Ok, we try. It is not easy, in different ways. Quite a challenge.
Let's get on the mad bull.
topic: Hate, understood as a noun, Hate, understood in its verb form infinite.
The correct definition is the starting date and resume as a whole (in this post) from the dictionary Treccani (oil, on display at the Macro).
The encyclopedic dictionary par excellence defines this little word so used and abused like that feeling can be felt toward others or toward themselves.
The correct way to describe it is: hate or nurture hatred for someone or something, wishing evil.
For some obscure reason this blog more like the second way to land on the feeling or the fact that they feed him. For some reason, even more evil, we can imagine the hatred like a beautiful plant, with a huge flower, colorful, red, black with lots of tiny yellow dots, murderers.
A lovely plant, carnivorous, whose flower is basically a mouth that opens its petals soft and gives way to mouth vile and poisonous insects eat, eats men, poison dreams.
A flower that captivates, seduces and that calls from the wheat stem, wrap, then use that to tighten up the bone, to strangle, take your breath away, blurred vision and make his own. Moving petals, blown by the wind, giving life to a sweet melody, a call to the ears of poor human beings, or worse, for those who can not think, for those who allow themselves duped, for those who do not do the right questions at the right time, but are the wrong ones at the right time.
Usually, in real life, the fantasies of these silly and useless words never occur, then, these flowers take different forms, and recognize the flowers, hidden, it is not easy at all. We leave
charm and bite, let the poison enters into us, and euphoric and happy, waiting to take its long journey within us, making us believe that nothing, after the dose is so beautiful, so true, so worthy of being followed, well informed and respected.
Inevitably poison, finished his course, leaves us on the ground and the awakening is full of anger, hatred blood cousin.
Scored, we believe that this can pass, and as healthy carriers, we go around the city, bringing even lunch box.
We do not offer it. It is not polite.
hatred works in silence, hidden behind a corner, between the folds of the silk sheets in the drawers of memory, and the syllables in the breeze, the shade of the folds of our brain, how fast synapses, radiates and produces vicious circles, which is repeated like an echo infinite, resounds in the silence, remembering and repeating himself. Thin strip, and scratches and stings and torments never satiate us. Consumes us.
Become a tangible expression in small, lightning, you squeeze your eyes, stomach turns, fists close ready to attack, but liars just try to defend themselves.
There is no cure, there is no salvation, there is no air.
Perhaps envy, disappointment, disillusionment, and never got due respect, that perhaps the doctor would write, but do not know how to leave a proper medicine on that block that keeps on his desk in cherry wood. He, the doctor can do anything, when something measurable, something that he knows, something for which he has studied and knows the symptoms and healing methods, this occurs because the cold all in the same way, it is universal, as a way to send him away.
You can use the recipe, lighten it with a spray to the nose or milk and honey at night before going to sleep, but also the sweetest thing that nothing can anger against acid deposits in the bottom of the stomach.
Bile, damn green is the color of its tip.
You can try to vent, on a lot hanging in the room, on a sheet with a pencil on a white page with the pen, but his fists as the pencil and ink appear to have no end. More peaks, more designs, more writing and less seems to give relief. So you think it's time to stop and think that perhaps the strategy is wrong, perhaps this is not the cure, this is not the way to deal with them.
Try to use your head, you are rational, which often did you come to the aid will tell you something new, different and useful. The plays, in silence, you're in class, with very special teacher and maybe she'll whisper something was already a long time, accompanied, as the support teacher in a new room, one in which rationality is very important. Following the corridor that led you from the belly to the head, now return back, stopping midway and walked to the middle, in that room is called the heart, the generator of dreams, of adventures, love and hate.
Once in front of that door, the brain lets you enter, stay out, as Charon, gray mass that can only accompany you.
Now inside, across the river in that room, in front of your response can understand that the source of that hatred is only the reflection wrong, like the light in the water, its opposite, the ' love, expressed as well.
Amazed, you acknowledge that opposites sometimes in the excess, are adoptive brothers.
Think how many times you say you hate something or someone was the strongest manifestation of its opposite. How many times that "I hate you" thought or drawn with the lash out of the teeth, leaning against something or someone with a forked tongue would rather hide the most beautiful and felt otherwise.
Yeah, it happens.
And in this case we do?
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