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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
When you lose a best friendWhen we said friends forever and
crossed pinkies like grade-schoolers,
I could only believe those words
lodged in your heart
like they did mine
because every time I think back
I can't help but remember the
under star lit constellations,
and study sessions where we
learned more about each other
than we did Biology
but now it's clear
that each beat of your heart
has made those words fade,
and you could care less
about crossed pinkies
but I'll still see you,
and hear your voice
and I'll still wish
the meaning hadn't changed-
Forgiveness takes twoThe words are struggling
to tumble off my tongue,
and despite having
a fleshy cushion
to rest on,
they stain my teeth
and sting like acid
"I'm sorry," I stutter,
but the bitter taste
doesn't leave my tongue-
not because the words weren't true,
but because I know
I won't hear,
She's an artistShe's an artist.
Always seems to be daydreaming,
She draws to escape her pain.
Cause for a single moment,
When her work is done.
It seems like there is no more rain.
And she could finally touch the sun.
The one that shines so brightly in her paintings.
But then it's gone,
So she keeps drawing,
She's become good at escaping.
Running from reality.
Because dreams are the only things she wants,
Her imagination is the only thing she's ever known.
And it's sad really...
Because she tries so hard to be happy.
But the most beautiful thing she could ever create.
Was that smile upon her face,
And that is the one thing that remains blank.
Waiting to someday be something more than,
At peace within this tranquil garden,
I picture the moments where I've made you smile.
Those times are endlessly precious to me,
I think they're worth the while.
They're worth the time I've spent with you,
Even if it wasn't long.
I only wish I'd spent a little more,
Before our love was gone.
Mommy Is A Super HeroMommy Is A Super Hero
Standing before his class, he held his tiny report,
“Who is your super hero?” Was written in yellow chalk on the green board.
Exhaling his breath, the curly haired boy closed his little eyes,
“Don't be ashamed of yourself” His mother's words rung in his ears, “And don't ever cry.”
He began to read aloud, with a shaky voice.
to his class, he told his mother's story.
At age fifteen, she was a beauty queen,
the most beautiful girl in all of the world.
She flaunted her silky hair, bore her bare legs,
prided her breast. The boys treated her like she was a treasure chest.
They respected her rules, they “looked, but didn't touch”,
but there was one older man, who from her, wanted too much.
All alone he met her, he approached her in the alley,
and all his mother told him, was that this man had treated her badly.
But what the boy didn't know was that she was taken against her will,
and that two months later, she turned up ext
Still HereSuicide is a
Thought that frequently lurks
In my mind, wich
Lets it overcome the
Laughter and happiness
Here I still fight, however
Enduring this sad life
Reviving my hopes
Embracing the gift of life
cenotaph of stormsthe first thunderstorm
was triggered by a blunt pair
of scissors, sparking violently
against the lightning,
shaking in the wind.
the downpour pierced,
tattooed with no ink but
the dark bleakness
of an overcast morning,
infiltrating uniformed wrists.
hid behind the music block,
shaky raindrops rioting
fears, she fractured.
the second storm
wept a two year downpour
outline that dripped from wrist
to hip, sidelong silhouette glances
obscured by the rain.
stalictidal waves shuddered
frozen, until icy glass
fell in stained shards from
the stillness inside.
thinner, brittler, growing
in flurries of sleet and hail,
her outline was never filled,
though the floods threatened
the third thunderstorm
was a mist-ridden melancholia,
a dream for permanence
smeared in ink through
fueled by the hope
that just this once,
the rain would spark a
rebirth beneath the ground.
instead, a tsunami
washed away the ink
as tides so often do.
Ideationlocked in a room
with only one escape,
or so it seems.
your hands shake and you drop the key.
Suddenly you're unsure.
Do I want to pick it up?
Do I want to find it?
Do I want to leave?
you think to yourself
there's no other choice.
find the key or corrode, or rust
wear down the hinge
use sadness as the key.
You have the answer now.
Just open the door.
Just walk outside and don't look back.
Let yourself leave with no regrets.
And yet you can't.
You're afraid, you think,
but you are actually strong.
Don't run away.
Don't take that leap.
my bedspread is white and so is my coffin.i can feel
the night closing
the stars are breaking
empty glass bottles
inside of my
mouth, and they taste like
ambien. bitter, then
but you still can't close your fucking eyes
little blue pills for
eyes– it was winter and i
dreams of nothing more than
nothing. the devil
tied chains around all the
vessels in my
body. laughed, and by god i
laughed too (and laughedandlaughedandlaughed).
this will all be over soon i swear i will take everything off your skin and bones and burn it up
and then january took the world
in it's grip and i
drowned in the snow that
will never hydrate the
can you hear that it's the night and it's so beautiful so come here darling and we'll watch the sun rise and set and rise and
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More