Sunday, October 26, 2008

Chorizo As An Appetizer

CHILDREN OF MALE ANTS OF SKULLS

http://www.alessandroamaducci.net/files/u2/Fear_of_Me.jpg

Sons of Evil


As a cone of light unearthly
where the apostle sodomizes generations
in response to a truce was sad
that opens to our broken hand.
and delusions of old far
accompanying our breath,
with long chants that prophesy the future
and raise the chasm in our destiny.
Blood and death are waiting for the people
which sadly does not stop the twisted
steep streets of sheets and rolls
sensations of cold and strong.
going to wander in a stable
meet off the vivid child
still and cold, and without breathing
ragguaglierà us on our way.
look so dark the stars come back
the seas dry in the sun at night
burn the earth from the blind revenge
ruthless toward its creation.
in the sky While the light fades,
is the dark mass that affects humans
watching helplessly your domain
flakes while the morning sky.
A new dawn awaits even the hero
that maybe no one will ever see
in a still sky vine absorbed
as trapped in a mirror of death.
But small points percorron tin,
are the sons of evil, heaven and the spider
of sordid thoughts Ombre mellifluous
swept away by the appalling Brezzo
flowing in search of brave warriors
to kill them in a dignified manner.
And a gray sky to the rainbow s'affaccerà
matching the color of the water
fierce changes of the past
that the world will never be forgotten .
and profusion of disciples who think fan
as the system is already damaged
travel the world in search of a way.

(danleroi)


Wednesday, October 15, 2008

How To Makean Rc Snow Plow




Tesco OF ANTS


sleep takes me, I steal the brain will not sleep again.
The sun burns, it consumes my body, stun: it'll stop.
The light dazzles me, I see more and more bright stars.

I have pain in the eyes, pain in the belly,
in the heart of a god naked wretch like me.
One by one, the constellations, become shadows. All
finally stop. How
skulls of ants, and explain the wings of a hawk will come to me.
screw and screw your shadow throws me in a gentle warmth. Small
infinite points, I see drawings ever made, unfinished.
the carousel will stop soon, I will put an end to everything.
comes a time that nobody expected,
the big silence after the big crash. A slurred speech
of controversy, criticism.
Yes, it was me, you're afraid to admit it?
Protests, insults .. Well? Now we can all rest ..
The child cries, her husband protested, the neglected wife, the family!
Revolution, electoral committees, unions, money, people! How
skulls of ants, with the wings of the falcon and explain the lion's roar. How
skulls of ants, hives and many promises never kept, coalitions! Like ants
skulls, empty shells, which no one has ever paid attention miserable.
With me, in times now gone. How
skulls of ants, all live in the memory, fade. How
skulls of ants, a shot into the air, the sun blue smoke stones. How
skulls of ants, sprinkled here and there in the wilderness, endless like you.
With me, now finished in time.


(danleroi)


Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Cervix Is Low And Soft What Does This Mean

AS THE SON OF THE DEMON OF BLOOD ROSE

L'immagine “http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v180/albertoterrile/impiccato1.jpg” non può essere visualizzata poiché contiene degli errori.

The son of the demon



in the infinite dark and silent night,
from the sad to the castle hill on his back
in the dark stars off
transmitting at heart a sad fate
I take the reflection in your eyes glassy
that pale sense of the eternal child.
E 'I see the blood running down your heart
deep images and distorted, twisted and death.
E 'I feel bad flood your eyes, dull and cenerei
sound hidden in a deep hatred now.
Whirlpools black light, the surround our lives
concentric and vast, dull as the sea.
E 'while we collect in them memories
of words, emotions, gifts ominous,
ending the first from the burning fire,
or to engage in their decay
the walls of hell strewn with corpses.
dreams of monsters that emerge from the past
as excruciating pangs brain
while in limbo now lost our
looking for a time to light the palace.
Misti Tiaras by a funeral omens
is wearing the sign of the hands
that shook that tore
white meat once
without bond in the soul
stern and foreboding, forever distant.
faces carved by wind turbines afraid
horror show with the decline of man
is the son of the demon screaming people
Sparla that, that judges, the monster concealed.
But now at last we will be immortal,
seeking to raise the seed of evil
and demon guarded secret where I am
live silence, waiting for the sublime moment.
Taking a rope with both hands
support for the neck, like a ritual
the evil smile is beyond the room
or seems to disappear forever and foil
and I feel the beating of a dead heart
affect the last big hustle
a splinter in the back catches on fire
no time to think, I have to finish
pride takes me, I'm stronger
bold is the courage to Those who encounter the death
look confused and sweaty oblivion
confess the evil of the world was pious
and inside the heat from high pressure
an accomplice in the chair do last tug
the rope curtains and lengthens the path
the dark corridor that never go away
I have seen so many people and too many
that this memory is dedicated to you
a grim message, but did so is love!
a bit of nostalgia, sweetness and pain
the last image from the gallows divine
while watching me the damned soul
cold and dark on the bed lying
sad is the effect that the accused guilty m'è
I see my woman strangled.

