, yet fearsome. The skirt is broken down on the bare legs move slightly from the sobs of the three buttons undone chemisier long hair spread Lisette is there, beautiful and inviting.
-Miao
... A call, a sigh.
-Miao
... A lament, almost a plea.
Lisette sees the tears dissolve a smile stretches his cheeks a soft light touches of his eyes gleaming wet. Lengthens on the floor, grabs him tightly in her arms and hearts all around her becomes severe, the melancholy vanishes. Now the embrace
hath been dissolved and she lies supine on the bed, her hands open and abandoned eyes watching the last rays filtered through the lace. The cat
victorious advance of the dunes very slight pause in the body of Lisette keep its valleys felpeggia quivering savoring the subtle flavor of waiting.
silky At the edge of the skirt stops, hesitating for a brief moment, looks to meet and Lisette is liquid but strong-willed ... In the shadows hear a groan, the yield is craving for.
Then the cat sticks his head in china chink open the skirt, stretching out to conquer the coveted aromas, stun, happily greedy and insatiable.
... While feels faint and distant, muttering in a whisper:
-Napoléon, oh oui! ... Mauro
Cristofani
Saturday, April 11, 2009
How Long Will You Run Fever With Viral Infection
STORIES IN MARCH ON WWW: RIVISTAPARLIAMONE.IT
Angel ... Angel (Andante cantabile)
fishy smell of your skin gleam of polished copper from your hair look of melancholy and thoughtful adult, child ... well ... Angela Angela Angelo mio. Cancel your eyes
sailing and wind mouth ajar vision of peace and quiet life and annihilation anxiety and fear inviting oasis Angelo .. I like where you're walking the streets of the world makes you who you are looking for mild fatigue that did not already know?
I am a flower and you
my bee wandering
one thousand mark the return
who lost time on the hands ... If
through shutters opened you will see a light knock on the door of that house because I'll be there, where a sunset with the sun drowned in the sea weaving shadows and colors on the deserted beach you will find me, Angela ... my angel.
Swan in the city, a city of adventure. Court mob was behind you, stand your innate delicacy elegance of your figure, I already bowed under the yoke of illusion betrayed. Looked at me triumphantly pierced your eyes vaguely cruel twist between your teeth foams the flash of a smile, you've won. Gestures that
s'ammorbidiscono shelter. Music Wine flushing resistance that melt drop endless. Anecdotes from your past, so real, varied and colorful words like stones that are lost in the air are breaking on my face like a caress entangled in your hands that dance. Other fall at your feet, I lean, I gather the, they compose with the fascinating mosaic ... Angela ... Angela Angela Angelo mio.
Tremor of looks thirsty. Debride the wishes like dreams (in a hand trembles caress) we almost brown cobalt. Breathe mysteries broken on invisible strings are suspended, there is an absurd swirl. Night you tell her I drowned her throat sweet words in his eyes have lost millions of stars!
Angelo Angela Angela ... my heart beats faster beats the soul longing penetrate every cell is set ... the mystery of your eyes (bite lip kisses sweet) ...
centuries and centuries and centuries would not suffice to say your eyes
centuries would not suffice in my
tonight will be tomorrow ... my regret my nostalgia m 'to the abandonment of useless emotions dripping crazy to theft of quick kisses, duelists caress before striking. Angela
if you were snow I loosed my arms and I would drink that water as an asset if you were my sun burn itself out gradually until it became ashes ashes were I wish you the trampled to enjoy one of your Angela caress ... My angel! Sounds like ...
abstract electronic music come from our lips like soap bubbles, two foolish children try to hold them and know that the game is impossible ...
The lamp illuminates ridiculous flight of a moth wings uncertain dancer struggling vainly trying harmonies movements after wave sublime, and continues to turn to turn the light beam before falling exhausted by the beautiful mirage.
A cruel blade separates us finally with a clean cut, worn look to stay on the abyss fall. Rattling
engulfing the train held breaths, hoping to find or just a goodbye ...
a moment of stillness shatters
kept secret emotions
clumsily hidden. Angela Angela
not get up your sail if the sea is a garden of wind, Angela's love of night and moon Lay down your anchor in the harbor of my happy arms!
