last time
Last time you see someone and you don't know it will be the last time. And all that you know now, if only you'd known then. But you didn't know, and now it's too late. And you tell yourself How could I have known, I could not have known .
You tell yourself.
This is my story of missing my mother. One day, in a way unique to you, it will be your story, too.
thrilling reading of the Mediterranean waves, with the smells, tastes and smells that
inspired by the Mare Nostrum.
DEAR FRIENDS,
last year I wrote to call for an appointment "useless" because unproductive: the marathon of short stories.
Today I come to call, to invite you to our feast.
This year's theme is a very beautiful, an issue that affects us deeply, "The City."
The city, the womb where we grew up, places that have seen our love, the universe exploded where our passions: the city.
When meeting the city books on my imagination and emotional response is always very strong. I well understand how they feel about the characters who live in those environments, I understand their experience and easily imagine the places where they move.
When I lived in my parents' house to my bedroom window looked out onto a busy street with trams and buses all the rest. Often in the evening I watched the traffic flowing, deprived of its noise, and music from the windows of my stereo, and after a while 'I was like a river, only colored red or yellow, a signal that stopped and then everything all recovered. The flow of traffic at times favored the thoughts and images.
And perhaps also because of the music at times I went up a great commotion, it was not anything in particular, thinking about it now I think it was just the feeling of time passing, perhaps the perception of life so mysterious full of questions and so few answers. Then at a certain point the road and emptied his eyes sought the windows, where he sensed other lives and other families and other dreams and happiness and pain. At that moment it was as if observed from outside all of them and me with them at the same time ... and I took a kind of longing and happiness together ... and I did not know how to bring out ... what happened to me was told, but to whom?
I had to tell that I felt like ... the angels in Wings ... I've seen years later ... in those moments it was as if sensing the earth travel in space, a huge ball over all of us, crowded, under pressure to find any day a small reason to stay attached and do not let go and ...
Dear Friends, I write again, because the motivation to participate in the marathon for me is so clear and powerful that it seems impossible that Cologno not come from everywhere to tell people of if, books, wonderful life. I write because in these days of September I took the fear that people are distracted by the toil of living and the opportunity is lost ... and that this festival ... and we miss someone is to miss its small food made hand. A little simple food whose recipe is on a book, but need the voice and soul to be offered and eaten.
I wait,
Roberto
Anglisani
The sectarian violence is no less crude. It is a gross brutality that is based on a conceptual confusion about the identity of individuals, capable of transforming multidimensional human beings into creatures with a single dimension.
"My first contact with the murder occurred at the age of eleven. It was 1944, during clashes between Hindus and Muslims who have gone before Indian independence. Kader Mia was a Muslim, Hindu and the ruthless criminals who had attacked the only identity that was important. The sectarian violence is no less crude. It is a gross brutality that is based on a conceptual confusion about the identity of individuals that can transform humans into creatures of a single multidimensional dimension. "
Prologue - Preface - I. The violence of illusion - II. Make sense of identity - III. Children of civilization - IV. Islamic history and religious affiliations - V. West and Antioccidente - VI. Culture and captivity - VII. Globalization and the voice of the people - VIII. Multiculturalism and freedom - IX. Freedom of thought - Notes - Index of Names - Index
libraries save the missiles have become centers of meeting and information: some visitors have even tripled, and quadrupled loans home .
In wandering up and down we went even Conero Osimo, cute little town on top of a hill. Entering the old town we found in an alley, a small library that we are awarding the gold for the "naming" the library is called THE PROSIVENDOLO fact. Extraordinary idea. As the people of Osimo.