(danleroi)


Saturday, October 11, 2008

Ways To Straighten Teeth Without Braces




http://byfiles.storage.live.com/y1ptANJ87Ecipe2Oy_jgWbyvBL_pPb-cWspQIQA5MMGNZO2P6Htbv9o1SVQcj8uyfj3

Rose blood


runs on rails focal
the thin line of pain,
affecting the flight of thought
also higher.
furrows left by the sea,
intense and blood, which trace
with fatigue,
the Mountains of Madness.
penis and pain, escaping the sensations
absorbed the sun, I see the dune:
as if everything in some way,
has resumed its course, without me.
thousand colors, the reflections of light,
walk the line, now broken.
lame horses, drag the hair to the limits of the sign where the
which overlooks the white cliff, where it was born
once
my destiny.
Now I feel it, running at breakneck speed
find me in the night,
that fierce, that unforgiving, enter
cutting and piercing the chest. In the eternal night a cry
infamous
need to pay the bill, the flight is prohibited. Teeth
fatal
divoran that the members, and is poison!
Rose of blood from the jugular
quivering, helpless now.
Eyes of prey,
spit flames in search of a God
hum of wheels
run as hell in a vortex of infinite
pure horror.
Eyes of fire, turn off at dawn
a new sun will rise this morning:
largest and most true.
already hear its flames burn, drag
echo of millions of screaming skulls.
It 's a perfect day,
to die.




(danleroi2008)

My Aunt Made Me Kiss Her Foot

mystic eyes

http://msnbcmedia.msn.com/i/msnbc/Components/Photos/070212/070212_helix_hmed_10a.jpg


mystic eyes


Legends and myths, of fiery swords
who seek out the glory in rivers with dead bodies.
sensations of pain, range of that color,
mark the life of a secret bond,
scratched furrows that the fate of entire civilizations.
Red sky at night, red with blood.
you look, the eyes of those who know your destiny.
I offer you mercy, once again, perhaps the last.
despise you for the gift you have ever used.
bond of dead will stain the spirit,
legions of ancestors condemn your way.
Faults ancestral torment your heart,
full of infinite madness, thoughts of ancient
refurbished, with no fear
Red sky at night, Red Fire
mystic eyes, they cry for you, with the complicity of your way.
mystic eyes, full of remorse for having killed your god.
mystic eyes, filled with love, respect your defeat.
Red sky at night, red blood,
is your color, no more shall wash away.
mystic eyes, eyes that have known each legendary civilization.
mystic eyes, sad spectators of every age and every barbarity.
mystic eyes, the eyes of a god unable to save his kingdom.
Tears deadly cross the face of older empirical creator,
unimaginable suffering the bending, kneeling,
his back and forced him to scream for mercy.
Everything is designed to legend.
With burning tears, broke his rope,
one thousand blacks swarms of flying death in search of souls.
Elder creator descends among you, once again,
lever look with shame on millions of souls trembling
ring the trumpets, winged demons open the dancing,
blood fill the rivers, and Justice will honor.
Red sky at night, Red Fire,
and is already sunset.


(danleroi 2005/08)

Thursday, October 9, 2008

Pokemon Shiny Gold Rom

Black Tears


Black Tears



Maybe if I put my face in the wind,
I feel its caress
Perhaps the rose smell her perfume
and if I open the window, I would see
the bird hovering in the sky and
, music, pick the sweetest of notes .

Instead, the rose, I see only his spine
window closed and the black curtain
the wind screams my despair
and the music is like a requiem
and mind no longer remember

Vaga in the limbo of my life
a '
other life that was a day when evil

not invaded my soul and I do not
lost.



