Campanara The Valley is a small side valley to the road from the Senio Palazzuolo rising to Passo della Sambuca. The ditch of the same name together with that of Piedimonte form the main branch of the stream Senio.Il path is marked throughout, both Cai Imola with the numbers 607 and 701 and also by the Pro Loco of Palazzuolo with the numbers 30 and 90, but the signs Pro Loco of blue are very faded and sometimes attenzione.Per effort should be made to reach the starting point: after Palazzuolo turn left to Passo della Sambuca, and after Quadalto Sanctuary, about 500 meters, down to the right. Near the first intersection you park.
Park the car near the bridge cross it and follow the paved road. Today is a beautiful flowering of chicory. pass under Casaccia.Bellissimo beautifully restored complex of '400.
corner of Pleasant Casaccia. The road becomes a dirt road and begins to rise and come to the house called Molino di Sopra. Main façade of the house. Go up and soon we reach a junction where you go right, there is a blue sign of Mtb. After going through a chestnut forest, the road climbs up and reaches The Church of Campanara. Now we live in the boys bought the entire complex and are doing the work to obtain the ' Ecovillage Bell-Ringer.
Campanara The church is dedicated to St. Michele.Costruita, like almost all the churches in the area in 700, was restored in 1919 when the current tower was built. The bell, gothic, is located in the Museum of mountain people in Palazzuolo.
Inside the church, now disused, with frescoes, Pagans and Christians, paintings by old inhabitants. A glass painting.
Immediately after Campanara there is a small wooden house where there lives a boy who makes sculptures. Left Campanara follow the path behind it, cross a wooden gate and turn left, we reach the block of Le Poggio, formed by the farmhouse and the home of the family Strigelli, who owned almost all Bell-Ringer of the territory. Going you have a beautiful view of Mount Carzolano. We are called to the junction of the Crosses Camaggio.Andiamo left. Campanara Zooming up. The ridge Lozzolo and basically the Monte Lavane. Il Monte Castellaccio della Tana. Dopo una piccola salitina arriviamo a Montagnana, ex casa colonica posta in una posizione fantastica. Proseguiamo e dopo aver lasciato sulla destra il Monte Feriale si apre una bella vista sulla casa di Camaggio, nella valle del Fosso di Mantigno. Sequenza di crinali fino a Monte Falco. Arriviamo all’innesto nel sentiero Cai 701, che proviene da destra. Continuiamo con scorci panoramici sulla valle del Santerno e il Corno alle Scale. Nugolo di farfalle sui cardi. A look behind at Poggio Roncaccio indication of Cai Cabin for Tiara. Podalirius A beautiful butterfly. We are the ruins of the Faina, house famous for being the site of a partisan brigade. Many years ago there was a ceramic plate, but today I have not seen. After leaving the detour to the right of Pian 'Aiara little further, we leave the path 701 to turn left onto the continuation of the path 607. after rising initially, we begin to descend bad on a ridge that divides the ditch Campanara from that of ' Aghezzola, first within the forest, and very scenic. Must be a bit 'of attention in some way. arrive at an intersection where the 607 goes straight. Instead, we go to the right on the path 30 of Pro site. The blue sign is on the first tree on the left, and you do not see very well. At the end of 5 minutes to Cà Ciriegiolo us. East facade of the house. started to fall again on the trail well marcato.Arrivati \u200b\u200bat a crossroads near a ditch, now dry, we turn left, coming out of the woods under a large house completely restructured and no name on the card. Majesty near Ca 'Fornello.In about us to the road, which passes power to the left ... Piedimonte and leads the Church of the car. Retrieved Paper, "Nature Trails of Palazzuolo sul Senio"
Altitude.
Time
Km
Auto
518
0.00
0.0
Molino above
605
0.35
---
Bivio - you go right
646
0.40
---
Campanara
705
1.00
2.5
Bivio Crosses Camaggio-you go left
803
1.20
3.2
Ca 'Montagnana
852
1.30
---
Grafting on sent.701
1049
2.15
5.2
Bivio x-Cabin Tiara go straight
1019
2.30
---
Ca 'Faina
980
2.45
6.5
Bivio
x-Pian dell'Aiara go straight
1013
3.15
---
deviation to the left
1027
3.25
8.7
Bivio-you go right
787
4.15
10.7
Ca 'Ciriegiolo
758
4.20
---
Road Piedimonte
592
4.40
12,0
Auto
518
5,00
13,3
Tempo: ore 5,00 + le soste
Dislivello: m 600 circa
Lunghezza: km. 14 circa
Le carte topografiche utili per questa escursione sono quella dei “Percorsi Naturalistici di Palazzuolo sul Senio” e la n. 25/28 “Alto Mugello Appennino Bolognese” della Multigraphic. Tutte due in scala 1:25000.