... And I find myself trying to remember the music and words hanging in the air routes run after impalpable, so lively, m'inebrio sighs. I live in the shadows searching for light, I am not a body of abstract quenches thirst.
Unnecessary m'avvolge in the coils of cotton candy sweet and rocked in Trinidad of abstract taste the nectar of anything ... But I do not hold the wires inconsistent, and I realize I'm falling. The people do not see
pass my shadow, I walk in the desert
are here ... My angel beside me saying the same words even your rice is to always have your eyes looking at me with his usual evasive look a bit 'strange changing as a March sky sit with dignity angelic idol to which everything is due. Your hands (incredible hands) embroider fanciful air soft lines (your hands dance) you are right you have the same smell the same scarf of our first meeting and are you are you're with me, and deep melancholy eyes of malice convoluted copper shiny hair you are you really you ever and ever, you do not find in me, I dig into the bowels and can not find your picture ...
Only a chasm, where it falls in my nostalgia.
Mauro Cristofani 
Angel ... Angel (Andante cantabile)
fishy smell of your skin gleam of polished copper from your hair look of melancholy and thoughtful adult, child ... well ... Angela Angela Angelo mio. Cancel your eyes
sailing and wind mouth ajar vision of peace and quiet life and annihilation anxiety and fear inviting oasis Angelo .. I like where you're walking the streets of the world makes you who you are looking for mild fatigue that did not already know?
I am a flower and you
my bee wandering
one thousand mark the return
who lost time on the hands ... If
through shutters opened you will see a light knock on the door of that house because I'll be there, where a sunset with the sun drowned in the sea weaving shadows and colors on the deserted beach you will find me, Angela ... my angel.
Swan in the city, a city of adventure. Court mob was behind you, stand your innate delicacy elegance of your figure, I already bowed under the yoke of illusion betrayed. Looked at me triumphantly pierced your eyes vaguely cruel twist between your teeth foams the flash of a smile, you've won. Gestures that
s'ammorbidiscono shelter. Music Wine flushing resistance that melt drop endless. Anecdotes from your past, so real, varied and colorful words like stones that are lost in the air are breaking on my face like a caress entangled in your hands that dance. Other fall at your feet, I lean, I gather the, they compose with the fascinating mosaic ... Angela ... Angela Angela Angelo mio.
Tremor of looks thirsty. Debride the wishes like dreams (in a hand trembles caress) we almost brown cobalt. Breathe mysteries broken on invisible strings are suspended, there is an absurd swirl. Night you tell her I drowned her throat sweet words in his eyes have lost millions of stars!
Angelo Angela Angela ... my heart beats faster beats the soul longing penetrate every cell is set ... the mystery of your eyes (bite lip kisses sweet) ...
centuries and centuries and centuries would not suffice to say your eyes
centuries would not suffice in my
tonight will be tomorrow ... my regret my nostalgia m 'to the abandonment of useless emotions dripping crazy to theft of quick kisses, duelists caress before striking. Angela
if you were snow I loosed my arms and I would drink that water as an asset if you were my sun burn itself out gradually until it became ashes ashes were I wish you the trampled to enjoy one of your Angela caress ... My angel! Sounds like ...
abstract electronic music come from our lips like soap bubbles, two foolish children try to hold them and know that the game is impossible ...
The lamp illuminates ridiculous flight of a moth wings uncertain dancer struggling vainly trying harmonies movements after wave sublime, and continues to turn to turn the light beam before falling exhausted by the beautiful mirage.
A cruel blade separates us finally with a clean cut, worn look to stay on the abyss fall. Rattling
engulfing the train held breaths, hoping to find or just a goodbye ...
a moment of stillness shatters
kept secret emotions
clumsily hidden. Angela Angela
not get up your sail if the sea is a garden of wind, Angela's love of night and moon Lay down your anchor in the harbor of my happy arms!
