Recycling here a little 'shit that I posted on NeroInchiostro, so I pretend to increase the performance of the blog as they do Aryans of Europe. They are poorly written, I know, amen.
Some things you dream with your eyes closed, others open eyes, we are there. No, I have not seen Inception , sorry. But the meme that originated are phenomenal. 
Nightmare # 1: the ogre
The metro station is deserted, except for an old man behind a pillar, into the tunnels where the cars disappear.
is short, stocky, short white hair and small glasses fell on the nose make him look fatter than it is. Give up the wrong column, and takes a few steps forward, the braces that rub the short-sleeved shirt. Sudo.
The buzz a meter deep in me coming around, just in time to see it pass without stopping, and enter the tunnel with the sound of a whirlpool that closes. The people all seemed low inside. When you carry the look of the old, is back behind the column, it still comes out wrong. Unstitching without notice an obscene grin showing teeth outlined in black - appear to many - is blurred, the eyes are outlined in black. Slimy, watery eyes, two mouths each lamprey lurking in its putrid swamp. Suddenly she opens her mouth as if to speak, but not a voice came out of an old, leaving only high voices of children and overlapping nonsense, screams, laughs, cries in anguish, desperate cries passed to the mixer. Verses children disgusting regurgitate that hole as a toilet clogged, and the grin turns into a vicious laugh that fills the air, eccheggia the station, leave the air vents from underground tunnels, from my mouth.
is short, stocky, short white hair and small glasses fell on the nose make him look fatter than it is. Give up the wrong column, and takes a few steps forward, the braces that rub the short-sleeved shirt. Sudo.
The buzz a meter deep in me coming around, just in time to see it pass without stopping, and enter the tunnel with the sound of a whirlpool that closes. The people all seemed low inside. When you carry the look of the old, is back behind the column, it still comes out wrong. Unstitching without notice an obscene grin showing teeth outlined in black - appear to many - is blurred, the eyes are outlined in black. Slimy, watery eyes, two mouths each lamprey lurking in its putrid swamp. Suddenly she opens her mouth as if to speak, but not a voice came out of an old, leaving only high voices of children and overlapping nonsense, screams, laughs, cries in anguish, desperate cries passed to the mixer. Verses children disgusting regurgitate that hole as a toilet clogged, and the grin turns into a vicious laugh that fills the air, eccheggia the station, leave the air vents from underground tunnels, from my mouth.
- § -
Dream # 13
Under various influences that have not I intend to specify the following dream-vision. I do not know whether to call it nightmare. There was a father
with a difficult relationship with his daughters (3 credits), few meaningful images that made the feeling of impending disaster. On one of these visions of the dream lingers, the shot zooms in on his face, the rest disappears from the background that becomes incorporated black. At the same time I start to hear a song that creeps into my brain, a sort of raga-hued sexual and burial at the same time (?), Something like "If only tonight We Could Sleep", but possibly even more distressing. Start a sort of visual dance: the man's face slowly implodes, big ears are approaching the rest of the face is crumpled on itself towards the axis of symmetry, the ears become large blue butterfly wings, with arabesques of gold, black, white and red. The stains on the wings make a series of mosaics depicting scenes of life, observed by hundreds of small eyes that appear and disappear (close) in the black background. I can not grasp the overall meaning of the mosaics. Following the music perfectly - the instincts of sex and death become unbearable - the butterfly flaps its wings to the beat and his body sinks into the black, the wings become the wings of a wooden door that opens inward, black most of the background, the door becomes a soft mouth and obscene, the mouth is to me and I swallow.
with a difficult relationship with his daughters (3 credits), few meaningful images that made the feeling of impending disaster. On one of these visions of the dream lingers, the shot zooms in on his face, the rest disappears from the background that becomes incorporated black. At the same time I start to hear a song that creeps into my brain, a sort of raga-hued sexual and burial at the same time (?), Something like "If only tonight We Could Sleep", but possibly even more distressing. Start a sort of visual dance: the man's face slowly implodes, big ears are approaching the rest of the face is crumpled on itself towards the axis of symmetry, the ears become large blue butterfly wings, with arabesques of gold, black, white and red. The stains on the wings make a series of mosaics depicting scenes of life, observed by hundreds of small eyes that appear and disappear (close) in the black background. I can not grasp the overall meaning of the mosaics. Following the music perfectly - the instincts of sex and death become unbearable - the butterfly flaps its wings to the beat and his body sinks into the black, the wings become the wings of a wooden door that opens inward, black most of the background, the door becomes a soft mouth and obscene, the mouth is to me and I swallow.