(written by someone very important that there is unfortunately no more)



Monday, October 6, 2008

Games That You Can Give Birth

Sentieri

In Italy there are many paths partisans. The streets, squares and pathways of resistance to Nazism are a lot of luck in different cities and regions of Italy. Those in the province of Reggio Emilia each year are the subject of visits, walks and testimonies. Merit Institute of the Resistance and Contemporary History of Reggio, 's Istoreco , since 1992 organizes the splendid initiative of "The Guiding Partisans." In a weekend September, a group of about seventy people going out, between the city of Reggio and the nearby mountains to the company of those who have inspired guerrilla actions, or who has suffered the worst Nazi-Fascist occupation. There are those "that" the past has suffered, he fought, he changed it. And now he says.

For four days, walking in the streets and on those paths, we listened to their memories so precious, as threatened today by so many enemies. The age of the witnesses, unfortunately, is advancing, and every year some of these items abandon us. And then there are those who insist on trying to put everyone on equal footing, mixing in moral and historical, and the losers of the and winners. Precisely for these reasons, walk the trails partisans, here as elsewhere, is even more important and significant.
Witnesses accompany us in the various places we visit, in a path that starts in the streets of the center of Reggio Emilia, and continues to various locations of the Reggio Apennines: the Val d'Asta, Monte Penna, Cervarolo, Busana , Lake Calamone, Collagna the Bettola, Albinea. You walk in the cities and towns, plains and mountains. After traveling the trail and heard the testimony, the tell some of "" their stories (which are also "the" history) is felt almost like a duty, a necessity. And above all, is a great pleasure.

Below you can read the collection of any notes made during the days of partisan paths (some photos are here ). Unfortunately there are not any witnesses, although all, really all, they deserved to be remembered and transcribed. It is the fault of the failure of the writer, who always had a notebook in hand during the interventions.


La staffetta Laila

Che l’8 settembre 1943 sia stato uno “spartiacque”, una di quelle date in cui la storia cambia per davvero, è un dato di fatto. Ma nelle parole di Anita Malavasi, nome di battaglia “Laila”, è qualcosa di ancora più grande. “ Prima dell’8 settembre noi donne non eravamo considerate niente. Nelle famiglie, quando si parlava di qualcosa, ti dicevano: ‘Taci che sei una donna!’ ”. Invece, da quel giorno qualcosa sarebbe cambiato per merito, innanzitutto, di un “ sentimento umano e inconsapevole di solidarietà. Noi donne non sapevamo ancora di essere partigiane” . Il 9 settembre, quando le SS assediano le caserme dell’esercito a Reggio, alcune donne si organizzano: aiutano i soldati italiani a uscire e allo stesso tempo portano via armi e medicinali, che presto torneranno utili. Alcuni di quei soldati diventeranno partigiani. Quelle donne, anche se “ inconsapevoli ”, già lo sono.

A Laila, nell’attività partigiana, viene assegnato il trasporto d’armi. A volte deve compiere tragitti lunghi, con diversi posti di blocco, ma i fascisti non la scoprono mai, until they find a note in the pocket of a partisan arrested. Above is the name of Laila, and stop. The vividness with which today said the incident is almost smiling. " That one was a fool! , "says Comrade careless: Do not run with the names of comrades is an iron rule. At the time of Laila tries to defend himself saying that eggs carry no weapons. The fascists compares it with the "fool". " He confirmed that I was carrying weapons, at which point I got angry so much that I began to lie, and said that the weapons he was carrying, and I do not . In front of the security (even lying) of Laila, the fool who says she's right, the fascists and free. The day after reaching the partisan, let us rededicate ourselves to the transport of weapons.

In the story, meet and mix continuously the dramatic scenario of war, fear and the risk of being tortured and killed at every checkpoint, and the more grotesque aspects of the business of rolling involved. " Once the bra gave way and the gun was wearing under her dress was going to slip, but promptly grabbed the . One day, Laila, and other companions are responsible for bringing on a train, a package that contains a radio transmitter. One of them " was also nice, and began to make the Oscar . The aim is to soften the fascist soldiers accompanying the train. They naively play the game and you have to load the package on the highest rack. In mid-route the train is stopped and searched in every corner, but the package is out of control because they put too high, and no one sees.

After transporting weapons here and there, Laila portion of Reggio Emilia in the mountains, entering the detachment Rosselli. " You are not more women or men. You partisan ", they tell her right away. "We Women were respected, no one was uncomfortable. It was totally different from what we experienced before. During the fascist period, when I went to the movies alone, I always kept a pair of scissors in her bag. There was always the idiot who sat next to you and reach out .