... And I find myself trying to remember the music and words hanging in the air routes run after impalpable, so lively, m'inebrio sighs. I live in the shadows searching for light, I am not a body of abstract quenches thirst.
Unnecessary m'avvolge in the coils of cotton candy sweet and rocked in Trinidad of abstract taste the nectar of anything ... But I do not hold the wires inconsistent, and I realize I'm falling. The people do not see
pass my shadow, I walk in the desert
are here ... My angel beside me saying the same words even your rice is to always have your eyes looking at me with his usual evasive look a bit 'strange changing as a March sky sit with dignity angelic idol to which everything is due. Your hands (incredible hands) embroider fanciful air soft lines (your hands dance) you are right you have the same smell the same scarf of our first meeting and are you are you're with me, and deep melancholy eyes of malice convoluted copper shiny hair you are you really you ever and ever, you do not find in me, I dig into the bowels and can not find your picture ...
Only a chasm, where it falls in my nostalgia.
Mauro Cristofani
How Long Will You Run Fever With Viral Infection
STORIES IN MARCH ON WWW: RIVISTAPARLIAMONE.IT
Angel ... Angel (Andante cantabile)
fishy smell of your skin gleam of polished copper from your hair look of melancholy and thoughtful adult, child ... well ... Angela Angela Angelo mio. Cancel your eyes
sailing and wind mouth ajar vision of peace and quiet life and annihilation anxiety and fear inviting oasis Angelo .. I like where you're walking the streets of the world makes you who you are looking for mild fatigue that did not already know?
I am a flower and you
my bee wandering
one thousand mark the return
who lost time on the hands ... If
through shutters opened you will see a light knock on the door of that house because I'll be there, where a sunset with the sun drowned in the sea weaving shadows and colors on the deserted beach you will find me, Angela ... my angel.
Swan in the city, a city of adventure. Court mob was behind you, stand your innate delicacy elegance of your figure, I already bowed under the yoke of illusion betrayed. Looked at me triumphantly pierced your eyes vaguely cruel twist between your teeth foams the flash of a smile, you've won. Gestures that
s'ammorbidiscono shelter. Music Wine flushing resistance that melt drop endless. Anecdotes from your past, so real, varied and colorful words like stones that are lost in the air are breaking on my face like a caress entangled in your hands that dance. Other fall at your feet, I lean, I gather the, they compose with the fascinating mosaic ... Angela ... Angela Angela Angelo mio.
Tremor of looks thirsty. Debride the wishes like dreams (in a hand trembles caress) we almost brown cobalt. Breathe mysteries broken on invisible strings are suspended, there is an absurd swirl. Night you tell her I drowned her throat sweet words in his eyes have lost millions of stars!
Angelo Angela Angela ... my heart beats faster beats the soul longing penetrate every cell is set ... the mystery of your eyes (bite lip kisses sweet) ...
centuries and centuries and centuries would not suffice to say your eyes
centuries would not suffice in my
tonight will be tomorrow ... my regret my nostalgia m 'to the abandonment of useless emotions dripping crazy to theft of quick kisses, duelists caress before striking. Angela
if you were snow I loosed my arms and I would drink that water as an asset if you were my sun burn itself out gradually until it became ashes ashes were I wish you the trampled to enjoy one of your Angela caress ... My angel! Sounds like ...
abstract electronic music come from our lips like soap bubbles, two foolish children try to hold them and know that the game is impossible ...
The lamp illuminates ridiculous flight of a moth wings uncertain dancer struggling vainly trying harmonies movements after wave sublime, and continues to turn to turn the light beam before falling exhausted by the beautiful mirage.
A cruel blade separates us finally with a clean cut, worn look to stay on the abyss fall. Rattling
engulfing the train held breaths, hoping to find or just a goodbye ...
a moment of stillness shatters
kept secret emotions
clumsily hidden. Angela Angela
not get up your sail if the sea is a garden of wind, Angela's love of night and moon Lay down your anchor in the harbor of my happy arms!
