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Emilio's Flirty PastaMy good friend Emilio Mazzanti from the most romantic Venice sent me one of his new recipes in the view of Valentine’s Day next month, “Flirty Pasta”. This is a very unique recipe, especially for those in love with sure results, triple tested by Emilio, if you plan on proposing to your other half. Actually, Emilio cooked this dish on Valentine’s Day for his then girlfriend now MS. Mazzanti under the starry sky. So, my precious lovebirds, wear your aprons and start cooking…
500 grams strawberries, chopped in squares,
A package of heart shaped pasta,
50 years of marriage balsamic vinegar,
A can of pureed tomatoes,
Salt from the great lovers’ sea,
Passionate Chili peppers,
3 Valentine’s Day kisses,
Goddess Aphrodite’s Basil,
Grated Parmesan for serving,
Bring a large pot of water and 2 magic teaspoons of salt to boil. Add the pasta and cook until al dente (or follow the package instructions).
In the mean
Marina's Laughter PattiesThis is a variation of a very old and secret recipe of my grandmother, Eugenia, “Eugenia’s Smiling Patties”. I changed this recipe because of my sister, Cranky Sofia, because, since a dragon – elephant sat on her mallows, she was constantly sulky and grumpy. However, since she ate the patties, she is smiley and cheerful. She replanted the mallows but this time she put repellent with mouse flavor…
Ingredients for the crust:
250 grams all -purpose flour,
1/3 br. tea cup olive oil,
¾ br. glass of lukewarm water,
1 pinch of salt
Ingredients for the filling:
3 morning smiles (preferably fresh),
2 m. teaspoons tickling powder,
5 drops of sugar-eraser syrup for the bad memories,
1 handful chopped chocolate
In a bowl put the flour, oil, salt and little by little add the lukewarm water, kneading until you end up with dough that doesn’t stick to your hands. Put aside.
In a bowl add the smiles, the tickling powder (caref
Caged Self-destructionThe beast moved slightly. His frozen expression started to break. This change was petty, almost unnoticeable but he realized it. He raised his big head and stared with cold, green eyes the bars of his cage.
“Soon.”, he thought.
He, then, returned to his previous position and closed his eyes. He was still too weak but he concentrated. He noticed that an unknown source was feeding him, making him stronger. Feelings. Strong feelings for someone. A man; as always. When the beast first decided to reside inside her, she looked like an easy target. She would break instantly. But yet, it took her 7 years to finally start doubting. But it didn’t matter. If the engine had started working, it would be impossible to stop the procedure.
“Soon but why to wait?” he thought and smirked.
He had regained a tiny fragment of his former power, a fragment enough to break her resistance. He didn’t need to do much. She needed just a small push. And it’d be over. So
The Foolishness of DesiresThe woman crossed the small bridge with quick steps. Her heels echoed on the cold stone. Behind her, a man followed her hurriedly with long, quiet strides.
“So easily will you leave our children and me?” he asked her with desperation.
The woman didn’t turn around to face him. Tears were running on her cheeks.
“I-I have to l-leave…” she managed to say. “I-I want to get a-away of this place. C-can’t take it anymore.”
With those words, strength seemed to leave her body and the woman fell on her knees on the grass. That grass was brighter there. Her husband, surprised and confused, didn’t know how to react. He stepped closer to her, trying to hold her in his arms, but the woman’s sobs become louder and harder. She leaned over the crystal clear waters of the lake. She saw her face, tired and aged before its time. Her youth had flown away too quickly; hardships had replaced happiness and carelessness. She had achieved too
5 a.m.It’s 5 a.m.
And they kicked me out of the bar again
The third one this week
They said I got drunk
and had a fight
for an imaginary woman
You only exist in my head now?
I don’t go home anymore
It’s suffocating to watch our past
So, I roam around every night
With fuzy eyes
To see you again
One last time
Before dawn finds me dead
Red is the theme tonightHe stood there, staring at a big, white emptiness. His eyes blank, hollow. It had been months since the passion had left his body transforming him into a cheap replica of what he used to be. Many didn’t notice the difference, but for the few ones he mattered the most, he was a different person, a stranger. He knew they would criticize him; his best friends. He hadn’t called them or kept in touch for months. They waited there for a sign of his to know he was alright. They waited patiently but the only thing he could do was to stare the white wall. He hadn’t noticed the empty packs of cigarettes and the filthy coffee mugs thrown all over the place. The heavy atmosphere from the smoke didn’t bother him. His body, tired and malnourished, was complaining for comfort but the only thing he was hungry of was passion, inspiration.
Disappointed, he took a half empty mug from the table and walked to the window. With the same resigned look, he gazed the view of his balco
An Underground City (4 Final, Extended End)Ralf and his gang walked out of the centre of Celintium. They headed to the west side of the mountains towards Miritror a small deserted village with hardly any people and ravaged buildings. They passed some dark buildings ready to fall and took an alley headed to the upper levels of the mines. No one walked there so the four men took of their masks and lowered their hoods.
After ten minutes of a rough climbing they met themselves in front of a tall and imposing tower made of red colored rocks. That building seemed new and well preserved and a sense of vibrancy was wafting on the air. Ralf got closer to a wooden door and even though the place desolated he checked the area around him. When he made sure it was clear, he pushed the door open gently and made a motion to the rest.
“Don’t move an inch.” he hissed.
They others nodded anxiously and positioned themselves in front of the door. Ralf climbed the stairs of the dim lighted building and stopped on the top level of t
An Underground City (4 Final)“Who is Gilda?” Emma asked Gresilda.