Perché internet è controcultura, internet è libertà, internet è l'alpha e l'omega, internet e lo spauracchio dei potenti, internet è la fucina della rivoluzione ventura, internet è il baluardo delle forze del bene, internet è una serie di proposizioni mal coordinate scritte da un nerd mitomane che sniffa colla con il pisello in mano.
O forse solo l'ultima.
Perché i siti della controcultura, quelli che combattono il potere e il gruppo Bilderberg, quelli che le scie chimiche li hanno resi comunisti, quelli che le BR a noi ci fanno una pippa, sono per la maggior parte delle nebulose di riflussi gastrointestinali sparsi per la rete come la cacarella di ratto, rivoluzionarie quanto è rivoluzionario vomitare nella vasca da bagno al compleanno del figlio del deputato PDL.
No, questo sarebbe divertente.
In realtà molti di voi saranno a conoscenza del fatto che mi ha spinto a scrivere questo post nonostante in questo momento io sia in una vasca Jacuzzi circondato da modelle cattoliche in tanga, una delle quali -essendo l'unica contraria al sesso anale- è stata adibita a trascrivere su una moleskine di pelle di prete cattocomunista le parole che starete in questo momento leggendo.
Ma non dilunghiamoci: Uno dei più celebri siti di controinformazione, che sarebbe poi una rete internazionale di no-global, contestatori, avversatori ed operatori della dodicesima internazionale, ha postato -per bocca di una vittima della legge Basaglia- un articolo in cui si accusa un celebre blogger di atti gravissimi e lo si minaccia fisicamente.
Ovviamente il tutto non solo è profondamente falso, ma è disposto ad arte per sembrare la cosa più stupida, meschina, priva di logica e passibile di sputo che sia mai stata scritta. Sono già usciti diversi post sull'argomento, e nessuno linka o cita direttamente l'episodio. Ed è meglio così. L'idea che uno di voi possa cliccare su un link che porta da questo blog a quella roba mi riempie di terrore. Have written is that Livefast M. Fisk.
These minorities and highly paranoid misfits who populate the portals are an alternative which should be the constant application of stylistic and rhetorical fascist obscurantist. And when they attack a person directly attack the real plane, posting personal information, addresses, names and surnames. From behind a nick niventano friendships, connections, contexts and exposes you to the possibility of a lynching unmotivated.
Every age has its revolutionary that it deserves. This does not overturn even the toilet bowl to which you drinking, preferring slinguar away the little that trickles from the penis of a better than them.
Libertas non olet.
In particular, in reference to the policy of that site (site counter, note well), which does not allow personal threats and slanderous accusations made me squirt-knees reaction placid and uncaring Admin, who as a result of unleashed casino has given care to answer a soft supercazzola which stood for "Mbesticazzi. An answer worthy of a Fioroni. why I believe that the most responsible for their brain-damaged illiterate who wrote the piece. It would be like shooting at a four year old with Tourette's syndrome and has a panic attack.
No, that would be fun. However
. hope that the diarrhea of \u200b\u200ba choir angels fry PCs and necks of all those responsible for this section of that network, I wanted to express to the blogger in question, I have known personally, and with whom [imagine!] sometimes not at all agree- , my most serious mapporcoddismo, and advise him to feel comfortable. The worms eat only the dead.
So, I'm not sure exactly who reads my blog but I suppose that someone knows who they are more or less: Guido Micheli (for someone Fury. Some even call me "The rotten, but I do not really like ...), author of short story collection I smoke above us and the inventor of the literary zine The Three Feathers. Great beer drinker. Great fan of the Ramones. Since this post go back to talking about my book: according to my publisher I'm not selling a lot. What the fuck do I do? Well you can do something you've read ... I smoke over there? "Yes?" Well, then you can go to one of the sites below and leave a comment, a review or to rate my book. If you have not read it yet you can do two things: 1) Obtain and read. 2) Immediately close this blog and never return.