... And I find myself trying to remember the music and words hanging in the air routes run after impalpable, so lively, m'inebrio sighs. I live in the shadows searching for light, I am not a body of abstract quenches thirst.
Unnecessary m'avvolge in the coils of cotton candy sweet and rocked in Trinidad of abstract taste the nectar of anything ... But I do not hold the wires inconsistent, and I realize I'm falling. The people do not see
pass my shadow, I walk in the desert
are here ... My angel beside me saying the same words even your rice is to always have your eyes looking at me with his usual evasive look a bit 'strange changing as a March sky sit with dignity angelic idol to which everything is due. Your hands (incredible hands) embroider fanciful air soft lines (your hands dance) you are right you have the same smell the same scarf of our first meeting and are you are you're with me, and deep melancholy eyes of malice convoluted copper shiny hair you are you really you ever and ever, you do not find in me, I dig into the bowels and can not find your picture ...
Only a chasm, where it falls in my nostalgia.
Mauro Cristofani
Angel ... Angel (Andante cantabile)
fishy smell of your skin gleam of polished copper from your hair look of melancholy and thoughtful adult, child ... well ... Angela Angela Angelo mio. Cancel your eyes
sailing and wind mouth ajar vision of peace and quiet life and annihilation anxiety and fear inviting oasis Angelo .. I like where you're walking the streets of the world makes you who you are looking for mild fatigue that did not already know?
I am a flower and you
my bee wandering
one thousand mark the return
who lost time on the hands ... If
through shutters opened you will see a light knock on the door of that house because I'll be there, where a sunset with the sun drowned in the sea weaving shadows and colors on the deserted beach you will find me, Angela ... my angel.
Swan in the city, a city of adventure. Court mob was behind you, stand your innate delicacy elegance of your figure, I already bowed under the yoke of illusion betrayed. Looked at me triumphantly pierced your eyes vaguely cruel twist between your teeth foams the flash of a smile, you've won. Gestures that
s'ammorbidiscono shelter. Music Wine flushing resistance that melt drop endless. Anecdotes from your past, so real, varied and colorful words like stones that are lost in the air are breaking on my face like a caress entangled in your hands that dance. Other fall at your feet, I lean, I gather the, they compose with the fascinating mosaic ... Angela ... Angela Angela Angelo mio.
Tremor of looks thirsty. Debride the wishes like dreams (in a hand trembles caress) we almost brown cobalt. Breathe mysteries broken on invisible strings are suspended, there is an absurd swirl. Night you tell her I drowned her throat sweet words in his eyes have lost millions of stars!
Angelo Angela Angela ... my heart beats faster beats the soul longing penetrate every cell is set ... the mystery of your eyes (bite lip kisses sweet) ...
centuries and centuries and centuries would not suffice to say your eyes
centuries would not suffice in my
tonight will be tomorrow ... my regret my nostalgia m 'to the abandonment of useless emotions dripping crazy to theft of quick kisses, duelists caress before striking. Angela
if you were snow I loosed my arms and I would drink that water as an asset if you were my sun burn itself out gradually until it became ashes ashes were I wish you the trampled to enjoy one of your Angela caress ... My angel! Sounds like ...
abstract electronic music come from our lips like soap bubbles, two foolish children try to hold them and know that the game is impossible ...
The lamp illuminates ridiculous flight of a moth wings uncertain dancer struggling vainly trying harmonies movements after wave sublime, and continues to turn to turn the light beam before falling exhausted by the beautiful mirage.
A cruel blade separates us finally with a clean cut, worn look to stay on the abyss fall. Rattling
engulfing the train held breaths, hoping to find or just a goodbye ...
a moment of stillness shatters
kept secret emotions
clumsily hidden. Angela Angela
not get up your sail if the sea is a garden of wind, Angela's love of night and moon Lay down your anchor in the harbor of my happy arms!
... And I find myself trying to remember the music and words hanging in the air routes run after impalpable, so lively, m'inebrio sighs. I live in the shadows searching for light, I am not a body of abstract quenches thirst.