Laila says that, in the partisan struggle, "c are taught to become fighters " despite the harshness and dangers of that life, "we never sold , even to the suffering worse. Laila's boyfriend died in the battle of Monte Caio: his body was found six months later. Who knows Laila tells us that would no longer married. In a bell ' article found a little' for the event online, emerge more aspects of drama, but also of extraordinary moral strength in the story of Laila. "It was a incredible suffering, but it was the enormous collective solidarity to save us. For this reason, the liberation, we really felt our .


Cervarolo

Cervarolo, village the town of Villa Minozzo was the scene of one of the first and bloodiest Nazi massacres in the Apennines cheese. On March 20, 1944 German and Italian soldiers gathered all the men in the farmyard, the central square of the village. The raid followed the furious uphill battle of Cerro Sologno, which occurred five days earlier, where the SS had suffered several losses. The trails go from that help, and a witness begins to tell precisely that terrible day. " They took all the men, while women and children let you go." She managed to escape, and the mountain where he had taken refuge, saw the houses burning: the fascists had burned down the entire country, not before he had raked and ravaged everything possible. " hoped that at least someone had survived, but when we got back, there were only corpses in the farmyard." All twenty-seven men were executed for weapons, they managed to miraculously save in three, " remained alive under the other corpses, but they pretended to be dead .

listen to the heartfelt remembrance and honor of the mayor of Villa Minozzo. Following the testimony of Italo Royal, which tells the "story within a story" whose father Virgil Royal , and his family were the protagonists. Virgil at the beginning of the war he was called up for military service with the Alpini, the Balkans, after September 8, '43, two years would remain a prisoner of the Germans. Between August '44 and January '45 wrote two letters to the affected families, asking him to keep well the violin in preparation for their return. Only the return Emilia learned of the massacre of the yard, where his father, grandfather and brother Virgil had been killed. The house was burned, but the precious instrument has escaped the flames. Virgil would play throughout the life of renowned violinist, making the war one of the most famous musicians This piece of Emilia. The violin and the music of Virgil resonate, not only ideally: the alternation of the interventions, the two talented musicians Paolo and Emanuele Simonazzi Flares perform traditional songs in the repertoire of Royal, using his own instrument.

Needless to say, in the farmyard of Cervarolo, the emotional tension is palpable, for the teller, and listener. The information is retrieved on the matter, there is often talk of "forgotten massacre", or however little known, perhaps because Reggio and the plains are distant, while this is a mountain village, isolated, even several kilometers away from the municipality to which it belongs . The same trails Partisans, many places that make a real landmark, but here there have come too often. We are told that in an early edition, older residents closed the doors and windows shut, because many participants are Trails of Germany and speak German, a language he did not feel those years, and A listen-only caused fear, or perhaps anger, or simply wake up a trauma is still too painful.

Today, fortunately, is no longer the case. Doors and windows are open and a bit 'all come close to The Hague. All come together for a collective homage to the great country twenty-four those who paid with the active support of the people killed in partisan activities, a country that had an important role later, when this territory was included in the Republic of partisan Montefiorino. The thought is perhaps the most beautiful of Fernando Cavazzini, nom de guerre "Toni", which expresses a deep gratitude for Cervarolo, historical and human. " If the resistance won, is for people such as Cervarolo .


Our battle

The story of James "Willi" Notari a long way, from the memories of a system seen through the eyes of a child. "It grew in the belief that fascism was a good thing. At the time of the Ethiopian war, international sanctions when they arrived, I remember the truck that held the slogan: 'There flouting sanctions!'. The teacher gave us a flyer that says 'God damn the English!' And then I remember when my uncle had been sent into internal exile to Tremiti, me and my brother, nobody said anything, he wrote letters, explaining to be done there just because communist, and we did not understand . When James is no longer a child, and can finally understand, you know which side to take. It 'very young when he enlisted in the Garibaldi Brigade, along with his older brother, devoted mainly to activities of sabotage in the area between Busana and Ligonchio. Precisely Ligonchio part, in April 1945, in the great battle to defend the power station.

