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From the "Rest of Sasso in the month of February 2011

Some of you have already seen on stage at the Premio Nik Novecento in March or Pieve del Pino in September with their show" Absurd not too "or even around the province to support their voices with the presentations of the latest book by Roberto Carboni. They are "the best" small theater company formed by Michael Davalli and Delia Sebelin, actors and authors multifaceted and unpredictable, that our staff have met for a brief interview.

Name

Michael: Michael, but if you prefer you can call me Michael.

Delia: Delia . Not for Delia Scala but why was the name of my maternal grandmother.

Age

M. Soon I will celebrate the seventh anniversary of my fortieth birthday.

D. Thirty-eight in February. And you will not miss teens if they paid me: I enjoy it much more now than then, are more in love now then, do many more things ... and are much more child!

Origin

M. To come here I have taken the highway, then the new Porrettana, I made the round, the bridge and then another round ... then I would say that I come from the south - west with all due respect.

D. Depends: if I use the scooter or if I come on foot. The roads are many, millions of millions.

As the duo format?

M. In reality we are not a duo, we're a lot more, at least a dozen ... we are alike in pairs, but we are not relatives. We present two at a time like this, to feel less tired.

D. sometimes even alone, because if you are always together at the end there is spring.

You have decided to call "the best", why?

M. Why are we the best present in the square, but also on the street, the alley on the normal route and railway.

D . Well, the worst was not very inviting ...

If you are asked what kind of theater you do, what kind of theater do you do?

M. No offense to anyone, that's what I ask myself: what kind of theater we do? Seen here with me is that Delia us ask you: do you think that kind of theater we do and do theater?

D. Theatre we let him go to whoever can do. We have fun and just hope that people who have fun watching us at least a little of what we enjoy ourselves.

How did your own show?

M. We send lots of mail with ideas, ideas, drafts, each one staying at home. When we think we have some 'material, we meet and read it. The pieces that "resist" are dismantled, reworked, modernizing, all rigorously restructured without an invoice.

D. Mamma mia, it seems that one thing to fear. In short, we stand and shoot ... what comes to mind. Then, all in a pot ... and soup is ready. Always al dente.

current and future projects?

M. promote our show "not too absurd," continued in collaboration with Roberto Carboni and then Hollywood, a pair of Oscars, the David di Donatello and finally a Golden Lion for career without an Olympic medal and a rule Champions League.

D. Surviving ... tastefully .

what you like and what you hate the theater?

M. I like going to the theater which is much better than the fact that the theater is going to be me because I would not know where to put it and I'd be afraid of falling into the prompter's box. I really like to see in the audience who do not like the show when asked his wife to pass the remote. Instead hate having to pay the ticket to our shows because they are better in the poster or live.

D. I do not like the show that made her suffer. Be it cinema or theater is the same: we suffer enough in life, why should I even go to see something that makes me sick? There is need to feel good. And you can make people laugh and think together.

Apart from the theatrical activities of what you do?

M. 15 years are a secret agent, so secret that nobody knows, I myself have discovered this morning. In summer I have a kiosk piadina market in Kathmandu.

D. And I serve at the tables ... piadina

Pros and cons of your partner?

M. Delia is determined, precise, strong-willed. As a woman, the defects can imagine them, but his special is to become unapproachable one hour before the shows.

D. Even Michael is correct. The thing I like about him is that when he says one thing then get serious. In short, do not leave things halfway. For defects ... told me to tell you that it's nice to bother.

greet 'the best' a bit disoriented from their answers, ripping out the promise of being on stage Nik Novecento award again this year.

Anyway I invite you to go on their blog: imegli.blogspot.com to be updated on their dates and look at youtube videos of their shows.

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Purchases scrapbooking!

I do not usually publish pictures of my purchases .... just out of sheer laziness !
But because today my friend Maya asked me several times what I bought yesterday IMPRINTS COPYRIGHT then I feel "compelled" to publish a Fotina!



Actually not bad idea to publish the photos of the purchase!

Present Irr, Slr, Crr

BOX FOR FIRST COMMUNION

Although lacking a bit for the month of May began to receive requests for prototypes bombonierine for Communion! Here are two boxes, so different: one classical and one modern and definitely more exciting!

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Bow birth Raffaele

birth is another staple in a bubble all over for Raphael!

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CARD FOR LUKE ALBUM

And along with the gift for the newcomer Luke could not miss an unusual and original card-shaped swimsuit! ^ ^

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E 'have a new cousin and I ventured in the production of an album born!












































The gift is to complete the album more coordinated a box (which I published some time ago) and the inevitable gag embroidered!



