Enter: night...? Really?

Prisencolinensinainciusol

The following is an old Italian song sung in English. Can anyone help me to write down the lyrics?

E sempre questa storia...

...che lei la chiamo Gloria.

Gloria manchi tu nell'aria 
Manchi ad una mano, 
Che lavora piano, 
Manchi a questa bocca, 
Che cibo più non tocca, 
E sempre questa storia, 
Che lei la chiamo Gloria. 
Gloria sui tuoi fianchi 
La mattina nasce il sole 
Entra odio ed esce amore 
Dal nome Gloria. 

Gloria, 
Manchi tu nell'aria 
Manchi come il sale, 
Manchi più del sole, 
Sciogli questa neve 
Che soffoca il mio petto 
T'aspetto Gloria 

Gloria, Gloria chiesa di campagna, Gloria, 
Acqua nel deserto, Gloria, 
Lascio aperto il cuore, Gloria, 
Scappa senza far rumore, 
Dal lavoro dal tuo letto 
Dai gradini di un altare 
T'aspetto Gloria. 

Ah, ah Gloria, per chi accende il giorno 
E invece di dormire, 
Con la memoria torna 
A un tuffo nei papaveri, 
In una terra libera 
Per chi respira nebbia, 
Per chi respira rabbia, 
Per me che senza Gloria, 
Con te nuda sul divano 
Faccio stelle di cartone 
Pensando a Gloria. 

Gloria, manchi tu nell'aria 
Manchi come il sale, 
Manchi più del sole, 
Sciogli questa neve 
Che soffoca il mio petto 
T'aspetto Gloria 

Gloria, Gloria, chiesa di campagna, Gloria, 
Acqua nel deserto, Gloria, 
Lascio aperto il cuore, Gloria, 
Scappa senza far rumore, 
Dal lavoro dal tuo letto, 
Dai gradini di un altare, 
Ti aspetto Gloria.

Anarchy for the UK...

...Or just another country.

Right! now 
ha ha ha ha ha...

I am an antichrist
I am an anarchist
Don't know what I want
But I know how to get it
I wanna destroy passerby

'Cause I wanna be Anarchy
No dogsbody

Anarchy for the UK
It's coming sometime and maybe
I give a wrong time stop at traffic line
Your future dream is a sharpie's scheme

'Cause I wanna be Anarchy
In the city

How many ways to get what you want
I use the best
I use the rest
I use the N.M.E
I use Anarchy

'Cause I wanna be Anarchy
It's the only way to be

Is this the M.P.L.A or
Is this the U.D.A or
Is this the I.R.A
I thought it was the UK
Or just another country
Another council tenancy

I wanna be Anarchy
And I wanna be Anarchy
(Oh what a name)
And I wanna be anarchist
I get pissed, destroy!

E soli andiamo

E ognuno di noi va per la sua strada, in silenzio e solitudine, perche' partecipare della malinconia altrui e' arduo e i nostri cuori sono troppo piccoli. Un pianto ed un canto si levano per noi, per noi che proseguiamo senza porgere orecchio, perche' fare nostre le perdite altrui e' qualcosa di cui non vogliamo essere capaci. 
E la sera nelle nostre case spengiamo i sentimenti, per non sentire il vuoto che ci sta tutto intorno, ed accendiamo la musica, per non sentire il silenzio che ci avvolge, un silenzio che abbiamo nel cuore. Cuore che si giova di conquiste e risultati che sono vani, vani e vuoti e inutili, paglia che sara' consumata dal fuoco che verra': le sere d'estate profumate di affetto, insaporite dal vino e dagli abbracci sono ormai dimenticate, lasciate indietro e rinnegate. 
E soli andiamo, ostinati nella nostra illusione bugiarda, con passi incerti, non piu' veloci al tempo di una musica argentina.

Curiosity killed the cat...

...but are we sure that satisfaction brought it back?

>You're a curious kitten. Don't you know that curiosity killed the cat?

<But satisfaction brought it back! I'm curious but with prudence.

>Well, you have just one way to see better what's inside here: you must lean out.

...

>Yes, so. Lean a bit more...

The female of the species

   Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

                           The Female of the Species

    WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
    He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
    But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
    For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

    When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
    He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
    But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
    For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

    When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
    They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
    'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
    For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

    Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
    For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
    But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale—
    The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

    Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,—
    Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
    Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
    To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.

    Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
    To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
    Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex
    Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!

    But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
    Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;
    And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
    The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

    She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
    May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.
    These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells—
    She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.

    She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
    As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
    And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
    Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

    She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties;
    Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!—
    He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
    Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

    Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights,
    Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites,
    Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
    And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!

    So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
    With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
    Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
    To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.

    And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
    Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him.
    And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
    That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.

La curiosita' uccise la gatta...

...ma siamo sicuri che la soddisfazione la riporto' in vita?

> Sei una gattina curiosa. Non sai che la curiosita' uccise la gatta?
<Ma la soddisfazione la riporto' in vita! E poi, io sono curiosa ma con cautela.
>Beh, hai solo un modo per vedere meglio cosa c'e' qui dentro: devi sporgerti.
...
>Cosi', brava. Sporgiti un poco di piu'...