- § -
Nightmare # 2: The barber
Within the enclosure, there is no waiting and no one on the couch. I sit directly on those waiting for the barber, so I made an appointment. The chair is comfortable, maybe too much, you sink. The padding press on my skin that surrounds, and I poured him an unexpected cover of sleep, sleep when I try to resist. Looking for a magazine in the pile that occupies a wooden table, but does not recognize any of them. I do not understand what they speak in truth, seem to have a theme, and I did not want to strain to understand, so I give up. I sit again and fixed my reflection in the mirror, I focus on my purple circles, crescents faded, or maybe the bedding. Sleep takes hold of me I can not oppose any resistance.
I wake up. Indeed, intimate with me to wake up. Nothing. I do not see anything.
I begin to feel something, I can say I sat still. I feel wearing the clothes wear on me and I still do not see anything. Maybe I'm blind. Maybe I did not open her eyes.
A rattle and fall from the top of my head something that goes to posarmisi legs. Another sharp sound, and something else falls out of my head. And again and again. Of the light that I interpret as hissing voices.
Zack, something falls. It must be the noise I suppose a pair of scissors. They cut my hair falling out, means that they are under her scissors. Zack. The cock I was not even asked that I cut, how the hell he is planning to start its own initiative? Zack. I have to open your mouth and tell him, if only I find the strength to wake me pay. I'll kill him. Zack. Zack.
Zack.
Crack.
Crack.
Confusion. Not the sound of scissors. Crack. They're cutting hair, right? Crack.
Suddenly I understand. I do not need to open their eyes, but I understand. They're crumbling. I am a towering statue of marble and small creatures are crumbling from the top to me. Gradually the chips fall on me serious drapery, a few millimeters at a time I descend, eroded. Small chisels affect my flesh to stone and break me, one piece at a time, one behind the other chips, cracks open and will infiltrate pounding like crazy. Larger pieces will fall away and crash to the ground, the irreversibility of the process is excruciating. The brain in convulsions sends orders to a body building muscle spasms, to produce adrenaline, to gape, but nothing happens.
I wake up. Indeed, intimate with me to wake up. Nothing. I do not see anything.
I begin to feel something, I can say I sat still. I feel wearing the clothes wear on me and I still do not see anything. Maybe I'm blind. Maybe I did not open her eyes.
A rattle and fall from the top of my head something that goes to posarmisi legs. Another sharp sound, and something else falls out of my head. And again and again. Of the light that I interpret as hissing voices.
Zack, something falls. It must be the noise I suppose a pair of scissors. They cut my hair falling out, means that they are under her scissors. Zack. The cock I was not even asked that I cut, how the hell he is planning to start its own initiative? Zack. I have to open your mouth and tell him, if only I find the strength to wake me pay. I'll kill him. Zack. Zack.
Zack.
Crack.
Crack.
Confusion. Not the sound of scissors. Crack. They're cutting hair, right? Crack.
Suddenly I understand. I do not need to open their eyes, but I understand. They're crumbling. I am a towering statue of marble and small creatures are crumbling from the top to me. Gradually the chips fall on me serious drapery, a few millimeters at a time I descend, eroded. Small chisels affect my flesh to stone and break me, one piece at a time, one behind the other chips, cracks open and will infiltrate pounding like crazy. Larger pieces will fall away and crash to the ground, the irreversibility of the process is excruciating. The brain in convulsions sends orders to a body building muscle spasms, to produce adrenaline, to gape, but nothing happens.
- § -
Oh I forgot: this was the soundtrack. Too late.
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