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Challenge 90 JUST BORN MAGNOLIA

This is my interpretation of Magnolia challenge this week!

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And just like every book read by the wind,
and wet, like every dawn of spring,
closing his eyes and slipping in the center.
rags and squeezed by unskilled hands
brittle by time, about to tear,
hanging in midair at night lit by a thousand questions
with bare arms and coat over his eyes. And the knife
filed on consciousness, and the patch
discarded on the sideboard.
is the backbone of the thoughts from the mind marched, with the illusion of
stop their infernal dance
danced to the rhythm of their violins salt
while they laugh at me, splashing water,
become so popular that I call them by name. And the words

outputs from the stomach and vomited into the glass of the evening,
reflected in the mirror of my arrogance
and falls in front of my feet,
stop in front of the wall beyond which I would go
to follow myself and rediscover myself.
But I remain here, to turn myself around,
with eyes full of stones and
hands full of ants.
And I find myself talking in the wind
and laughing in the rain, cry to heaven

and smell the dark, the moon
dream beyond the bars, with the clock still standing

and the day will not start.

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And The Last Metro

"No, fuck no," I did
just in time to see the lights of the subway, then spread the metallic voice from the speakers confirmed my fears.

gentlemen passengers are cautioned that the service is suspended until tomorrow morning ...

Without waiting for the end of the sentence, I advanced rapidly towards the underpass and shoulder as I hunt in search for the phone, a flashback catapulted me into the pub from which I was just out, I saw Anna bent down to pick up my nokia fell to the ground. Yet I think I put in the bag.

" You should rest a bit ', you have a face so tired ... " she said, placing the phone next to the beer.


He was right. But first I had to go through the underpass and out of there, even if the idea of \u200b\u200btravel that gut stinking of piss I do not bedridden. A rest I would think later.
I walked down the tunnel while the neon lights began to fade, the echo of my steps became ever faster, ever more stifling the stench, the darkness more and more black. I was afraid. Fear of dying.
A night watchman ran past me, knowing that I was not completely alone comforted me, but the optimism faded when the surface sbucai and I realized that the turnstiles were locked. I pushed with all my strength, so that the right hand began to hurt, hurt to hear it no more.
I slumped on the floor and cried all the tears I had left. I realized where I was going I would be better served.
On the yellow line that separated the sidewalk from the track, there was a phone from which came a voice I knew: Anna.
"No, fuck no," I did
just in time to see the lights of the subway, then spread the mechanical voice from the speakers confirmed my fears.

gentlemen passengers are cautioned that the service is suspended until tomorrow morning to allow the police to remove a body from the tracks.

My body was found by a watchman, a few minutes after my suicide. Anna had been to alert after receiving my last phone call. I was buried without his right hand, the train had severed.

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early twentieth century the Monster

"We got 'Lea stand in front of the old Art Nouveau villa" So what do you think? ". The large dark eyes
Ago darted from one side of the house. The sun had just fallen and the twilight cast giant shadows of bare trees.
"Have you wondered why so large a house costs so little?".
"Because people are stupid," laughed Lea, "but we will not let us influence by a popular rumor."
In that house, a evening in the early Twentieth Century, was a fire broke out that killed elderly couple, the body of their only child, born when they had already lost hope of becoming parents, was never found. Legend has it that every night the pair came back from the walls to search for the child so much desired.


Since then, despite numerous renovations, the house had been uninhabited.
Lea entered followed by a hesitant Ago, but as soon as it set foot in was caught in a violent fit of coughing.
"Everything okay?" Said Lea thinking that the cause was dust.
needle was put my hands around his neck to unbutton his shirt to breathe fatigue, his face was purple, "Augustine, who are you?" touched his forehead was cold, but his body was enveloped in a whirlwind of hot air.
"I'm hot, so hot," he said dripping with perspiration, pulling off her sweater. The shirt crumbled in an instant, forming a pile of charred scraps on the floor.
"Let's go!" Shouted Lea grabbed his arm, as the smoke began to fill the house. The fresh air
comforted him, Aug once on the road began to breathe normally.
"Forgive me love, I did not think ..." said Lea disbelief with tears.
needle, silent embrace, and with a smile sharp and happy watching the house engulfed in flames.
residential where a century earlier had killed his parents, guilty of having raised and then denied, was not the best of wishes for his new life caring for her husband.

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Gianni

Gianni let slide a finger across the screen turned off the TV, there's no dust. There is only silence in that room. He sits on the couch in front of the glass table where he allowed her the luxury of setting the dinner: a bottle of whiskey, a box of Prazene and a letter written already. He takes off his jacket at home in hot weather. It could turn the air conditioner, but does not know where the remote control.

