Why Do My Biscuits Burn On The Bottom

, ephemeral

"And we got stories ...
And even if the wind blows against us, we always ate bread and
storm
and this too will pass "

[Stefano Benni]

° ; Smoke ephemeral °
by: Morgan

When needed to stop to exist Jil watched the rain, at that moment everything went into the background and you, alone on the small balcony from cold-white tiles on the night of November-, surrounded by large potted plants, could enjoy a bit 'of that longed-for freedom, in the form of fresh air breathed by the smell of musk.
sitting against the wall of the house with a smoking cigar held between the index and middle fingers of his left hand, Jil watched the dark sky and distracted his thoughts flew to the moon, lost in a series of arguments that led to Ziqqurrat Astrolabes and ancient, distant, slowly opens his lips whispering the first line of poem Babylonian "Enuma Elish" and everything before his eyes began to change, as under the influence of a spell.

closes his eyes and swallows the darkness of the Ancient World, dragging it to the bottom of a dark sea. Suction
a puff of gray smoke, releasing it through clenched teeth.
In the darkness begins to materialize a form, at first indistinct, ghostly, and then gain contours. She opens her lips to inhale cigar approaching again and complete the siua creation.

He is as ephemeral as smoke and dark as the abyss.
He is neither meat nor blood, his limbs are dark pure and his blood virtriolo.
Him, and how it appears, can not exist.
should not exist and you know it well.

Yet every night, when it is too tired to go on and too delusional to accept spending another day of monotonous-but the cards had they said it would be a seemingly endless cycle-feels the need to look for it, to give a little 'color - black, and black is not a shade but a sum-a gray limbo in which they languish for years.
know it's wrong, stupid.
knows that sooner or later regret their choice, but can not without it, those meetings are for you as smoking. Necessary. Breathe the breath
'ultima, bittersweet, hunching her lips in a weary smile, and feels about himself look cool, deep as the abyss, the black man, born of the smoke.

"Good evening, Lord," he murmurs, and black swallow it.

****

Nonsense ° ° A lot of my products without head or tail, yet another fragment containing everything and anything which did not happen any incisive, relevant, but there is an encounter between two different and opposing figures toral [Here the analogy with light and shadow], which highlights the appearance dissatisfied of one of them. Even the title is very
Nonsense, patience, I do not troati better and, in retrospect, is well suited to the character [has?] And narrated the theme. [Give me license to establish such a narrative written]

Accomplice to the Mesopotamian astrology lesson [with its attached mythology], I found myself to write this thing prey to one of my state of misery from rain [are meteropatica] and, not being a real story here as the stock thought of the moment, Having attached - record time-and failing to delete it.

a good evening to you, a kiss

· Morgan °