Salute, madama o messere! Tragicamente sventurato o acremente coraggioso/a siete per esser giunto/a fin qui. Che la vostra sbadataggine o grave mancanza di cautela sia ricompensata..benvenuto!
Bada dall’esitare
a scrivere e commentare!
’Born as scouts with a hatchet in hand
Tender hearts that want to understand
Joy of living, playing and singing
Joy of walking ‘long the road
‘cause
We’re the Men in Route
We’d like a drink or two’
www.myspace.com/meninroutemen in route su last.fm
(questo BLOG è stato visitato 3172 volte)
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venerdì 22 settembre 2006 - ore 16:45
Diploma
(categoria: " Università / Scuola ")
Ho appena trovato una delle prime garanzie d’una splendida carriera...
ANNO SCOLASTICO 1991-’92
SCUOLA MATERNA STATALE "P. BORANGA"
.........
Diploma di Abilitazione
a non combinare guai Il bambino M**** LUCA
nato a CAMPOSAMPIERO (PD) il 26/11/1986
avendo frequentato "con il massimo dei voti" la Scuola Materna,
viene
ammesso alla I Elementare con l’augurio di una "brillante carriera"
Le Maestre
Mariarosa
Luciana
PADOVA, 12 giugno 1992
(Con tanto di coccarda rossa!!)
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mercoledì 20 settembre 2006 - ore 17:50
Last exam
(categoria: " Università / Scuola ")
27!!! e registro il 23 per non fare l’orale..
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martedì 19 settembre 2006 - ore 15:25
Last written exam
(categoria: " Università / Scuola ")
E fu così che oggi diedi l’ultimo scritto del primo anno..
I wanna play my sax!!! and can’t..
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lunedì 18 settembre 2006 - ore 10:43
C’ho..
(categoria: " Vita Quotidiana ")
C’ho ddu tonsilloni da kilo, traallalaaa... Se mi sentiste, c’è anche la melodia (anzi, selotenga..BLEAH!) C’ho ddu tonsilloni da kilo, traallalaaa...
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sabato 16 settembre 2006 - ore 13:34
Ma..
(categoria: " Riflessioni ")
Ma se un o sifa male per una seconda volta ad un arto superiore si riferisce a un braccio? ...
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martedì 12 settembre 2006 - ore 16:15
This meant a lot to me..
(categoria: " Poesia ")
Ulysses by Alfred Tennyson 
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoy’d
Greatly, have suffer’d greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Thro’ scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vest the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour’d of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro’
Gleams that untravell’d world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish’d, not to shine in use!
As tho’ to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all to little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle-
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro’ soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil’d, and wrought, and thought with me-
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads- you and I are old;
Old age had yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
’Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
[1842]
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giovedì 7 settembre 2006 - ore 11:32
Un saggio disse...
(categoria: " Vita Quotidiana ")
"L’uomo ha due teste... ragiona sempre con quella più dura..." il sagjoe
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martedì 5 settembre 2006 - ore 18:01
(categoria: " Vita Quotidiana ")
Bello.. strano come sia riescito ad esaltarmi..
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venerdì 1 settembre 2006 - ore 12:50
Fisica1
(categoria: " Università / Scuola ")
Fatto lo scritto!! uff..mi ci vuole un kebab.. mo’ vado
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giovedì 24 agosto 2006 - ore 17:44
Sonnet (half of one, at least)
(categoria: " Poesia ")
Freedom come and set me free
Freedom come and make me thee
Never again let me be tied
Until I say that I have died
Make me numb
To all the dumb
Oh, Freedom come!
LRK
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