Back-Gianni. I was born on June 7 of seventy-six, midwife closed his eyes and raised them to heaven for a while. Cleft lip very large, he said were close to my mother's breast.


He bought a new dress for the occasion that money ended up in a pinstripe suit and white shirt had stolen them in an old bus, but they do not feel guilty. It was for a good cause.
takes a tablet, it weighs on the palm of your hand and spins slowly between thumb and forefinger before you swallow it with a swig of Jack Daniel's. Gianni
stoops to caress the fabric rippled carpet of bright red, then passes his forehead sweating by allowing a grain remains in color red skin.

My mother fainted. This is what he told me one night fourteen years later, when it was still too bright. And I was too ignorant to know what was the cleft lip and palate, I was still smart enough to understand that the deformity would always be my business card. And so I present to you, please, are Gianni, Gianni the Monster.

Swallow Prazene more, drink more whiskey. The head starts spinning and your breath becomes short. Loose the first two buttons of his shirt, takes the phone off the floor and turn it on for a while, new posts to read, Paul has tried three times to call. Then off again.

My childhood was more miserable than you can imagine. An outcast, a monster to hide. I can still hear the echo of the words of zì Titta, those who spoke during the rites to which I submitted my mother. He said it was the fault of the devil. A devil called Tavor.

The home phone rings, on the other side there might be someone who would beg not to, but now it's too late. Gianni gets sluggish, takes a few steps in a circle and watch the pictures on the walls. A young girl with big eyes and smiles kindly nailed to the wall. Gianni caresses frame per day. The acrid stench of death fills the room and seems to want to choke.

At sixteen, I decided to escape from her who had generated my horror to cure her, I went to night like a thief, after opening the gas. Mom loved to smoke in the morning, immediately after taking the first Tavor.

yet to throw poison in the blood, even alcohol. The Prazene is almost finished, the whiskey too. Gianni feels hot, too hot. The clothes the throttle, the legs are soft. He hears the answering machine take.

I wandered among the streets and stations for years without looking in the mirror. Nobody has ever come close to me I could read him without mercy in his eyes. Even the whores I have ever wanted, but I would pay any price for a single kiss. Nobody wanted to kiss the Monster Gianni. I became invisible, hid my disfigured face behind the old patched scarves in winter and shade in the summer of garbage cans.

- I'm not home, leave a message after the beep.
- I'm Paul, are you there? You have the phone turned off.

I saw for the first time Friday at the Caritas soup kitchen, she was beautiful. She smiled, told me that I had to eat off my scarf. I did, and scared. I noticed dall'impercettibile backward movement that now I had learned to recognize. But she continued to talk, he wanted to be my friend, a friend of John the Monster. She stroked his lips curled, he tried to stretch into a sort of smile, the first in years.

Tears fill my eyes while walking around the room trying not to look ever on earth, Gianni dries them with his shirt soiled even notice it. Too bad, he would like to be placed in the coffin with a good dress.
stumbles in the supermarket bag placed in front of the library and almost falls.

Milena, that was his name, was the only one who could see through my mask. I loved her immediately. I loved her raven hair, I wanted see them loose just once, rather than collected in the tank cap. I rocked him for weeks, months, in the heat that he knew me.

oppression that makes him strip naked in rooms, with rapid movement that hard to control. The thighs are sweaty stick on the leather sofa, the latest tablets now down mechanically, without encountering more resistance. The

met every Friday at the table, but soon began to no longer enough. I wanted to redeem my side for the failure of a whole life, I wanted to touch my heart like nobody had ever managed to do. I began to follow her every day, every hour, every moment. I was invisible, I could do it. I soon noticed that gave herself to someone who would never have been able to touch the heart as I did. Paul and Milena, soon married. Gianni the Monster soon alone again. It was then that I decided to call it quits.

- This morning I met that guy, his name, John ... it was strange, saying that she must speak. What the fuck you want from that monster?

last time. I wanted to see her one last time before he died. I followed even today, I decided to show me, although I did not know how he would react. Milena has not disappointed me was polite, as always. Hugged me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

- Yes which is strange, that, but not a bum? What the hell was he doing dressed like a mannequin? Perhaps it's going to stop the mess in the canteen, Milena. There are too many people fucking. See you later, call me when you hear the message.

He had invited Paul to dinner to cook his favorite dish, chicken curry. He asked me if I could help her carry on spending.

Gianni collected his last strength, he lay down in what remains of Miles, his naked body crossed from death, his dark eyes drowned in horror, her ponytail loose on the floor without sliding your fingers between the raven hair caked with blood, finally free oppression of the tank cap. If John had a little more 'of life, would you use to make love to her.