Here are links to sites give ratings or write reviews to smoke over there I :
We reached the last episode of this story for six weeks has appeared in my blog its six respective mini -betting. This does not mean that any new players can not back piece by piece and enjoy the terrible adventure of Cobra and his companions. Happy reading e. .. conscious of the cameras!
Chapter VI
He had never experienced anything like this, had never heard of its existence as much in the balance, he had never felt so vulnerable, so close to failure. Walking the streets with his head down, scanning the pavement of the sidewalk to concentrate better, Cobra thought to how he could fall on the pavement. Reasoned e concluse che le sue dissennate ricerche lo avevano portato a non considerarne le spese, ad allontanarsi dal reale per rifugiarsi nella fantasia di qualcosa che fosse suo fuori dal mondo che avrebbe dovuto conquistare. Un uomo senza denaro non può far altro che chiedere aiuto. Ma prima voleva tentare il tutto per tutto, compiere il gesto estremo, il gesto del non ritorno che gli avrebbe dato la forza di ottenere ciò per cui, altrimenti, qualsiasi uomo sarebbe stato troppo debole. Tornò a casa di Filtro ed ordinò che gli fosse fatto quel che a Filtro era stato fatto. Si accoppiò selvaggiamente con Sheena e, mentre giungeva all’orgasmo, prese a urlare spasmodicamente: -Ora!! Fallo ora!!-
L’uomo cui aveva tirato neck returned his favor and a moment later, the Negro was lying on the bed like a lover exhausted from too much sex.
-Ci-you have to give your drug they said in chorus his followers as soon as he opened his eyes.
-I no longer have answered, and to show that if there's only because I can not do that I put in your own condition, infected by the poison that I have created, and with you that you can not without it, I'll be ready for any action. Are you ready to follow me? -
Cobra was human, too. His humanity surfaced occasionally in the form of anxious thoughts that dealt largely with the nature of people. Could be disturbed, For example, meet again in an old acquaintance, recognize his face, but feel totally ignorant of what that face was hidden, as if their faces were masks borrowed from the collection of a horror movie costume. It was perhaps for this reason that his research in the febrile world of herbs aimed at the packaging of a drug to bring out the wild side of those who had taken? Was it that the image of the wild side without a mask? I doubt they remained stuck to him even after he infected his own potion. But a drug to go down in history must be addictive, and that's why Cobra was on his way from his drug dealer in raw materials. He had to hurry, or abstinence would kill him before his name could be engraved alongside that of the creator of 'LSD.
Cobra decided to seek his old comrade: Fulvio Marcio. It was the masked man he knew. In 2039 he wrote a book called Reflections ni Milan that had caused many problems. It had not been imprisoned, tortured or deported but had been vilified, fired and evicted. The voices insulting that brought him to public contempt he had flown down from somewhere, perhaps from multiple sources who had also produced countless sketches, but they certainly had their origin at the top, even if you do not know how high. His was a book consists of small samples or short episodes reflections of a social and had a certain hold on a decent audience. Cobra distressed ventured up the stairs of the dilapidated building with no doors, in the decaying neighborhood Lambrate to the door of the house of Fulvio Marcio, proudly intellectual exiled in a den of smelly hookers and violent North Africans on the capacities. They had not seen for years, but neither was much changed. Fulvio greeted his visit with enough, and there was nothing to be surprised. Their friendship was broken when Fulvio had decided to conduct his personal struggle with the intellect, with the theory and the words, but Cobra had chosen to become a sorcerer. Now that was apex of his career as a pharmacist voodoo, now that he had managed to develop a compound that transformed the infectious deaths in hungry beasts of raw meat and sex, now that he had converted himself into an animal, he found himself having to deal with the more artificial needs: the need for money. If he had not bought as soon as the raw materials to manufacture its drug his body would quickly corrupt and would see the worms proliferate in its meat. But all that Fulvio had to offer was the painful spectacle of himself trying to cut his wrists with a blunt kitchen knife.
As soon as he saw Cobra realized that his last hope to make some money was committing suicide and appealed to all that was left of the human in him to convince him not to take his own life.
