Hinterland | write!
Orographic speaking, I always said a former neighbor who once had a swollen face, Sicily burner firestarter is a mess. It's like a page of notebook burner firestarter paper crumpled up that long ago someone pulled toward the basket wrong target. Now he is still there, against all logic, on the floor, all crumpled, and it's been so long that even now there dwells within a few million people - think you - and nobody who comes to pick her up and throws it in the last trash, as it would be fair. I then told him that he was exaggerating and that Sicily is not all to throw. He smiled and told me the same thing every time. Think of it as you want but for me it's all munnizza Sicily. Such hyperbole was justified by the fact that former neighbor in question is one of those who always wanted to run away and there is never successful, that a thousand times slammed the snout against the bars of the Strait of Messina so that his face - by dint of banging against the bars - it was all wounds, scratches and dents. However, he was right when he said that orographic Sicily is a mess. In fact it is very special, all tensions and fractures, violent clashes rock masses, steep cliffs, vegetation crafty, treacherous, with a forked tongue, rough and sharp spikes, thorns and brambles twisted a twist that leaves no breathing, and a character that is generally hostile (to man) and wild (for humans). Of all this metaphorical ballast was trying to get rid while visiting the villages of the Sicilian ones where the air is crisp and clear and the sea is not seen even on the horizon - something unheard of for me that I live in a relaxed place where the coastal 'air is thick and dirty salt. Places where the population has the accent stronger, bigger hands and nose more pronounced; where agriculture and pastoralism and some commercial activities and who can go to live in the city; where the average age rises year after year, and there are only the old; where - it is said - the narrowness of mind is directly proportional to the narrowness of the population figures burner firestarter and the number of miles away from the nearest town; where they make most beautiful celebrations of the patron saint, gargantuan, bombastic and cuccagnesche where Here Paganism All of which we are steeped, where you can intuit something that pregnant moist thick root of the tree on which we are all against our clinging; where the streets are beautifully and horribly burner firestarter steep and winding, all ascents and descents rompicalcagni breakneck, where older people are walking with your torso parallel to the ground perfectly inclined and where women have big calves and muscular, so come by dint of going up and down rise and fall rise and fall, My God, Never A Step Without Effort, Never a Moment of Relaxation, a Moment of Surrender. Places burner firestarter that leave amazed by their physical burner firestarter distance, conceptual and aesthetic burner firestarter than the world-as-we-we-always, places that give you the rough and earthy counterpart of a globalized model of living which is a life that we inject intravenous l 'ambition and hope. What if you lived here? How is it to live here? I ask the former neighbor who once had a face swollen and that now was healing. Thanks for having come to see, I answered him, I do not often get to people.
Now he did not drink so much, my former neighbor who once had a face swollen, but a glass every now and then. He had decided to leave the globalized world and to live in the village of a thousand souls that I always spoke, in the bottom of the hardest heart and earthy Sicilian hinterland, renovating the cottage walls thick that he had inherited from an old aunt - cool in summer, warm in winter - and cultivating a small plot of land, raising chickens, spending the day hunched and sweating, getting up at dawn and arriving exhausted at sunset. He was living a stereotype, this my former neighbor who once had a face swollen, and his speeches had a 'gnomic and oracular inspiration that put me invariably uncomfortable. However, burner firestarter once every ten years, I liked to listen to him as he began to pour the red wine and mellow that inflamed cheeks, in front of a table laden with a tablecloth scacchettini white and red, with a plate of fat cheese and humid, a paunchy and aromatic bottle of wine and a loaf of bread raw and gritty. I stood strong in front of that barrage of stereotypes, deliziandomene with a postmodern taste, burner firestarter as he spoke of Sicily, indeed praised, rant, raved, Expanding on this land over which was finished for pure contingency Christmas space-time and of which he had spent all life trying sense of this fatal
Orographic speaking, I always said a former neighbor who once had a swollen face, Sicily burner firestarter is a mess. It's like a page of notebook burner firestarter paper crumpled up that long ago someone pulled toward the basket wrong target. Now he is still there, against all logic, on the floor, all crumpled, and it's been so long that even now there dwells within a few million people - think you - and nobody who comes to pick her up and throws it in the last trash, as it would be fair. I then told him that he was exaggerating and that Sicily is not all to throw. He smiled and told me the same thing every time. Think of it as you want but for me it's all munnizza Sicily. Such hyperbole was justified by the fact that former neighbor in question is one of those who always wanted to run away and there is never successful, that a thousand times slammed the snout against the bars of the Strait of Messina so that his face - by dint of banging against the bars - it was all wounds, scratches and dents. However, he was right when he said that orographic Sicily is a mess. In fact it is very special, all tensions and fractures, violent clashes rock masses, steep cliffs, vegetation crafty, treacherous, with a forked tongue, rough and sharp spikes, thorns and brambles twisted a twist that leaves no breathing, and a character that is generally hostile (to man) and wild (for humans). Of all this metaphorical ballast was trying to get rid while visiting the villages of the Sicilian ones where the air is crisp and clear and the sea is not seen even on the horizon - something unheard of for me that I live in a relaxed place where the coastal 'air is thick and dirty salt. Places where the population has the accent stronger, bigger hands and nose more pronounced; where agriculture and pastoralism and some commercial activities and who can go to live in the city; where the average age rises year after year, and there are only the old; where - it is said - the narrowness of mind is directly proportional to the narrowness of the population figures burner firestarter and the number of miles away from the nearest town; where they make most beautiful celebrations of the patron saint, gargantuan, bombastic and cuccagnesche where Here Paganism All of which we are steeped, where you can intuit something that pregnant moist thick root of the tree on which we are all against our clinging; where the streets are beautifully and horribly burner firestarter steep and winding, all ascents and descents rompicalcagni breakneck, where older people are walking with your torso parallel to the ground perfectly inclined and where women have big calves and muscular, so come by dint of going up and down rise and fall rise and fall, My God, Never A Step Without Effort, Never a Moment of Relaxation, a Moment of Surrender. Places burner firestarter that leave amazed by their physical burner firestarter distance, conceptual and aesthetic burner firestarter than the world-as-we-we-always, places that give you the rough and earthy counterpart of a globalized model of living which is a life that we inject intravenous l 'ambition and hope. What if you lived here? How is it to live here? I ask the former neighbor who once had a face swollen and that now was healing. Thanks for having come to see, I answered him, I do not often get to people.
Now he did not drink so much, my former neighbor who once had a face swollen, but a glass every now and then. He had decided to leave the globalized world and to live in the village of a thousand souls that I always spoke, in the bottom of the hardest heart and earthy Sicilian hinterland, renovating the cottage walls thick that he had inherited from an old aunt - cool in summer, warm in winter - and cultivating a small plot of land, raising chickens, spending the day hunched and sweating, getting up at dawn and arriving exhausted at sunset. He was living a stereotype, this my former neighbor who once had a face swollen, and his speeches had a 'gnomic and oracular inspiration that put me invariably uncomfortable. However, burner firestarter once every ten years, I liked to listen to him as he began to pour the red wine and mellow that inflamed cheeks, in front of a table laden with a tablecloth scacchettini white and red, with a plate of fat cheese and humid, a paunchy and aromatic bottle of wine and a loaf of bread raw and gritty. I stood strong in front of that barrage of stereotypes, deliziandomene with a postmodern taste, burner firestarter as he spoke of Sicily, indeed praised, rant, raved, Expanding on this land over which was finished for pure contingency Christmas space-time and of which he had spent all life trying sense of this fatal
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