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Much obliged, gooogle

Panta Rei os potamos (From the greek πάντα ῥεῖ), translated as Everything flows like a river is the famous aphorism attributed to Heraclitus, but in fact never expressly stated in what we know of his writings, in which the philosophical tradition next wanted to identify briefly thought Heraclitus with the theme of becoming, as opposed to the philosophy of Parmenides' own (from Wikipedia, the link to see the previous post). Yes, always when I run in technical Heraclitus, Parmenides and associate professor in the school deputy Third Aristotle excluded before the eco-friendly coffee maker, cappuccino, barley and tea, I remember always in mind wanders a fifties film, simply titled Blob.

Under a sky of slate black wash with a sponge (new) washed in spring water stream Amerikan fifties looming head of a star Amerikan here dressing the simple role of a brave but simple-good son of the province, but disliked by myopic local law enforcement, that is a police veteran. Thoughtful hero, hero smoker in secret, without the green light with his machine (I do not think license plate was 313), front - and forever like a dream - to one that screams spitting saliva famo'nagara (curiously this is also the name of a Japanese driver in Formula One Patrese time). However, this is not the point, the protagonist - in negative - the film is an amorphous alien being inside a crashed meteorite, which broke the crust (alien crust), is committed to gradually swallow everything that runs screaming in front of that is four, two and three feet does not matter in practice is the blob, or as better known in Pistoia pillotto . Well, Mr. Pillotto swallows all, is constantly evolving, in the sense that it is becoming bigger (not fat, thick), yet does not flow, is a rather amorphous mass of red gelatin living on alien (Perhaps a communist?). Mr. Pillotto does a caxxo from morning to night, not even secrete a hard material (a shell color), do not worry about anything, or may not be a decorative object for him is not a problem, change into a tool for hear the waves?, imagine ... The blob is at the base of the evolutionary ladder. And his place in the food pyramid I fear it is right at the top, the head of Zach Havash (did you mean Zahi Hawass thanks gooogle, much obliged). The pillotto is older than the pyramids of Egypt, do not you take the nose of Cleopatra as Antony, is older than the Moses basket, bitterness of Brutus, the oldest drunkenness of Noah, probably also the oldest of Rex.

His magic kingdom is a cinema of a country town on a hot summer night (but with air conditioning).

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Everything flows (such as a river) I'm here

Panta Rei os potamos (from the greek πάντα ῥεῖ), translated as Everything flows like a river is the famous aphorism attributed to Heraclitus, but never actually expressly stated in what we know of his writings, in which the philosophical tradition next wanted to identify briefly the thought of Heraclitus with the theme of becoming, as opposed to the philosophy of Parmenides' own (from Wikipedia ). Yes, always when I run in technical Heraclitus and Parmenides prof in front of the sustainable coffee maker, cappuccino coffee and barley, still vague in my mind I remember a cartoon drawn by pencil Scarpa sixties (probably 1966, but the chine whose?) a thoughtful and Donald stopped at the traffic light green with his machine license plate 313, and back - and forever like a dream - there is one who yells asking if you are spitting saliva and meditation on Becoming.

But today everything flows is understood in negative, that that book, that program the washing machine, that film does not hold, the colors do not bite, not the car in gear, flowing like drops of water on the wet feathers of a duck. Be ', or we are not children of an industrial civilization, one of many scattered in the wide world, in short, the universe ... and then.

About industrial civilization as forgetting Dickens, David Copperfield , Great Expectations, Hard Times , and especially the Pickwick Papers? Well 'I forgot ... in the previous post, of course. And speaking of everything flows and Donald stopped at traffic lights with its 313 How did I forget Carl Barks?! (Or!?), Again in the post yesterday, of course.

Perhaps because everything flows like the great river where they navigate Huck Finn and Jim, and like that river we sometimes bogs down, then takes off, dodging hippos and chickens wet and sometimes it slips into a bench. .. fog, but always on the run by teachers and redeemers ... Be ', perhaps you forget the Masters (Dickens and Barks) because there like to think we poor silly, that thinking is like drawing water from a river that is sometimes dry, as in the song by Bruce Springsteen (The River ), sometimes overflows as Terzolle in 1966, while they, the Masters (Dickens and Barks, of course) produced works like the ancient Greeks and medieval craftsmen, a cathedral in 5 years, 20 months in a novel, a comic book in 3 weeks. Then he looked a bit 'round, maybe a bit' of TV, a dividend of vampires and zombies and Ale to work in the Work Immortal.

Perhaps because, as his uncle said fool of Pedro Calderón de la Barca then emigrated to Argentina (his uncle not Pedro), life is dream, hold on I have not finished life is a dream light and quick and weight and endless ...

... depending on your point of view.

Companeros, oh, oh, say Olé!

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I'm here, where are you? Tozzi and Kafka and Mark Twain and Thurber Saramago Calvin and Achille Campanile Cicognani of Egypt and the brown with the white beard ... Obviously the white monkey Meneghello and certainly Jack and then rather than Savaaage Steinbeck?

you where you are? And where you went off the goose Martina ...