-I have taken everything! - Complained Fulvio Marco-If I can not write no more sense, there is a sense, there's more ... - and continued as a disc jammed. -Do you want money? - Cobra said through tears-I spent all of that to buy laptop-and motioned to the PC that was on the table. -I can not find paper to write ... you know what we got? No more paper, they must have cut down the last tree of the Amazon! Poor us, poor us poor us ... Così ho preso i miei risparmi a e ho comprato un computer. Per scrivere, capisci?? Per scivere. Se non che, ecco, mi metto a scrivere e mi si cancellano le frasi, o si modificano o vengono fuori degli strani avvisi “pensiero non autorizzato”. Ed ecco che capisco quel che avrei dovuto capire prima: l’intelligenza artificiale ha fatto passi da gigante negli ultimi anni, e sono riusciti ad installare in ogni computer un programma in grado di riconoscere le frasi sovversive e ad eliminarle o modificarle per rendere innocuo tutto ciò che viene scritto. E io cosa faccio adesso?? Cosa??-
Cobra riuscì a calmarlo dicendogli –guardami amico, guardami in faccia, sono messo peggio di te - And convinced him to prepare a coffee.
While the other was in the kitchen to make a great mocha, Cobra tried to concentrate to make good use of what could be his last hours of life. He watched without much interest in the books of the scholar yellowed and withered the slimy snake that hissed in his gut told him to wait until the coffee was served and then kill him and drink a double ration. However, his eye fell on a copy of Reflections Milan who was on the table, the book written by what was once seemed like a friend asking him to open it, and so, more by instinct than curiosity, Cobra began to read a page at random, one of the many reflections that Fulvio had seemed important in their time but instead were scattered like smoke in the air. The reflection that she found herself reading was:
TRAIN WE ARE ALL EQUAL
I have to go to xxx. The best way, I think, is by train. I then went to Milan central station, a station crowded and full of smells: sweat, pigeon shit, piss human dust that has become dated fossil, smoke ... The thing that smells of less in here, is the food kiosks. Yet I have read a book in the first half of the 900 striking rather a description of the aroma emanating from a well-seasoned pot of beans. I also found in the dictionary words such as "fragrance" and "juicy", but I think now may be attributed enrollment of archaisms.
When I get in the cab to xxx the train is crowded. I appropriate a place to sit, one of the last to remain free, while the corridor of the car fills up with people forced to remain standing. Here is spreading among the people a very distinguished dude shoes lu cide, pants store style "denied entry to the have-nots', gay fashion designer jacket, handbag most expensive of all the objects that fill my, hair gel that must be worth more than all my meals on Sunday of my last ten years. This dude tries to take off down the corridor, pushing, asking permission and is surprised that the step did not yield so easily. When he comes up to my seat, runs into a little lady with dark and wrinkled from the inclemency of a life spent at the foot of the social ladder. I see surprise on his face, because the lady does not deviate to let him pass. Asks permission and is told that "does not see? everything is full, where you going? " Zittito da una donna dall’accento straniero l’elegantone abbassa gli occhi al vecchio sudicio strafatto di whisky scadente che ha trovato posto lì accanto, e siede come un re sul suo trono; il suo bagaglio è un sacchetto della spesa strappato. Il bellimbusto stringe a sé la sua borsa elegante che chissà cosa contiene; dal volto triste di quest’uomo ben vestito e pettinato r icavo una riflessione: in treno siamo tutti uguali.
Quanti anni erano passati da quando Fulvio Marcio aveva scritto quelle cose? Tanti. Abbastanza da cambiare drasticamente la realtà che described. Now that the sources of energy were running out the old railway stations were the haunt of stray dogs and ragged poor. Only two hundred yards from the house of Fulvio Marcio, the station of Lambrate, prostitutes roamed for beggars who mated with who had nothing to offer but the last remnants of life, donavano their last thrill, they took their last splash of semen rancid and killed them in the shelter of some abandoned wagon, to cook their thighs burned on bonfires of rubbish. Sometimes you could see columns of smoke from some old train that caught on fire, thick and black rose into the sky in the background every five minutes the planes were leaving from different airports burned at high altitude quelli che dovevano essere gli ultimi barili di carburante, che però sembravano non finire mai.