In the account of James, nell'asprezza conditions are part of that context situations a bit 'strange and almost grotesque, alien to the dynamic logic of war, but consistent with the instincts of humanity and understanding that even in these moments can be expressed. So it happens that James face a German prisoner, but the story takes an edge a bit 'special. " I saw, I had a machine gun and two hand grenades and then I pointed it to him and raised his hands. I took him to my house where my father had cows, and made of cheese, a bit that we 'hated because they ate only one. The German sat at the table and drank a pot of milk, whole. Who knows what does not drink, and who knows how not eat. " Around the German meets a little 'people, the father of James looks at him without rancor, because basically he was a prisoner of war. " E 'was a bit 'in my house, then I went up to Ligonchio, and after that I have moved beyond the Gothic Line, the Germans have taken with other prisoners allies. " The history of prison a bit 'unusual ends here. April 25 is also unusual for James, who will have the satisfaction to get to Reggio on the day of liberation. " There was a group of Germans who had hidden around here in Busan, we did not know what they were doing and then we were here, even at night. I fired two volleys, there was no one outside . What they did, they would have discovered the next day. " They had been there because they wanted more fight ", and followed their retreating army, because" the two had morose here, and they would then married here. "

James also devotes more than a thought to what happened after that April 25. In Busan, in Emilia, in Italy, a few days and many years later. He had joined the PCI still ongoing war, " in hope, then become convinced that we would change the world . Touching is the story of the first free summer, that of '45. The mayor of Busana organizes a group of volunteers, among them there is also James, have to go to scrape the lettering in praise of Mussolini and Fascism in a building, that within a few days they will become the home for children orphaned colony. The beauty is that the house of their colony is the hostel where we sleep these days, and where we are now listening to James, who shows us in great detail the points where the writing stood out.

James is tied up in Busan, the country where " I was born, I've got that guerrilla warfare, I've got got married, because I've got the mayor. I think it's the best! . But not all were grateful. Neither to him, in Busan. Nor to the Resistance in Italy. "The DC, in '48, he sent two trucks to my house to search for weapons. In a family that had two dead partisans, looking for weapons! The have done because we were communists. Instead, the prefects, the postwar Quaestors were all ex-fascists . More recently, James Notari has received death threats from some mythomaniac neofascistello, and he is almost spontaneous jokes about it. At mythomaniac responded by publishing a letter in the newspapers. " I wrote: I have been a partisan. I have a family with two children, I have a vegetable garden, I was the administrator for a life ... And you want me dead? I think you're sick, because hatred and jealousy are major diseases! "

The impetus and the irrepressible verve of James making their way towards the end, moved by the thought dedicated to his brother, who fell for the Resistance and was buried at Sparavalle, a hamlet of Castelnuovo Ne 'Monti. " When I go there I seem to thank me and tell me: At least you, our struggle continues " because in Italy " there is still need us."


Tira

In the central square of Collagna, attended the inauguration a bit of a monument 'particular. It 's a plate, a small and simple, but significant. At present it is Ivo Rivi, "Pisacane. Ivo had a companion company, known only by his nom de guerre: "Pull", the ammunition team, was killed just Collagna few days before April 25, '45. Only in 2005, after some research conducted by the EVA storeco, Ivo and the other fellow partisans could finally know the true identity of 'Spin': name was Armando Notari, born in 1923 in Sassuolo. Ivo Istoreco and decided that the sacrifice of "Pull" should remain a trace. Now, in the square Collagna of the country, a small statue shows him and a plaque remember. The latter was officially inaugurated during the 2008 Trail: When is a wonderful intersection of solemnity and simplicity. The plate is covered with a small tricolor flag, Ivo the "reveals" and takes word to remember Comrade "Pull", saying it is always a must, even after a long time, remember the right people. Above the plaque is a wonderful sentence quoted, delivered just a few years ago by Ivo on 'Spin': "You were our ammunition. Together we have shot to anyone who wanted slaves. "



A Bettola was coming down in the evening ...

Liliana's testimony should not be included among those of combatants ". Liliana in June 1944 was only 11 years old and lived in the tavern, the village of Vezzano Crostolo where until then " partisan I had not seen." The Germans, however yes, "I saw because always passed on the road ", SS 63, the one from Reggio Emilia Tuscany leads to crossing the Cerreto.

Liliana did not know much about the war, until a group of partisans is not detonate some mines to bring down the bridge of the highway. The objective is to blow up the connections between the plains and mountain Vezzano is at the foot of cheese, and state is an important communications hub. The plan failed: the mines explode, but the bridge is not down. The next day the partisans would try it again, " to blow up 'I'm cursed bridge," said Liliana with a little' bitterness: they discovered a German truck with three men above. He began shooting, Partisans killed three Germans and two, but the third managed to escape and go back to Casina, to alert the command that is stationed there. Since then the story of Liliana you slower, more articulated the words, but always bright and cold. The order of the German commander is simple, pungent: go down, and kill everyone.

