Where Can I Find A Green Power Ranger Belt Buckle

Solvuntur limbs fridge (*) As God commands

this was really necessary because I resumption pen in hand and felt the need of scratch paper?
It is nothing but an impulsive outburst, the violent reaction of my hand - as accompanied by an external entity - against a place where I struggle to find my place.
Nothing more than a few rambling thoughts, hearts in the grip of misunderstanding, again. Feeling old. Worn. Never Forgotten? The paper is bleeding.
So the wonder and the magic of a few words contained in the majestic simplicity and composure to an antique.
The drama hidden in a bar, which is revealed to my mind, while the insistent rain ticking on the window - gives consistency to my thoughts, with the vehemence a time to struggle back against the walls of my body - and at the same time dragging them away, as if drip could disperse, drown!
But if a drop merges into the sea really loses its shape, its identity?
An actor can be a spectator of himself? Who does not play to enjoy dell'applauso intimately? There may be a stage, then, that it has not faced an audience?

"But I hold the world as the world, Gratiano, A stage
WHERE Every man must play a part, And mine
a sad one." (**)

And if that was the problem of humanity?
I read all the risk in the deep truth of these words. About
, although initially reticent, once you find a role on stage, will not be attacked by delusions of leadership?
And if each of us is somehow forced to be a part ... who is a bystander? There
someone on the other side?
I remember that on the stage the spotlight blinds so that you are forced to push the look over the audience, thus losing the whole perception. Perhaps all
interpret the role of that professor who, in a novel by Pirandello, exposes her best lesson to a class of coats and waterproof backed their chairs.
Just a final point - while the rain keeps falling, undeterred - not thinking seems tied to the next one tonight! And if
' BALANCE if only one of the umpteenth human FICTION? If in trying desperately to balance that we feel do not feel the need to perceive the extraordinary beauty of movement?
thunder, powerful and distinct.
A tingling in the fingers numb for a long time.
card bleeds.
(You're right. I feel the wonderful privilege of our wings.)

* Aeneid, Book I - Virgil
** The Merchant of Venice - Shakespeare