Una linea ferroviaria ancora in funzione, però, era rimasta. Era una linea di treni veloci e costosi, una linea di treni di lusso che collegava le principali città del paese. A Milano partivano due treni al giorno, dalla Stazione Centrale, l’unica ancora tirata a lustro, più limpida e profumata di quando era stata costruita, quella stessa stazione in cui Fulvio Marcio aveva preso il treno all’epoca delle sue Riflessioni milanesi , quella stazione che l’intellettuale fallito aveva visto come simbolo della democrazia e dell’uguaglianza ora era un luogo d’elite, dove per comprare un biglietto you had to be filthy rich. The alternative for the common people, was overcrowded planes of large companies, or their legs. In the Central Station
everything was sterilized and disinfected, the shades of gray marbles were a counterpoint to the large advertising screens and stained with showy shop windows, dozens of people who had chosen the path of consumption and welfare to the detriment of millions of ragged as they walked toward the tracks under hypnosis. Who was more dead? Those out there that was consumed in dragging a life of hunger, disease and alcoholism or lobotomized by these rich promotional messages and brands of clothing industries of luxury? The security cameras seized Cobra while engaged in such reasoning. His appearance gave the infected eye in the midst of hygiene, his gait was wrong too different from the past of those who walked dumbed down with his eyes glued to screens and brains in a short circuit of subliminal messages as "buy the Our new fragrance the violet, the men are not smelling bad. " A guard blocked his way and asked him where do you go black, but later the same guard had a bite on the neck and a gush of blood stood out very well on the marble floor. Cobra was shot down by electric batons. Like an animal. Almost immediately
Sheena also had entered the station and perhaps only through the turmoil caused by Cobra was able to sit in a wagon. She sat down exposing her legs left uncovered by the colorful tiny skirt and torn, but no one had seen, above each seat had a screen that always sent the same three ads for the duration of the trip, for two hours for three hours to six, and once you get home the first thing I'd tried was the new fragrance for women scented mimosa or better fucking new pants by Dolce & Compare to men who wear it magnifies the package. So the only one who noticed that the panther was detached controller, who asked, "ticket lady" and she reached out to dare al controllore un biglietto che non aveva mentre il controllore le porse la sua per prendere un biglietto che non esisteva, e ci rimise due dita. Sheena masticò le sue falangi come fossero patatine fritte mentre gli uomini della sicurezza piombavano nel vagone inorriditi. Dovettero spararle una ventina di volte per fermarla. Anche un passeggero ci rimise cranio e cervello, due schermi pubblicitari andarono in frantumi.
Filtro si mantenne fedele al suo stile: si avvicinò ad un uomo in tenuta business che, in un angolo dell’atrio della stazione, fissava la pubblicità di una nota marca di sigarette. -Hey amico- gli chiese
–Non è che hai una paglia?- Questi lo guardò con sguardo vuoto e gli porse, slow and listless, with a gesture, a cigarette.
protested Filter-Hey-What the fuck is' this shit? It is plastic-
-electric-cigarette is a businessman made the apathetic-is forbidden to smoke tobacco lobby. The electric cigarette, however, this is smoke everywhere and loads of supernicotina when shooting comes on the small light on the end, as if you were smoking seriously .-
-tenertela can crap your electricity, we want a true understanding ? - Filter altered screamed and screamed and pulled out a knife and half a foot long. His face became more brutal than it already was, threatening enough to shake Mr. business from its indifference. -Did you or did you not real cigarettes? - Church brings them closer to the knife in his neck
- L-I have - made the more frightened, and with trembling hands fumbled in the pockets. Filter took the whole package, he thanked him and spread with a header. He lit a cigarette, a real, deep and gave it a shot, closing his eyes to enjoy them more. He saw the police arrive, nor hail of beatings that befell him. While dragging him away, still holding the filter holding lit cigarette, and smiled.
Aldo Meanwhile Paul was once again entered the office of manager of the 7. It was exactly as he had left: the same pictures that this time they seemed awful, smell the same, this time it seemed louder, the smell of money, property, cigar. A smell exciting. Aldo Paul sat down before the director invited him to do so.
-Mr Paul. We saw only four days ago because she had given signs of abnormal behavior. Now, she has accumulated four days of unexcused absence from work, omission punishable by law with imprisonment of three months if absent for the most aggravating is the fact that his was a job of great responsibility, which means doubling the penalty. Of course, if she presented in my office dressed decently, with a good justification, ready to apologize and lucid enough showing to resume his work, I could be forgiving ... but what should I say instead? Look, it looks impossible, Mr. Paul, impr ... - Aldo
Paul let out a roar, and jumped across the desk. He grabbed the director for the green jacket and as he choked on his own blue tie the swell filling his nostrils with the smell of hair gel that was blowing with his victim's frightened expression on her face painted. Then he sat down at the position of Director, began to explore luxury items scattered on the desk. Pochi essenziali oggetti di lusso, e tra questi una scatoletta di legno. Quando vennero ad arrestarlo lo trovarono come in estasi, mentre ne odorava il contenuto: odore di soldi, di ricchezza, di sigaro. Alle sue spalle gli orrendi quadri erano stati rimossi dalle pareti; al loro posto Aldo Paoli aveva messo il direttore, appeso per la giacca, coi chiodi.