The home of the family of Liliana is one of the first on the road, and from there begins the retaliation. " have come into my house, they put on the wall of my grandparents and my mom, while I hid under the bed. They fired, killing everyone, threw petrol and set fire to the house ". Liliana can jump out the window and escape, while the tavern at the inn are thirty-two people killed. Who escaped the massacre only the owner of the tavern with his wife and daughter, who hid in the laundry, and manage to escape when the soldiers set fire to everything. Piero also died in the flames Varini, a child of eighteen months.

Liliana, as night falls, finds refuge in a bush. The next morning he discovers a German soldier. "We looked , then he took me in his arms and took me on the road. I think he wanted to save me, who has taken pity on me. I was witness to the massacre, he could kill .

the story of that horrible night, following a quick review of the "after" the time when gathered in the street and took the plain, then the years of the orphanage, and then, the most recent years, when Liliana, begins by saying that while " I do not like to talk too much! ", it was often dedicated to talk, to tell the damn night.

After the testimony, someone points out that Liliana is dedicated a song . E 'dei Modena City Ramblers, who actually know little. Back home, find out who is entitled The only survivor, and that the text tells its all this: the bridge, the command, the massacre, the Bettola in flames. The music that accompanies it is inspiring and exciting. It 'a wonderful tribute to those who, like MCR sing, " for many years and wanted to see the shots did not come voice," but today it continues to transmit that memory so painful.


There is need for us

One of the most beautiful of these days is that the suggestions of the way and the excitement of listening you do not live alone. The trails are partisans, above all, a great collective experience. This year we are about to participate in the seventies. The age is varied, there are students, workers, young and old. The Italians are a minority, a dozen, maybe a few more. The rest of the group is from Germany, and the reasons for the German stradominio are many. There is an extraordinary interest in the Italian Resistance, in particular, there is a vast network of contacts and exchange of experiences made by the Institute for Contemporary History of the Resistance and Reggio Emilia, which is very popular in Germany. The Istoreco various activities held for years in Italian and German schools, such as travel to the memory of the extermination camps, and countless initiatives and anti-fascist resistance. Someone notes, smiling, that the influx into the reasons there is a trivial factor in German cultural and organizational. The space available to participate in the trails are limited and therefore the membership is always a bit 'exhausted: Germany enroll well in advance, a little Italy' ... The less traditional stereotypes in national key on efficiency and punctuality are confirmed, is to smile.

We are many, and walking, on the go by bus, dinner and talk in the room, you create a Babel of languages, and above all a babel of topics, ideas and experiences. Issues included in the talk are as diverse and always interesting. Sharing, discussion and socializing characterize these four days very special.

Resistance - with its core values \u200b\u200band ideas, which suggests - is the common point. The Resistance, we learn, is part of the Resistance to understand "our" present. And if possible, even to change it. "Willi" Notari absolutely right: there is still need them. We need to forward their concrete experience, there is a need for someone to translate the founding principles even in today's context. The latter is perhaps the most difficult undertaking. Of course, sixty years ago they, and we have won. But sometimes it would be worthwhile to "hold" today, even if, you know, it is increasingly difficult. Intolerance, violence and authoritarianism have other forms, other methods, other victims. "Toni" Fernando Cavazzini almost admonishes us with pride: " Young people must move as we did. We never had leave. We did the fifth grade, and we done all these things ... The mountain was our university ".

From Resistance is learned, with the strength we get excited. Exciting telling, listening to the emotion. It 'nice to conclude with the words of Toni, the final meeting of the Paths that greets us this way: "For some ' of days I had a low voice, I felt weak. Instead, according to you I reloaded, I seem to have again the same energy that I was sixty years ago. "


A huge hug and greet Arturo (the big brother "bolzanese"), Antonella, Aniela, Carl, Arne, Barbara (Cavriago and alive!), Gina, Fabio, Steffi, Simon, Luke, Just Group, the family of Sassuolo, and all "sentieranti" of two thousand eight.

A big thank you to Sisa, a Steffen, to Mattias, and all the Istoreco. Great, as always.

And above all, a hug and a thank you to them, "Fox" Francis Bertacchini, "Mirko" Camillo Marmiroli, "Toni" Fernando Cavazzini, "Biros" Ferry Hill "Free" Joan picture gallery and "Forest" Laura Picture Gallery, "Laila" Anita Malavasi, "Willi" Giacomo Notari, "Pisacane" Ivo Rivi, Liliana Dalmonte.