Newsgroup: it.cultura.single
Titolo: Butta male

Ho mal di stomacoe continui sbalzi di tensione mi fanno cadere la
connessione telefonica (ho un modem un pochino di merda), ho dormito
male e fatto sogni assurdi. Ho ben capito che oggi butta male. Chi mi
fa due coccoline? O8-)
Ta-ta,
Clarice
-- 
"Well Clarice, have the lambs stopped screaming?"
(Hannibal Lecter, MD)

 fa due coccoline? O8-)
beh scusa siamo vicini, se vuoi _vengo_ da te e ti coccolo
di persona... poi da cosa nasce cosa... :-)
Ti


Io invece ho fatto un sogno meraviglioso :)


Dopo averlo visto calpestarmi ?
Cioe', non so se l'ha visto perche' eravamo dietro il tavolo,
cmq una sera al ristorante l'ho fatto rosicare talmente tanto
che a un certo punto mi ha messo un piede sulla coscia
per sporcarmi i pantaloni, tanto s'era incazzato.
Poi mi fa "Oh scusa..." (non male per un maturo quarantenne :)
E dire che non gli avevo ancora nemmeno rivolto un pensiero,
chissa' per cosa gli rodeva, probabilmente solo che facevo lo splendido.
L'unico momento in cui aveva preso la parola fino a quel punto
era per far vedere quanto adorasse il cane del tavolo dei vicini,
non essendo a disposizione i gatti di Chica :)

 Io invece ho fatto un sogno meraviglioso :)
ti sei svegliato al momento della polluzione? :)
Ti

 fa due coccoline? O8-)
Vieni con me di la in sala e ce ne stiamo abbracciati a sentire un pò di
musica..
vuoi?


No, mooooooolto prima :)

 di persona... poi da cosa nasce cosa... :-)
Se nasce non chiedermi di battezzarlo/la.

 vuoi?
scherzo hahhahah


wrote:

Tu sei un clone di Antonio?


 Io invece ho fatto un sogno meraviglioso :)
I Have a Dream
August 28, 1963 
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we
stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came
as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had
been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous
daybreak to end the long night of captivity.
But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the
Negro is still not free. One hundred years later, the life of the
Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the
chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on
a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material
prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in
the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own
land. So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition.
In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When
the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the
Constitution and the declaration of Independence, they were signing a
promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note
was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights
of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note
insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring
this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check
which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to
believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe
that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity
of this nation. So we have come to cash this check -- a check that
will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of
justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of
the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of
cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is
the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to
the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors
of opportunity to all of God's children. Now is the time to lift our
nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of
brotherhood.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment
and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering
summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there
is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen
sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the
Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a
rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will
be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted
his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to
shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice
emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the
warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process
of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds.
Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the
cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and
discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into
physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic
heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new
militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to
distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as
evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that
their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is
inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We
cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil
rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as
long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain
lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We
cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a
smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a
Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he
has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we
will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and
righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials
and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some
of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you
battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of
police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering.
Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go
back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern
cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.
Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and
frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply
rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the
true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident:
that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of
former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit
down together at a table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert
state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be
transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation
where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the
content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's
lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and
nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black
boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys
and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill
and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain,
and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the
Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South.
With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair
a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the
jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of
brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray
together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up
for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing
with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty,
of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's
pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let
freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let
freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring
from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi.
From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and
every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to
speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men,
Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join
hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last!
Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Dr. MLK


 di persona... poi da cosa nasce cosa... :-)
Vicini relativamente: ci vuole almeno un'ora e le strade sono
sdrucciolevoli e di sera c'è nebbia... :PpPpppPPpPpPP
e sono in astinenza grave... meglio evitare... %-)


 Tu sei un clone di Antonio?
Antonio Conte?

 Antonio Conte?
No, il triste Antonio, pugliese in trasferta nel profondo nord, che
usa scrivere qui... ti fa le avàns e poi dice ceh scherza. Come te,
insomma, ma ha cominciato molto prima.



Basta che non le lavi prima, che non riesco a installare la debian ;)


E' una specie di patchwork :
ha i "gusti" musicali di Celio Vibenna
la conoscenza del pianeta donna di un Antonio
e dulcis in fundo svariona quasi come il pirotti
Uccidetelo.

 E' una specie di patchwork :
Vista la tua sintesi direi che è un bugwork! <veg>


 insomma, ma ha cominciato molto prima.
Sono un burlone.... finchè si scherza si scherza ma.... ;)

 Uccidetelo.
Su questi due punti invece sono d'accordo

 ha i "gusti" musicali di Celio Vibenna
Che strano, ricordavo che i pezzi in mp3 che mettevo on line te li
scaricavi, ma proprio tutti, e lasciando nel server ftp la firma Prospero
Pirotti...
Anche tu hai i miei "gusti" musicali, dunque.

 meglio evitare... %-)
meglio sbrigarsi!! :-P
Ti ;-)

 Clarice
Consiglio: una buona tisana calda, un cd rilassante (se non ti piace
il rumore della pioggia), qualche candela profumata, un libro non
troppo impegnativo (magari una favola come "Neve")e copertina sui
piedi,
baci,
ddp

connessione telefonica
poteva andarti peggio, gli HD soffrono parecchio questo inconveniente
:-)
-- 
30x26