nights are strange, this: my hands and mind run free, and each node keyboard seems loose, but I know it's not all. The largest node is still there, waiting for me, challenges me to delete it because he knows I can do it. The easiest thing at this point, you say "I'll make sure," but would not be true: I have doubts.
E 'and a confused period, in some respects, difficult. My mind is clouded by a flood of memories, from fear, from the words that fill my thoughts, unable to escape. And all this is depressing, is "heavy .
I do everything possible not to drag me down I know I can do that and I will succeed. Writing. For the umpteenth time, I do not care what comes out of my mind and my hands, but will be out! Whatever it is, be free! And if not now find a way, does not mean that it has not ... And I'll find, well, I'll find out.
And 'the only cure I have, the only remedy I know to give vent to all that stirs in me. Quell ' scream that is still growing, which has not yet reached the size of a real scream, which I will ease gradually.
maybe I'll feel drained afterwards, and I fear. But that's where I can start over, that's where I'll start to really walk . Somehow, I am new: shut up the door that separates myself writing in this time by myself that I'll be bringing in the baggage of all that I have experienced. Without the ballast, without allowing imaginary weights are passed for real, preventing me to go on, get up to . Why are not made to stand down: I found my wings, I found that I can use them and I just have to cut the ballast.
Writing is my knife, my projects and my will and the hand that holds the operation with increasing power and effectiveness. Ballast will be the last cut, and only that will remain on the ground, and I'll be finally free.
Again . The cage I myself have built collapse. And I'll be really, really free ... The
blogghetto of Paoletta 
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