Let Me Bring You Down 21

Un giorno inutile

Uno di quei giorni,
Un giorno inutile.
Un giorno in cui ti senti inutile.
Un giorno cosi' dovrebbe essere cancellato.
Dovrei lasciar andare, ma non posso.

Uno di quei giorni,
Un giorno in cui sei inutile.
Un giorno in cui non puoi smettere di pensare.
Un giorno cosi' lo dovrei semplicemente lasciar andare.

Un giorno in cui non hai uno scopo,
Un giorno senza scopo come la pioggia che cade fuori dalla finestra.
Un giorno in cui non puoi smettere di ricordare.
Dovrei semplicemente lasciar andare.

Ma non so come fare.

Stranger in a strange land 2

Stranger in a strange land

There's a killer on the road...

...girl make him understand.

The Big Fraud of Gender Theory #4

So far we have seen that some aspects of human nature depend on biology and that culture can tame them only partially. They are still there, waiting for something to trigger them.

Let Me Bring You Down 20

War between brothers

Misogyny 2

Do you think that what I wrote is wrong? Is not concealing part of woman's nature? Come on! It's what all of you do. No, I'm not unfair in judging women so. I'm simply acknowledging what the fact of matter is, proved by centuries of feminine behaviour. Whatever is the pleasure or the satisfaction a man can get from a woman, it's something he will pay dear. Don't even think it! It's not me who says that men are better than women. Maybe they are even worse, but this is not my problem: it's a women's problem. But it doesn't change that, whether he deserves it or not, sooner or later any man will receive a stab in the back from the woman closest to him. And more of himself he has given to her, deeper the wound will be when the understanding comes, that very little really is as it was shown. You cannot avoid to deceive us, it's just a matter of time before it happens. You do it for anger, to make us pay, and you do it for love, to "protect" us. What you say? That you have never dissimulated with me? I didn't say that every woman deceives me. I said that all women deceive. And being here with me, in this moment, isn't it implying that your are deceiving your husband?

As soon as he arrived, he proceeded to the sultaness's apartment, commanded her to be bound before him, and delivered her to his grand vizier, with an order to strangle her, which was accordingly executed by that minister, without inquiring into her crime. The enraged prince did not stop here, but cut off the heads of all the sultaness's ladies with his own hand. After this rigorous punishment, being persuaded that no woman was chaste, he resolved, in order to prevent the disloyalty of such as he should afterwards marry, to wed one every night, and have her strangled next morning.

-One thousand and one night     

Let Me Bring You Down 19

So choosy about men, but it's undeniable that

when women come to chose their own man

more often than not they make a really poor choice.

Books

Kydoimos

Il centro dell'universo e' perduto, oramai, ed ogni spostamento non ha piu' un punto di riferimento; un rondo' sguaiato conduce danza dopo danza attraverso una serie apparentemente infinta di paesaggi spettrali, dove si assaggiano uno dopo l'altro frutti insapori nella speranza di scoprirne uno degno e si finisce per inebriarsi con bevande stucchevoli. Satelliti sfuggiti alla loro orbita percorrono velocemente il cielo per poi scomparire, sorvolando alti una terra brulla e brulicante di ombre, tutte in cerca di un sole. I colori sanguinano nelle tenebre, invano tentano di conquistarle. I lacci sono stati tagliati, gli ultimi sigilli aspettano di essere infranti, cosi' che Kydoimos possa essere definitivamente sciolto, libero di percorrere il mondo degli uomini. Il terreno soffice cede lentamente sotto i piedi, preparandosi a slittare a valle in una fuga di trasformazione. Prepararsi ad una lotta senza speranza, oppure fuggire verso luoghi che non esistono piu' nell'immaginario collettivo. Rimangono da visitare solo fortezze vuote, al tuo cammino si dischiudono unicamente sentieri troppo battuti e brevi, le sole soste ammesse sono in angoli nascosti dove grevi odori stagnano. Quando il vento soffia il pattume si deposita in mucchi contro i muri del cuore, muri imbrattati da graffiti osceni.

The centre of the universe is lost by now and every move has no reference point anymore; a coarse rondo' guides, dance after dance, through an apparently infinite series of ghostly landscapes, where we try one after the other tasteless fruits hoping to find a worthy one and we end up intoxicated with sickly sweet drinks. Satellites escape their own orbits and disappear, flying swiftly the sky over a stark land swarming with shades all looking for a sun. Colours bleed into the darkness, in vain they try to conquer it. The laces have been cut, the last seals are waiting to be shattered so that Kydoimos will be finally unleashed, free to ride men's world. The soft soil slowly yields under the feet, preparing to slide down to the valley in a getaway of transformation. Be ready for a hopeless fight or to escape towards places which don't exist anymore into the collective memory. Just empty fortresses remain to visit, only widely-known and too short paths open in front of your way, breaks are admitted only in concealed corners where heavy odours stale. When the wind gusts the debris pile up against the heart's walls, walls stained with obscene graffiti.