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part of Artist's Shit by Skiantos



Well always good 30 years later among the demented groups mejo Italians.

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Ivan's face.


Balls gave a face to the character. At last I see it. His face is fair to say the things I'm writing. When smoke is a show.

Now, Ivan, is barricaded in an abandoned gas station, an unknown boy who sleeps on the chest.

continue to follow them, at least until a customer arrives at the office. One of the few working since Friday that the situation seems calm. Is it because we were going to British Telecom disconnected the phone line?

Getting Her Nipples Pierced

As usual I will stop, but ... Akron


Non ho più aggiornato il blog. Alla fine le cose che mi prometto non le mantengo mai. Disattendermi è una delle cose che più mi piace. Come contraddirmi, di tanto in tanto, quando mi inserisco non voluto in discorsi che non mi riguardano. Così, tanto per fare qualcosa. Per cazzeggiare. Deve essere una reminiscenza del periodo delle medie, quando ero violento e cattivo. Ho trasformato un bullismo reale, fatto di contatti, nell'altro più sporco e vile, fatto di parole e incomprensioni. E mi diverto.

Passando alle cose serie. Non aggiorno il blog ma scrivo. Scrivo sereno e contento. Finally, after a winter full force with poor results.

are now on Mount Amiata, with Ivan and Alec at the turn of the oaks. The direction of Florence. Then draw the balloons smart, tireless producer, workaholic of sequential art. Then, to print. No hurry, it would take twelve years.

tomorrow. Promised.

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the 5th Chapter - write

morning when I had to be ripped to a series of dreams that keep my mind and my body to relax completely.
blinked several times trying to focus, while the soft light of early day happily filled the cabin with no amenities.
I turned my head to my right there where the brazier was placed off now while I wearily ran a hand through his hair caked with filth.
For the first time in a long time I wished I could wash at least a little, because that was a ritual ablution of the present in my daily life since I was memory.
I tried to sit up slowly, but a dizzy let me. So I went to lie down and look around me disconsolate, seeking a bit of water.

Almost absentmindedly moved the heavy mass of hair on one side and in doing so touched the delicate skin under the neck, where it had been branded a mark, a symbol of my humiliation and submission. It burned like other wounds on the rest of my broken body, but I was healing I could feel every slight movement.

My body was telling me that going to make it, that despite the signs indelibly drawn on my skin and be reborn again as new: healthy and ready to serve. But my soul could heal completely? I could really go on?

days ago I dreamed Glaucus apparsomi in an attempt to give me hope again.

Until I had the strength to take one last breath I would never put an end to that gift called life, even if at that time mine was a road paved with suffering.

Suddenly I thought of that man, Ruari, who until then had helped me ... era.Durante knows where the night I woke up I was in search of water and found it there in the room, sitting with his back against the wall, eyes closed palms resting on the floor.
Now, however, was not present in the room and