Nella saletta di controllo il sostituto di Aldo Paoli sorseggiava un energy drink e fissava nervosamente i monitor. Un uomo seduto nell’area d’imbarco attirò la sua attenzione: aveva il volto rovinato da qualche tipo di malattia e si guardava intorno come un animale che si sente braccato. D’un tratto Charles Logan si voltò verso la telecamera di sicurezza, e mostrò middle finger. If the man beyond the monitor had been able to read lips would have understood that in making that gesture Logan whispered
Here we are at the penultimate episode of Cobra, my last story. The final part will be released on this blog next Friday. Illustration by Stephen Word.
Chapter V
Aldo also opened his eyes, he with a hungry wolf, but, above all, without feeling his heart wake up with him , feeling somehow empty of breath, and perhaps the same soul. Her ragged clothes, and if you had watched would have noticed that his flesh was somewhat defaced. But we thought, not impressed by the blood that painted the walls, the bed, floor, in patches, drops, splashing. She went limp from the apartment, as if he had ever walked so, and dragged down the stairs. The streets seemed the dark, then blinding, as in the early afternoon of a sunny August. Crossing Piazza Sant Alessandro saw coming from the opposite side, driven by an old white poodle who was holding the leash. He looked at the dog with hatred and met him with a pitch limping. The barking made that the animal be seeing him turned against her even more spirits of fire, and fell upon him and ate him there where he had caught, heedless of the cries of the Beguine his mistress.
Nobody lifted a finger to the dog, the cameras were there and saw all the patrols turned in the next street, but not nothing happened. Sheena Logan and only appeared to eat the meat of the old, tore off his loose skin, the wrinkles remained between the fingers. Aldo looked in their eyes, and they looked at him.
Three million people were living in Milan, and there were about four million cameras. Logan had dreamed of smashing all once, but he did not know Aldo had dreamed the same thing. Aldo's eyes Cobra had inspired confidence, always covered by dark glasses did not seem ... watching you. He had not realized, but in reality the eyes of Cobra them had never even seen. In those days, Cobra nervous walking to his cellar, measuring with the horny soles of his bare feet. Logan and Sheena were not there, Aldo Paoli had not returned to the den, Filter revealed itself almost daily, but he seemed nervous and angry, and treated him more as a mentor. Filter One day she knocked on the door of the basement but Cobra was not open. He waited half an hour on the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes, and finally arrived two large dark glasses, before a rough face surrounded by a mane of curly hair and that face the rest of the man who was waiting. Hello
-filter, "said Cobra opening the big iron door
-Hello-
When they were in the hideout Cobra walked with slow steps towards its abituale tavolaccio di pietra, verso gli angoli bui dove passava le ore a rimescolare erbe, radici, funghi e quant’altro, ma Filtro, seguendolo da vicino, era deciso a non lasciarlo andare a nascondersi nell’ombra.
-Cosa facciamo?- gli chiese con tono più minaccioso che interrogativo, quasi alitandogli nell’orecchio
-Nulla, per ora-
-Sono giorni che non facciamo nulla. Io ho ucciso Logan e Sheena, l’ho fatto perché me l’hai chiesto tu. Ma perché? E perché Aldo non si vede più?-
-Logan e Sheena devono essere in giro, prima sono uscito a cercarli, ma non ho idea di dove possano essere andati-
-Cooosa?- fece Filter-I rather annoyed I killed them both! I doubt seriously that she did? -
-I hope you did it, "said Cobra - and if you did, I hope they are still around-I-
taking the piss? - Filter yelled grabbing his shirt and giving it a shake.
-The drug that I gave to Cobra, "said Aldo quickly losing its air of poisonous snake to that of a worm-appealing if it did effect Sheena Logan ... and ... should be, do not say you live, but ... active, and hungry-
filter remained motionless for a moment, clenching his fists between collar Cobra tanto serrati che le mani cominciarono a fargli male, fissandogli addosso due occhi sbarrati e sporgenti, di pietra.