Unnecessary m'avvolge in the coils of cotton candy sweet and rocked in Trinidad of abstract taste the nectar of anything ... But I do not hold the wires inconsistent, and I realize I'm falling. The people do not see
pass my shadow, I walk in the desert
are here ... My angel beside me saying the same words even your rice is to always have your eyes looking at me with his usual evasive look a bit 'strange changing as a March sky sit with dignity angelic idol to which everything is due. Your hands (incredible hands) embroider fanciful air soft lines (your hands dance) you are right you have the same smell the same scarf of our first meeting and are you are you're with me, and deep melancholy eyes of malice convoluted copper shiny hair you are you really you ever and ever, you do not find in me, I dig into the bowels and can not find your picture ...
Only a chasm, where it falls in my nostalgia.
Mauro Cristofani
Loose Tie And Untucked Shirt
MY SHORT September
you gathered from the ground a leaflet announcing seasonal sales periods. It was yellow, like my tie and your favorite color. You wrote some verses on the back: it was for me, and they were the last ones.
I lived in a sunny September
languid and dying leaves ... The sweet
September had come, with it, something from us. Today
spouse Anna is already November. We have arranged a marriage with all the papers in order, who would not bet a dime on 'happy end of our history we have done a nice surprise. You are now here
Anna Anna ever dear and ever, the bridal veil and white dress, no one wants them to forgive you, but Anna is experiencing the culmination of a dream of love, Anna I'm happy for you.
rang the 'Adagio Abinoni, we liked so much behind us is the family dressed up. With your hand touches me, sorry do not take it see you soon and everything seems rather endless. M'aggrappo the folded yellow piece of paper in my pocket and for a moment you are near.
air breathed soft as a caress
poignant
... I never thought of being there, that our last evening in September. Or maybe yes, and I wanted to hurt me to death, put an end once and for all. But when I met your eyes I saw it was hopeless. Forgive me if you groom
now Anna, it can make you happy but I'll try to give you a little 'after many tears of joy, I know how you do and for those moments would you run the risk I, dreams of glory goodbye goodbye goodbye everything golden youth, I'm getting married today. I hope to succeed in this, help me as you always have Anna.
Throbbed in my soul
quick swing of a leaf
rocked by the wind ...
your verses that closed the charm of a handful of moons which were two of us love. And love came down like nectar in our thirsty souls refreshing and I came out clean from all dross, I found myself filled with love, love to give you. I was another me, reborn to a new purity, and that I lost and I was miraculously found your creature, you belonged to, but I continued to donartelo with infinite love.
I wanted to rip that yellow pad, and throw upon thy cruelty, but his eyes were sad and wished only to hold you, protect you from the shadows round. Anna did not say
yes, but instead you do, you've always been crazy, crazy for me. You will make your mother happy, triumphant there in the front row. Anna hands clasped across her knees taking the role of wife happy, protagonist of this grotesque appearances, sister Anna Anna Anna loving friend ... I promise. But do not cry, do not want to see tears cheap. Palpate the soul but ...
short of a leaf swaying in the wind lulled
before leaving his arm tired and resting at my feet
defeat.
Mauro Cristofani
Loose Tie And Untucked Shirt
MY SHORT September
you gathered from the ground a leaflet announcing seasonal sales periods. It was yellow, like my tie and your favorite color. You wrote some verses on the back: it was for me, and they were the last ones.
I lived in a sunny September
languid and dying leaves ... The sweet
September had come, with it, something from us. Today
spouse Anna is already November. We have arranged a marriage with all the papers in order, who would not bet a dime on 'happy end of our history we have done a nice surprise. You are now here
Anna Anna ever dear and ever, the bridal veil and white dress, no one wants them to forgive you, but Anna is experiencing the culmination of a dream of love, Anna I'm happy for you.
rang the 'Adagio Abinoni, we liked so much behind us is the family dressed up. With your hand touches me, sorry do not take it see you soon and everything seems rather endless. M'aggrappo the folded yellow piece of paper in my pocket and for a moment you are near.
air breathed soft as a caress
poignant
... I never thought of being there, that our last evening in September. Or maybe yes, and I wanted to hurt me to death, put an end once and for all. But when I met your eyes I saw it was hopeless. Forgive me if you groom
now Anna, it can make you happy but I'll try to give you a little 'after many tears of joy, I know how you do and for those moments would you run the risk I, dreams of glory goodbye goodbye goodbye everything golden youth, I'm getting married today. I hope to succeed in this, help me as you always have Anna.