The woman had refused to answer any of Emma’s questions the previous night and insisted that she should get some rest. Now, as the sun had risen in a hot and suffocating morning, Emma, Gresilda and her children were pacing down the paved roads of Celinthium. They passed through the populous and alive neighborhoods and then took a channel out of the centre of the city, deeper into the mountains. There, the air was pleasantly cooler but the moisture stuck on Emma’s exposed skin and made her joins hurt. Anne, Hugh and Nicolas didn’t seem to mind and ran before the two ladies chasing one another and giggling. Gresilda, on the other hand, had a difficult time.
“She is a very spiritual woman,” Gresilda replied and wiped the sweat off her face. “She is a healer and a priestess. She isn’t very easy to approach, you’ll see it by yourself, but she never failed to cure any disease or predict immanent
Unable to loveMy love was pure
I only wanted
But my heart
Because my love
Like a piece of garbage
And now I'm unable
Because the shreds
Of my shattered soul
MathematicsI am but the sum of my
F L A W S;
a network of
S C A R S
a disaster of
D R E A M S
a shield of
B O N E S
C A L C U L A T I O N
a void of
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:
i think you’re beautiful. i have
seen nothing on earth that holds a candle
to the ocean you carry inside your body.
it spills over your edges sometimes, like
a rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-in
lines until there is nothing left of you but your natural
cliffs, valleys, and deserts.
i like that.
i have never met someone who is, somehow,
a sea and a storm at the same time.
maybe i never will again.
maybe you are the only one
who gathers clouds on her forehead
like a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tide
with her every step.
you are beautiful, honestly.
you are honest, beautifully.
it is in the way you talk, the way you hold ice
on your tongue but forget to use it—
you always forget to use it, i don’t think
you know how.
to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smile
and how it breaks over me, how it pulls
me like a whirlpool down, how it pushes me
like a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
now i see the stars.there was a time when i
couldn't catch my breath whenever i
thought about you , (crippled lungs and-
boy, you hit me like an asteroid,
there's a crater on my chest now that I can't ever seem to fill,
oceans of my tears cried on
nights when you couldn't be there to sing me to sleep.
thirty two poemless days after you joined the constellations,
i walked out into the yard and howled to the empty sky,
for a moment i was Gaea, rivers running down my cheeks,
weighted to the ground and
buried in myself, but
where there is no light there are no shadows, and
sometimes, i wonder if i miss me.
yes, i do.
i may not see the moon, but
Abuse Is Sometimes NecessaryPush and pull at her long hair, topple her to the solid ground,
elbow her sharply in the raw gut, shove her harshly around.
Scratch him in the pale face, punch him in the broken jaw,
do anything necessary to him that's considered breaking the law.
And when she cries because you've punched her, let her be,
and observe her when she returns to her habitual smoking.
When she passes out next day, because she's drunken too much booze,
slap her in the face once more, though many would consider it abuse.
When he can hardly walk because he thinks he's high in the clouds,
rip the needle out of his arm, and with your nails, slash him across the sweaty brow.
Grab them and shake them till their battered and bruised,
tear at their heart, scream in their ears until you've reached the point of verbal abuse.
And when she falls into your chest, and he collapses to the ground,
pull them closely, and whisper, “We can turn this all around.”
And rehab is a necessity for all of you, because you'v
i am made of nights like theseativan boy, you cannot empty out this skull -
not with a pen nor with a bullet. you can
be my hallowed head(case) for spitting out
words like teeth; oh, but i will only love you
when you're weary. i will keep crows caged
between your lungs like veins, like palpitations.
i will rot you through bones & car radios,
but i will never get (you) out of your skin.
ScienceI am more than my
F L A W S;
a masterpiece of
S C A R S
a delicacy of
D R E A M S
a sculpture of
B O N E S
R E A C T I O N
a well of
Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)Good (Great, Greater, Greatest, You)
I hope the title caught your eye,
because this is about you.
Many of us speak in superlatives
and ambiguous language.
In imagery-laden text masquerading
underneath double entendres
keeping us from a part of the truth.
But purple streaks and red bands,
harp strings and soft hands
don't begin to explain
the love I have for you.
So I lay these words down
simple in its vulnerability,
blemished and raw in its purity.
The term lissome fits you in many ways,
but not necessarily it its textbook form.
I speak on the part that is not readily seen
but what is easily most cogent.
Your consciousness' cognizance
is graceful in the way
you fold one syllable over
another, supple in its meaning
that can take many forms
going from idle lies
to how we idolize hollow eyes
and uncovered hip bones.
Elegance is an understatement,
but I refuse to speak in cliche superlatives.
I speak honestly
but not with exaggerated grandeur.
Because your immediate app
A broken heartI promised myself I'll never fall in love
Whenever I fall in love I feel renewed and happy
But like a drug
Once everything finishes
I'm crying, depressed and the wreckage of my heart
I always end up feeling worse
I want to find someone that is special
But I'm afraid to suffer again
I'm afraid of losing another person
Do not want to suffer
Do not make me suffer, do not lie to me
Do not hurt me, no more
I will not hold on to people who only sink me
I'll be free and live with have left
A cold and lonely spirit.
Teenage TaoismGiving birth is the closest I’d ever felt to dying.
Before that, my near death experiences had consisted only of my silent announcement of pregnancy—silent, being that my social media accounts were all deleted almost simultaneously and I never returned to school in the fall, saying without really saying that I had caught the malicious disease of “teenage pregnancy”. I’m sure the whisper spread in the hallways like the Bubonic Plague. That September, sitting at home on what would have been the first day of my senior year, I imagined friends I’d never talk to again saying “she was only seventeen, and so full of life!” at my absence in the cafeteria tables, as if they were attending my funeral instead of talking about me behind my back.
"Full of life," I had snorted then, folding a never ending stream of what had once been my own baby clothes. "Literally."
I walked around like a zombie for the months of my pregnancy, deciding t
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