million-euro question: why? Answer: because they are the ones who have put down 'ideas first, who penned the paper, leaving black fantasies embedded in that ink. To classical mean everything that is not a contemporary writer, in short, that rubbish is recycled ill. I know, I get off the net and gross hatchet as sharp on soft wood, but this is my space and my ideas we put them in capital letters and if I want to scream '!
We do not realize that the writers of today are all speed, vulgarity, spremutine and lightness of heart. Where are the values? Where are those words that you read with due attention to perceive the vastness of feelings that they know contain? Where are those pages that are attached to each other, you drag, which take you away, you leave that bit of bitterness when you reach the end, because it is finished something too good, something that we sparked the imagination. Books that have the ability to make you feel alive twice: once because the other because they breathe more. Today they do not write, now put into words how a movie image, images, fast and relentlessly, you look beautiful just because they are fast and they fill their own speed, not their substance, not fully. Today the words they use to fill white space, not have learned to use them with the necessary intelligence, since they are sacred and fragile instruments.
I understand that everyone has their own tastes, everyone can read what they like and the important is to read, and enjoy, and to take questions. Even eating is important, indeed crucial, but equally important is the quality. Surely a personality like mine who lives by his own delusions and ideas of all may not be the best "Consigliori" books, I can not be a reference, I have the ability to define where they begin with the books which supports the library and those with whom thou hast made love (always from a purely ideal and mental well-meant!), but one thing I can say, indeed I can safely say: read everything that exists before the contemporary writers! The latter invented nothing, fuck only the publishers and those who buy them, invading your fantasies with excellent commediuole hired, extracts of mock and aseptic eroticism, carrying books that seem to television formats, we feed our vomit and we pay them. Unbelievable. Extr
I know it sounds unrealistic to say that the "contemporary writers" have not invented anything but the truth. It 'a truth that hurts, especially when they find out with our eyes as we read, while robbing the pages with our own eyes. Already there propinano junk buckets, we should not self-flagellation in our leisure time. We must love each other in the brain!
I understand that Marinetti was a futurist and all that is behind us, but he "Club of the nice" to describe the storm spins a phrase like "The black sky was shaken by an escape rhythm of arms of ivory, and stab the faces of the clouds."
I do not know what image you have now in my head, but I still shiver of pleasure. A pleasure
slow, which does not dissolve instantly.
L.
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