Throbbed in my soul
quick swing of a leaf
rocked by the wind ...
your verses that closed the charm of a handful of moons which were two of us love. And love came down like nectar in our thirsty souls refreshing and I came out clean from all dross, I found myself filled with love, love to give you. I was another me, reborn to a new purity, and that I lost and I was miraculously found your creature, you belonged to, but I continued to donartelo with infinite love.
I wanted to rip that yellow pad, and throw upon thy cruelty, but his eyes were sad and wished only to hold you, protect you from the shadows round. Anna did not say
yes, but instead you do, you've always been crazy, crazy for me. You will make your mother happy, triumphant there in the front row. Anna hands clasped across her knees taking the role of wife happy, protagonist of this grotesque appearances, sister Anna Anna Anna loving friend ... I promise. But do not cry, do not want to see tears cheap. Palpate the soul but ...
short of a leaf swaying in the wind lulled
before leaving his arm tired and resting at my feet
defeat.
Mauro Cristofani
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Directvsecond Location
Mauro Cristofani - pictures and narrative: IMAGE AND NARRATIVE
Mauro Cristofani - pictures and narrative: IMAGE AND NARRATIVE DIALOGUE BETWEEN
Aubrey Beardsley Cristofani MAURO AND ON ART AND THE BREACH
(the scene takes place at the Savoy in London, including mirrors, stucco and silver in the smoking room from which women are categorically banned)
C.-Mr. Beardsley, I supposed.
B.-Yes, Sir. May I help you?
C.-I introduce myself? I am an Italian artist of a century next to you and much that I wanted to know.
B. (with skepticism) - I know some Italian artists of the 900, but it seems that few have been able to follow the groove of the line, design and beauty that I and some others, heirs of a great tradition, we have outlined. Above all, I think it has failed a bit 'everywhere, but especially in Italy, the transgression.
C. (annoyed) - yet, as a transgression meant in a sense, it seems that no Italian artist of the '900 is immune ...
B. (with a slight air of compassion) - the transgression, my dear, is not a concern with who you apartment when you have not seen: in this sense, all Italians are masters! The transgression is substance and form. E 'substance in the sense that it is aware of the transgression, to the bitter end, to burn his own life in a few years, as has happened to me. And it's form, as you shall see, to perceive the work, just like you see in the artist's life ... Do you agree?
C.-Of course I agree. Just this fact, I try to show, making sure that the transgression of life with that of art. B.
-Very well. But living on the lability of the transgression of the border between that and suggested: one should not always stating it is often preferable to refer you to sign suggestion ... Of course with clear and clean enough to conceal unspeakable turbidity.
C.-It 's the breakthrough that I strive for years ... If I want to focus on how the centurion kills Sebastian, I must clear the surrounding world in a single hatch, as in the gold of Byzantine mosaics, because the off- sign of his transgression.
B.-Well, my friend. I see that, finally, also in Italy there is any artist who knows the offense and practice seriously and with commitment. Good work, therefore, and do not forget that the scandal is the nourishment of art. C.
-course, art is food scandal. Farewell. MENTION
EZIO MAURO Cristofani (maurocristofani@gmail.com) actively participated in the latest artistic seasons. Among his most important exhibitions, will be remembered for SATYRICON (Lucca 1980), LES VIEUX Chapeaux (Paris 1982); EROTICA-heroic from Catullus Virgil (Verona 1985); EPHEBEIA (Amsterdam 1989), CATS AND fawns (Tirrenia 1992); THE ROOM AND OTHER AREAS OF THE CAT (Pisa 1997); SEX STORIES AND NATURAL 
Mauro Cristofani - pictures and narrative: IMAGE AND NARRATIVE DIALOGUE BETWEEN
Aubrey Beardsley Cristofani MAURO AND ON ART AND THE BREACH
(the scene takes place at the Savoy in London, including mirrors, stucco and silver in the smoking room from which women are categorically banned)
C.-Mr. Beardsley, I supposed.
