Yeah, not really write a lot! November 29 .... are 52 days, milleduecentoquarantotto hours settantaquattromilaottocentottanta minutes quattromilioniquattrocentonovantaduemilaottocento seconds! And to think that we do not write any more!
Now, my return to Sardinia made me think of one thing:
I'm not anyone's puppet theater, if you want to laugh at me a thousand other reasons. Use them. Telenovela over, curtain closed, the last episode. Deleted (in all senses). END. And fuck you, those who have ears to hear. For those who want to know how to read my Erasmus, you have my mail. I'll decide who and how to respond.
Last note:
I was in Galway and saw the majestic and consentitemelo, beautiful cliffs of Moher.
wanted a short post? Here it is. I close that might be termed the second phase of my blog with the words Shakespeare
Brethren and sisters of the hold-door trade, Some two months
Hence my Marshall will be made here: It Should Be
now, But That my fear is this, Some galled goose of Winchester
Would hiss: Till then
I'll sweat and seek about for eases, And at That Time
bequeath you my diseases.
As usual translation:
O brothers and sisters,
ancient crafts guard ship, within two
months, if he wants a chance, I will
here my good will. I could
said, in truth, when
but I must confess that I fear that some
goose of Winchester, marcita1
begins to whistle, if scratched.
For now I'll sweat and wraps;
then I'm gone. And I leave to you the acciacchi.2
Note 1: Winchester: City to the south of England known for its prostitutes.
2: the sexual reference is clear. Shakespeare In practice, Pandarus, and I wish you every venereal disease known.
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