I offered to cut the chicken into pieces.

still hot kisses his mouth, licking the blood splashed on her cheeks. Delves into twenty-six stab wounds in the chest wide open, caresses her heart, she smiles and closes his eyes.

I just wanted to touch her heart.
Goodbye. Gianni
the Monster.

Futanari Doushinji English

African Chant - Federica Gazzani

Title: Canto African
Author: Federica Gazzani
Publisher: The Cherry
Pages:
176 Price: Euro 15
Genre: Fiction

Winner of the third edition of the Literary Prize "The Chameleon" to the Turin Book Fair, second place to the eighth edition of the Literature, "The Rush in 2004.
Report on the Competition Author for summer 2009 ".

BACK COVER
Canto Africa, with its circular structure - in which the beginning is the end - it is almost a travelogue, from Milan in the middle of Africa, through a desert Sahara overcome by means of luck and with such apparent setbacks destructive, in fact carriers of significant encounters. Federica
notes, sometimes it bends smoothly, sometimes opposes and rebels angrily. But even when the victim of abuse is always conscious of his deep and strong independence of its unassailable freedom of women. There is also an education in violence, almost indifferent and objective of the sandstorm in the desert which is celebrated in its inevitability, stopping the external time to become an inner time of self exploration and investigation of reasons for living or die.
The novel shows that intelligence is adaptability that can not overcome, however, ethical codes that belong to the inner boundary and not just the result of taxation.

PLOT:
We are at the end of the seventies, Federica, twenty-four of the north, he meets Danny, a musician from Cameroon, in a nightclub in Milan. Danny offers her to accompany him to Africa and become a member of his backing band, a ballerina. Federica decides to leave for the continent, with the unconscious and the lightness typical of his age, with no certainty but with so many expectations.
The trip turns out to be more complicated than expected, Danny is an opportunistic liar who does not keep their promises, and the life of Federico starts to get complicated, torn between hunger and love for Sami, Cameroonian guitarist he met while traveling, and the desire to go home.

STYLE:
The novel reads quickly and with pleasure. The style is great: clean, dry, flat, flawless and without frills. Writing Federica proves mature and very commercial, a large vocabulary but not researched and an excellent selection of key terms in the right place at the right time, ensure that the reader never gets bored, and indeed is transported along the slopes and into the chaotic Saharan African cities, becoming an integral part. The dialogues are essential and realistic.

CHARACTERS: Very well delineated
appear almost three dimensional. The author manages to equate actors and extras without doing an injustice to anyone, Federica makes little tedious in the lengthy physical descriptions, but allows us to enter into the psychology of each one of them, as being able to see it to us. A winning choice in a novel that uses much the senses of the reader.

RATING:
A book I read in a few hours and I really enjoyed it.
Although many of these items that do not find love in a novel (rending stories of love and abandonment in the first place) is a text that runs off quickly and that passion from the first page.
The essence of the novel is summed up perfectly in one of the first steps, when the author says that he repeated in Italy, after seven months of travel, with only a plastic bag with a few personal effects inside without other baggage , at the expense of initial concerns, reading at the end you realize what this choice is spot on.
African Poverty is never told in a passive manner, but personally experienced. Hunger and lack of a place to wash in the end seem routine. Federica
describes a reality where emotions, feelings and daily life are amplified in a sort of Big Brother on the contrary, rather than the constraint of closed spaces and habits forced to live Federica what drives everything is up to the fear of falling into the abyss, and to avoid it clings with all its forces of love, despair, joy in small things.
So a report came a few weeks ago with an Italian tourist, the only grip of her old life, it becomes an almost insurmountable obstacle to his desire to find true love with Sami, who represents the new, the unexpected, the unknown.
is a text full, round, tasty, and sometimes the resignation with which to deal with adversity Federica leaves you puzzled, and sometimes makes you angry, but deep down you can feel much closer to you than image.
only flaw is that the novel ends with the return home of Frederick, and so do not tell how the author has lived his personal pain of Africa would have been nice to know the details of his return to reality, as experienced an encounter with his old life and the characters that populate it, but unfortunately we can not know.

FINAL VOTE: 4 / 5

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I realized for the CREATIVE .... Sara is always a pleasure to work with my girlfriends!



I'm really curious to see how and where to settle.

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Return to the great!

Hello everyone how are you? Have you taken back by Christmas?
I'm all right ... I have just returned from my honeymoon in Zanzibar ^ ^ so I'm more than relaxed!
I would say that I have taken great with the two beautiful cards for an eighteenth birthday!
Sorry if I repeat the double slider but I like it too







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