B.-Yes, Sir. May I help you?
C.-I introduce myself? I am an Italian artist of a century next to you and much that I wanted to know.
B. (with skepticism) - I know some Italian artists of the 900, but it seems that few have been able to follow the groove of the line, design and beauty that I and some others, heirs of a great tradition, we have outlined. Above all, I think it has failed a bit 'everywhere, but especially in Italy, the transgression.
C. (annoyed) - yet, as a transgression meant in a sense, it seems that no Italian artist of the '900 is immune ...
B. (with a slight air of compassion) - the transgression, my dear, is not a concern with who you apartment when you have not seen: in this sense, all Italians are masters! The transgression is substance and form. E 'substance in the sense that it is aware of the transgression, to the bitter end, to burn his own life in a few years, as has happened to me. And it's form, as you shall see, to perceive the work, just like you see in the artist's life ... Do you agree?
C.-Of course I agree. Just this fact, I try to show, making sure that the transgression of life with that of art. B.
-Very well. But living on the lability of the transgression of the border between that and suggested: one should not always stating it is often preferable to refer you to sign suggestion ... Of course with clear and clean enough to conceal unspeakable turbidity.
C.-It 's the breakthrough that I strive for years ... If I want to focus on how the centurion kills Sebastian, I must clear the surrounding world in a single hatch, as in the gold of Byzantine mosaics, because the off- sign of his transgression.
B.-Well, my friend. I see that, finally, also in Italy there is any artist who knows the offense and practice seriously and with commitment. Good work, therefore, and do not forget that the scandal is the nourishment of art. C.
-course, art is food scandal. Farewell. MENTION
EZIO MAURO Cristofani (maurocristofani@gmail.com) actively participated in the latest artistic seasons. Among his most important exhibitions, will be remembered for SATYRICON (Lucca 1980), LES VIEUX Chapeaux (Paris 1982); EROTICA-heroic from Catullus Virgil (Verona 1985); EPHEBEIA (Amsterdam 1989), CATS AND fawns (Tirrenia 1992); THE ROOM AND OTHER AREAS OF THE CAT (Pisa 1997); SEX STORIES AND NATURAL
Directvsecond Location
Mauro Cristofani - pictures and narrative: IMAGE AND NARRATIVE
Mauro Cristofani - pictures and narrative: IMAGE AND NARRATIVE DIALOGUE BETWEEN
Aubrey Beardsley Cristofani MAURO AND ON ART AND THE BREACH
(the scene takes place at the Savoy in London, including mirrors, stucco and silver in the smoking room from which women are categorically banned)
C.-Mr. Beardsley, I supposed.
B.-Yes, Sir. May I help you?
C.-I introduce myself? I am an Italian artist of a century next to you and much that I wanted to know.
B. (with skepticism) - I know some Italian artists of the 900, but it seems that few have been able to follow the groove of the line, design and beauty that I and some others, heirs of a great tradition, we have outlined. Above all, I think it has failed a bit 'everywhere, but especially in Italy, the transgression.
C. (annoyed) - yet, as a transgression meant in a sense, it seems that no Italian artist of the '900 is immune ...
B. (with a slight air of compassion) - the transgression, my dear, is not a concern with who you apartment when you have not seen: in this sense, all Italians are masters! The transgression is substance and form. E 'substance in the sense that it is aware of the transgression, to the bitter end, to burn his own life in a few years, as has happened to me. And it's form, as you shall see, to perceive the work, just like you see in the artist's life ... Do you agree?
C.-Of course I agree. Just this fact, I try to show, making sure that the transgression of life with that of art. B.