-Tu sei pazzo- disse infine lasciandolo andare, facendo due passi indietro e sputandogli addosso con stizzoso disprezzo. Poi voltò le spalle a Cobra, pensando di lasciarlo come si lascia una parte della propria esistenza relegandola per sempre in un album di foto intitolato “passato”.
-Vedrai!- gli urlò Cobra mentre già la sua ombra spariva ad di là della porta dello scantinato -Vedrai!!-
Filtro si sedette esausto sul divano che occupava per tutta la lunghezza una parete di quel buco che chiamava casa, with a warm beer in hand and a cigarette between his lips, and looked on the shelf of his treasures: old movies on DVD, some very rare videos, cartoons from the pages yellowed books. He thought the future was not as if they imagined the great directors of the past: the land had not been swallowed by the waters as Waterworld, there was the bizarre technologies Nirvana, and it was not terrible as in 1984 , fortunately. Of course the book was among the many premonitions, the more valid because he had predicted what would be the instruments of power and uselessness of repressive groped to oppose it. Perhaps he had not led to a situation foretold by Orwell was only because there was no need, because humanity was shown to be more docile than expected ... or not?
filter if it was lost in these reflections inconclusive, stunned by the heat of the day, when he heard a knock at the door.
-Go away! - Shouted, almost crying, it was burdened by the weight of his wandering. But the knock from the outside did not stop, indeed, continued constant and insistent preoccupation with the left of a point from beyond the grave. When the ringing of a knock on the wooden door had invaded his head like the sound amplified to each echo, unnerved got up and opened the door nervously.
first recognized Aldo, or what was left, if one be a man bent side barely covered by a few tattered rags, and under those rags soiled dirty wounds with dried blood. A filter choked on the last swig of beer and was forced to cough loud and do what ever would in ordinary circumstances, he dropped his cigarette and stepped back giving themselves heavy blow on the chest, as if to spit out the malted beverage that had gone down the wrong pipe. Those few steps back allowed him a more complete view of those who came to visit him. If you could think of the jambs of a door as a frame it seems that the picture element is di un pittore psicopatico con uno spiccato senso dell’orrido e del meticcio. Da un lato la figura che abbiamo descritto, dall’altro colui che a suo tempo si era fatto chiamare Charles Logan, solo un po’ più pallido, d’un pallore messo in risalto dalle macchie livide che gli si gonfiavano in volto. Tra i due Sheena avanzava più come una pantera che come la ragazza che era stata e dietro di loro un Cobra dalla ritrovata imponenza, rianimato da un nuovo senso di viscida velenosità, pareva guidarli non come un pastore che conduce le sue pecore ma come un falconiere che libera il suo rapace.
-Prendetelo!- urlò, allungando un dito nero tempestato di anelli ingioiellati.
-N-no!- filter with a strangled voice faltered, while Logan and the Aldo you were meeting uglier than ever. They took him by the arms, one right and one to the left, despite his fists and smanacciare he did, wearing clung like animals, like monkeys who cling to the branch. Then Sheena stepped forward, tall and bold, but not less worn than others, untidy hair, witch, old or shabby. The flesh of his face, that part which is above the cheeks and just below the eyes, was unusually hollow and her smile looked sickly or unhealthy. Heading straight to his faded blue jeans, the zipper of his pants faded, regardless of kicking and "what the fuck!" Filter.
-Stand still, ugly smoker! - Aldo said, brushing her face with her lips, investing it with a pestilential breath, while with one hand helped Sheena to trargli the penis out of pants. Sheena threw her arms around his neck and climbed on the thighs tightening around his calves and iliac bone just below her buttocks, Aldo took his cock between her fingers and accompanied him in black woman's vagina. First filter did not feel any kind of excitement but only a sense of repulsion. Then she felt his penis swell, slowly, begin to throb, to fill with blood. Sheena pelvic movements that seemed to enjoy her sexual organ as the sweetest of delicacies and the impossibility di opporre resistenza a quell’atto sessuale, perché Aldo e Logan lo tenevano inchiodato al pavimento, lo spinsero alla deriva in un vasto mare erotico e scarlatto. Chiuse gli occhi dimenticando il lato mostruoso della creatura con cui stava chiavando mordendosi il labbro inferiore con gli incisivi. Quando però tornò a sollevare le palpebre si vide davanti un faccione che lo guardava con due occhi grandi, rossi e sporgenti; due occhi che aveva sempre avuto vicino, ma che non aveva mai potuto vedere. Non fece in tempo a dir nulla; con un movimento deciso Cobra gli afferrò il capo con entrambe le sue robuste mani e gli girò il collo torcendolo oltre gli umani limiti, godendosi il secco scricchiolio delle sue vertebre cervicali. Poi si rimise gli dark glasses and turned away.
