Or Sonata for impaired mental Collegno "
The first pictures I have of Melampus family are stranded in the seabed of my memory, between the coral translucent afternoons spent in epic squash tournaments chamber (always sided with the weaker nations, provided to me from those expressed, among them, had the names or the most exotic and bizarre as the flag over the opioid Bhutan or St. Vincent & the Grenadines, the latter real-candy pink and able to withstand the winds of whipping Faroe Islands icy or rain out of the tennis metaphor Bushmen Botswana).
and left the house, dressed like a pack of divers who pass through the waves, the flyover and seahorses with two wheels C.so France, here to peep the Family Melampus, so named for one of those inscrutable reasons esotericomiche childhood identical to the ones you're singing a pleasant melody on an object without an apparent causal relationship with it, chess, something like "living my cat purple, burgundy living my cat" to the tune of Robin Hood & Little John SS Walt Disney rather than Glenn Miller.
remembered later that Melampus was a dog that appears - appears as if the deceased person referred to by the puppet master before replacing it to ensure the chicken coop - the adventures of Pinocchio.
In short, the three divers who plowed the sidewalks to and fro, seemed to come out a table of some crazy mid-nineteenth century phrenologist: Dad Melampus, blacks with his hair wild around to fertilize the skull of some trace of life that was not the grin ebetitudine onanist of a global ("On your left Dad Melampus, the king of lefty saw the Laceno masturbation garden, still unbeaten champion and three-sborrocategorie! "- Applause from the right wing, a hiss of disapproval immediately laid to rest in the left wing);
Mamma Melampus, dressed as a witch Magò piemontarda, an apotheosis of green, light green, beige and greenish caòda framing a wet head big, square, sturdy as a safe that contains within the combination to open it and nothing more, and finally my one true idol and indisputable: the Younger Melampus.
This was nothing more than a lanky individual of age unspecified (as could be eighteen thirty-two years) with red cheeks, a look at hidden sidereal distances from their sockets in a blue and brown hair, glued to the skull as if it were a piece of carpet of a dilapidated two-star hotel, the kind that are found along the provincial wetlands of the Po Valley. Both
three - Mom and Dad Melampus were unique, one-celled organism, a stolid cytoplasm that had de-generated the kind of tin soldier who was their son - walked jerkily, accurate and thorough as the parade of an elusive Kim Jong II Leumann, loyal to the delivery of a mechanical army the magazine from nothing.
Ohibò! And to think that the first time I imagined they were Jehovah's Witnesses view of the similarity with those movements and discrete method, the gait of millenarian who leads with the nonchalance of those who knows that if the bakery is closed, you can always find a meteorite or a winged serpent.
I confess that I was afraid, afraid of a bloody cross and when they felt their nonsguardo him to the point that I fantasized scenarios Grand Guignol in the suburbs, expanded enormously from 'disturbing and macabre reading of a story that appeared in the Tex Willer which relate the deeds, it really happened, a family of innkeepers murderers of the old West.
Some time ago I happened to meet them, hunched with age, like the statues of the parks oxidized exposed to weather, the young no longer that Melampus to sniff the air of course France with his profile tenacious hound who drags his companions now graying adventures in mysterious and inaccessible to the post office.
Sciarlselisé
ps: I hope one day to attach a photo, a testimony of what is written above.
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