-Very well. But living on the lability of the transgression of the border between that and suggested: one should not always stating it is often preferable to refer you to sign suggestion ... Of course with clear and clean enough to conceal unspeakable turbidity.
C.-It 's the breakthrough that I strive for years ... If I want to focus on how the centurion kills Sebastian, I must clear the surrounding world in a single hatch, as in the gold of Byzantine mosaics, because the off- sign of his transgression.
B.-Well, my friend. I see that, finally, also in Italy there is any artist who knows the offense and practice seriously and with commitment. Good work, therefore, and do not forget that the scandal is the nourishment of art. C.
-course, art is food scandal. Farewell. MENTION
EZIO MAURO Cristofani (maurocristofani@gmail.com) actively participated in the latest artistic seasons. Among his most important exhibitions, will be remembered for SATYRICON (Lucca 1980), LES VIEUX Chapeaux (Paris 1982); EROTICA-heroic from Catullus Virgil (Verona 1985); EPHEBEIA (Amsterdam 1989), CATS AND fawns (Tirrenia 1992); THE ROOM AND OTHER AREAS OF THE CAT (Pisa 1997); SEX STORIES AND NATURAL
Mauro Cristofani - pictures and narrative: IMAGE AND NARRATIVE DIALOGUE BETWEEN
Aubrey Beardsley Cristofani MAURO AND ON ART AND THE BREACH
(the scene takes place at the Savoy in London, including mirrors, stucco and silver in the smoking room from which women are categorically banned)
C.-Mr. Beardsley, I supposed.
B.-Yes, Sir. May I help you?
C.-I introduce myself? I am an Italian artist of a century next to you and much that I wanted to know.
B. (with skepticism) - I know some Italian artists of the 900, but it seems that few have been able to follow the groove of the line, design and beauty that I and some others, heirs of a great tradition, we have outlined. Above all, I think it has failed a bit 'everywhere, but especially in Italy, the transgression.
C. (annoyed) - yet, as a transgression meant in a sense, it seems that no Italian artist of the '900 is immune ...
B. (with a slight air of compassion) - the transgression, my dear, is not a concern with who you apartment when you have not seen: in this sense, all Italians are masters! The transgression is substance and form. E 'substance in the sense that it is aware of the transgression, to the bitter end, to burn his own life in a few years, as has happened to me. And it's form, as you shall see, to perceive the work, just like you see in the artist's life ... Do you agree?
C.-Of course I agree. Just this fact, I try to show, making sure that the transgression of life with that of art. B.
-Very well. But living on the lability of the transgression of the border between that and suggested: one should not always stating it is often preferable to refer you to sign suggestion ... Of course with clear and clean enough to conceal unspeakable turbidity.
C.-It 's the breakthrough that I strive for years ... If I want to focus on how the centurion kills Sebastian, I must clear the surrounding world in a single hatch, as in the gold of Byzantine mosaics, because the off- sign of his transgression.
B.-Well, my friend. I see that, finally, also in Italy there is any artist who knows the offense and practice seriously and with commitment. Good work, therefore, and do not forget that the scandal is the nourishment of art. C.
-course, art is food scandal. Farewell. MENTION
EZIO MAURO Cristofani (maurocristofani@gmail.com) actively participated in the latest artistic seasons. Among his most important exhibitions, will be remembered for SATYRICON (Lucca 1980), LES VIEUX Chapeaux (Paris 1982); EROTICA-heroic from Catullus Virgil (Verona 1985); EPHEBEIA (Amsterdam 1989), CATS AND fawns (Tirrenia 1992); THE ROOM AND OTHER AREAS OF THE CAT (Pisa 1997); SEX STORIES AND NATURAL
Friday, April 3, 2009
Contico 3725nl Pro Tuff Bin, Wholesale
eros
San Sebastian The Cat and the bite
Tribute to Paz
secret ceremony
Devotion
Contico 3725nl Pro Tuff Bin, Wholesale
eros
San Sebastian The Cat and the bite
Tribute to Paz
secret ceremony
Devotion
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