The Emperor - so he says - he sent to you, to an individual subject to a put, a shadow lost in the farthest away from the sun imperial For you, the Emperor sent a message from his deathbed. He made the messenger to kneel by the bed, whispering in his ear the message, and pressed so that if you have repeated ear. With a nod has confirmed the correctness of what was being said. And before all those who attended at his death (all the walls were demolished to prevent it and the stairs that rise high and wide in a circle are the largest in the kingdom) in front of them all has dismissed the messenger. Trial was immediately set in motion, is a stocky man, tireless, or maneuvering with one or the other arm makes its way through the crowd, if it impedes Pointing to his chest on which the sun is marked, and carry it more easily than anyone else. But the crowd is so huge, and its homes have no end. If he had the green light, outside, as would fly! And listen the wonderful shots of his hand on your door. But instead as you get tired in vain! still trying to make inroads in the innermost rooms of the palace, he will never overcome, and although he would not succeed at anything, it should open the way down all the stairs, and even if successful, would not have anything: we still have to go through all the courtyards, and behind them the second building and so on for millennia, and even if you were to rush out of the last door - but that never ever will be - there is all the imperial city in front of him, the center of the world, filled with all its waste. No one can go from there, much less with the message of the dead.
But you're the window and dream when he arrives in the evening.
F. Kafka (The construction of the Great Wall of China)
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Covering Federico Moccia

A link found on the net for a living writer (in Italy?) And an ordinary film, in fact there is already Dvid.

I copy the link from the post two quotes from the novel:

"I'd do it all sea \u200b\u200b... But if someone is allergic? "
" The fish? I do not see! "
" Come on, is not nice! "
" And the fries? "
" There must be! "
" It's a bit 'raw ham? "
" There must be! "And
bit 'Parmesan? "
" There must be! "

Be'?

Then there is the book called Olympia and wonder of a man called Giles:

" Egidio. What kind of name. But who is one of the thousand BC? It 's a name too old . " Notwithstanding that

I've never read Moccia, the title of this post might suggest, to some readers mischievous cat to cat litter (maybe that was to be appalla), especially when connected to the title the title of my previous post. Thurber I even read a story (1) on paper ( The age of the writers in modern The uomoristi , Garzanti 1971). But it is not. Because I want to break a lance in defense of humor perhaps unintentional but still present in Moccia, like in the films of Dario Argento. Unfortunately
Carpenter or Argento is not Moccia is Thurber: the two they have never thought of and now it's too late.
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A tale of Thurber.

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A link found on the net for a writer extinct (in Italy) and a TV series extraordinary, in fact never sent.

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end of the world, IX


Toh, two simpletons on the rooftops of Paris. One of them is a British airman "generic", while the other is a "specialist" in the art of mixing colors and paint brushes and brushes with the walls and the facades of the houses. It 'just a brush (and not with a brush), held firm and light in hand, the painter, that morning from just 9 in one day this summer, touched and retouched the surface to be painted without a smudge of color. The painter was in the balance, suspended from a hoist, precision and determination, and in the case painting a grid of green quota. The work did not stop for up to look around and also down below, where history, including uniforms and rags hanging Aryan, he stood, like a polished black stone asleep on the bottom of a mountain stream, waiting not a salmon or a trout but a nientepopodimenoche obergruben any fuhrer, now ninety senior sbrodolone. The pike is generic, since it landed by parachute on the head of the painter French ( A) to be rescued by the painter, ( B) be accompanied to the Turkish baths (at that point, answered the desired A and B, the painter might also extricate the pleasure of smoking a Tuscan cigar and call the airman Ishmael or Melampus). The specialist is called Augustine (or Agostina ), the generic name escapes me now (so is a generic). The two friends are strangely es'incoraggiano each other in seeking an escape over the rooftops of Paris (the city is Paris and not just Peretola is proved by the Eiffel Tower - coordinates: 48 ° 51'30 "N 2 ° 17 '40 'is like writing Verne - visible in the distance). As they passed over the roofs of all the Germans put down the bottom gin cotton-eyed, not having dell'imbianchino, cares much for the German occupiers (we have one at home or on the radio by vocia millenovecentotretatre), but because see them (the generic and specialist) so close and yet so distant neighbors up there high above the rooftops of Paris.


Well, by and saw the two fugitives from a useful loft and there descend, then down the stairs of a building, intending to lead the roadway. Running down the sixth floor and then the fifth. Grasping the railing of the first flight of stairs that leads to the fourth (There would also be wanting a lift but is ignored by the two, because the plot) the two Germans hear the sound of boots that tread the steps of the first flight of stairs on the ground floor, an unpleasant noise that makes them give up by the landing ground floor, what to do? stay forever on the roofs? be ', and climb the first flight of stairs leading to the sixth floor of the apartment door opens and out of the fifth girl worried about a possible German round (cares for others and also to the neighbors), both the see and see the door open and see the salvation at hand this time and not the foot, and go down and come inside the apartment.


The two fellas just mumble a few words and will be saved. All safe, even with cloning animals, and the rest is history ... that is a French comedy ( Three men fleeing , 1966). Will remain a mystery as the representation basted then and there or there to here or there for a family scene of a quarrel between husband and wife, the Airman poised on the roof of the lift, can confuse and derail the attention of and rational beings so superior as were the Germans of the past.

Well, who does not have dreamed of looking out the window of a train rumbles that runs a summer afternoon, to descend to the first station and after a few meters into unfamiliar streets in a doorway of a house, go from room to room as if it were our own. Case ends of the earth, houses around the corner, hidden by a wall of houses garden. Case yet unknown family homes as the last safe haven or first (depending on your point of view).

He took a deep breath. "I'm back," he said.
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