"Fragments of infinitesimal dust in the den of my mind living light edge: what is the origin little care."
A. Martucci, "brains and materials in color," Corbaccio
beatomè yearned to thinking about the lucky reader who, by opening a random page of my literary debut (when this was going to press), it would be unbeaten in My lyrics by poet underground Capitoline, courted her, and these were the exact words that were buzzing in the orchard of my erratic thoughts, it is these and not others, and finally concluded it was not necessarily found in the poetry my first publishing success. Maybe the diary of a deep research on the human character, fictionalized version of real experience conducted by the author: I.
But while the story of Ernesto Maria Pasquali suggested many different destinations, still did not provide any indication on how to reach them. But the call to the cemetery gave me a chance, take it and you had contact in some way move to the Milan branch of the family.
consulted the telephone directory with rudeness to Philip Marlowe, dialed the number to do with Sam Spade, but I knew barely pierce the water like a shabby Jeffrey Lebowski, grappling with a series of bad trips. In fact, the Easter which I started on the trail was not available in any way. No one who answered the phone, nobody went to check the mailbox, and would add no mailbox, as my presentation he soon returned to me for "sending non-existent or unavailable." It was like peering into an instant home of the pioneer, before the window is slammed shut by the wind.
crunching discomfort with resignation, I thought well of dark and try not to think better.
Research canonical master data had not yet been exhausted, and some sources suggested that Pasquali, orphaned in 1919, moved with his mother in Milan in the early twenties.
solicit responses dall'anagrafe Milan, dissatisfaction with ostentatious leafed through the folder containing the material collected so far on my character. A few pages photocopied from books and clippings of the era. Not even enough for a detailed biography, but ... To look good, were growing. It gave me a warm, optimistic vision that the folder would soon make way for something special, something that had remained hidden for almost ninety years by lights and shadows of the twentieth century, from the curious looks and changes of ownership. of unpublished .
If the road does not lead to anything just because it was I was in the midst of being selective: they closed the wrong lane and stay in the game than those in which he hid the right one. What should have answered my questions: who was really Ernesto Maria Pasquali? What were his dreams come true and which ones? What happened in his last months of life?
(continued)
But while the story of Ernesto Maria Pasquali suggested many different destinations, still did not provide any indication on how to reach them. But the call to the cemetery gave me a chance, take it and you had contact in some way move to the Milan branch of the family.
consulted the telephone directory with rudeness to Philip Marlowe, dialed the number to do with Sam Spade, but I knew barely pierce the water like a shabby Jeffrey Lebowski, grappling with a series of bad trips. In fact, the Easter which I started on the trail was not available in any way. No one who answered the phone, nobody went to check the mailbox, and would add no mailbox, as my presentation he soon returned to me for "sending non-existent or unavailable." It was like peering into an instant home of the pioneer, before the window is slammed shut by the wind.
crunching discomfort with resignation, I thought well of dark and try not to think better.
Research canonical master data had not yet been exhausted, and some sources suggested that Pasquali, orphaned in 1919, moved with his mother in Milan in the early twenties.
solicit responses dall'anagrafe Milan, dissatisfaction with ostentatious leafed through the folder containing the material collected so far on my character. A few pages photocopied from books and clippings of the era. Not even enough for a detailed biography, but ... To look good, were growing. It gave me a warm, optimistic vision that the folder would soon make way for something special, something that had remained hidden for almost ninety years by lights and shadows of the twentieth century, from the curious looks and changes of ownership. of unpublished .
If the road does not lead to anything just because it was I was in the midst of being selective: they closed the wrong lane and stay in the game than those in which he hid the right one. What should have answered my questions: who was really Ernesto Maria Pasquali? What were his dreams come true and which ones? What happened in his last months of life?
(continued)
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