If his assumption was correct Cobra would soon have to meet the physical dependence of four creatures hungry, ready to do anything of substance that would have allowed them to not rot like walking corpses. If the virus had also transmitted through sexual filter would soon become as fierce as Sheena, livid as Logan, repulsive as Aldo, and like the other three, in need of its experienced hands when handling mandrakes and thorn apple. Cobra others left the apartment and, once on the road, phoned one of his trusted servant to order a large quantity of raw materials needed for the preparation of your medication. When he left the conversation went to the door of an ATM, insert your credit card, typed in the code and required a substantial withdrawal. But at this point was a surprise of the most unwanted. The writing on the screen told him that his credit was exhausted. Cobra turned white (as can whiten a black man), he repeated the operation, took the cash the other two, sometimes three. While sweating with excitement, hitting the keys of the strongest automatic machine, a security guard came out of the bank and came up with to-severe
a problem, sir? - Asked studying
Cobra realized that they had observed through the monitor and glassy eyes of the cameras, and his conduct had aroused suspicions.
Park the car near the bridge cross it and follow the paved road. 
Today is a beautiful flowering of chicory. 
pass under Casaccia.Bellissimo beautifully restored complex of '400. 
corner of Pleasant Casaccia. 
The road becomes a dirt road and begins to rise and come to the house called Molino di Sopra. 
Main façade of the house. 
Go up and soon we reach a junction where you go right, there is a blue sign of Mtb. 
After going through a chestnut forest, the road climbs up and reaches The Church of Campanara. Now we live in the boys bought the entire complex and are doing the work to obtain the ' Ecovillage Bell-Ringer. 
Inside the church, now disused, with frescoes, Pagans and Christians, paintings by old inhabitants. 
A glass painting. 
Immediately after Campanara there is a small wooden house where there lives a boy who makes sculptures. 
Left Campanara follow the path behind it, cross a wooden gate and turn left, we reach the block of Le Poggio, formed by the farmhouse and the home of the family Strigelli, who owned almost all Bell-Ringer of the territory. Going 
you have a beautiful view of Mount Carzolano. 
We are called to the junction of the Crosses Camaggio.Andiamo left. 
Campanara Zooming up. 
The ridge Lozzolo and basically the Monte Lavane. 
Il Monte Castellaccio della Tana. 
Dopo una piccola salitina arriviamo a Montagnana, ex casa colonica posta in una posizione fantastica. 
Proseguiamo e dopo aver lasciato sulla destra il Monte Feriale si apre una bella vista sulla casa di Camaggio, nella valle del Fosso di Mantigno. 
Sequenza di crinali fino a Monte Falco. 
Arriviamo all’innesto nel sentiero Cai 701, che proviene da destra. 
Continuiamo con scorci panoramici sulla valle del Santerno e il Corno alle Scale. 
Nugolo di farfalle sui cardi. 
A look behind at Poggio Roncaccio indication of Cai Cabin for Tiara. 
Podalirius A beautiful butterfly. 
We are the ruins of the Faina, house famous for being the site of a partisan brigade. Many years ago there was a ceramic plate, but today I have not seen. 
After leaving the detour to the right of Pian 'Aiara little further, we leave the path 701 to turn left onto the continuation of the path 607. 
after rising initially, we begin to descend bad on a ridge that divides the ditch Campanara from that of ' Aghezzola, first within the forest, and very scenic. Must be a bit 'of attention in some way. 
arrive at an intersection where the 607 goes straight. Instead, we go to the right on the path 30 of Pro site. The blue sign is on the first tree on the left, and you do not see very well. 
At the end of 5 minutes to Cà Ciriegiolo us. 
East facade of the house. 
started to fall again on the trail well marcato.Arrivati \u200b\u200bat a crossroads near a ditch, now dry, we turn left, coming out of the woods under a large house completely restructured and no name on the card. 
Majesty near Ca 'Fornello.In about us to the road, which passes power to the left ... 
Piedimonte and leads the Church of the car. 
Retrieved Paper, "Nature Trails of Palazzuolo sul Senio" 
