#alta quota

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Gazzetta Dello Sport di Oggi domenica, 29 settembre 2024

[sauolasa]

Stati Uniti: F-22 abbatte "oggetto ad alta quota"

Una settimana dopo il pallone spia cinese. Per la Casa Bianca rappresentava una "minaccia per i voli civili"

[bicheco]

Parliamo per un attimo di cose serie.

Stanno per iniziare gli Australian Open di tennis. Ho quindi scommesso. Sinner è dato addirittura a 6, secondo me una quota alta (Djokovic è dato a 2), ed ho scommesso 10 euro. Poi io personalmente ho un debole per Ben Shelton (non vincerà, è ancora immaturo, però tennisticamente parlando è un fenomeno), dato a 33 (!) e ci ho messo due euro sopra.

Dovessi vincere, offrirò uno spritz a tutti i miei follower: incrociate le dita.

[pollicinor]

Concentrazioni elevate di polveri ultrafini minacciano la salute delle circa 52 milioni di persone che vivono nel raggio di 20 km dai 32 più trafficati aeroporti europei. Stiamo parlando di oltre il 10% del totale della popolazione europea, esposta a livelli allarmanti di particolato 1000 volte più sottile di un capello, prodotto dai motori degli aerei sia ad alta quota, sia nelle fasi di decollo ed atterraggio. Lo indica uno studio commissionato da Transport & Environment (T&E), un insieme di organizzazioni non governative per la promozione del trasporto sostenibile in Europa.

Dall'articolo "Le particelle ultrafini emesse dagli aerei sono una minaccia per la salute" su Focus.it

[mezzopieno-news]

PER LA PRIMA VOLTA UNA NAZIONE HA PIÙ AUTO ELETTRICHE CHE A BENZINA

Per la prima volta nella storia, un Paese ha più automobili elettriche che auto a benzina pura. Al 16 settembre 2024, su 2,8 milioni di autovetture immatricolate in Norvegia 754.303 sono elettriche e 753.905 a benzina.

“Questo momento è storico. Un traguardo che pochi avevano previsto dieci anni fa. L’elettrificazione della flotta di autovetture sta mantenendo un ritmo elevato e la Norvegia si sta rapidamente muovendo per diventare il primo Paese al mondo con un parco autovetture dominato da auto elettriche”, afferma Øyvind Solberg Thorsen, direttore del Opplysningsrådet for Veitrafikken, il Consiglio Informativo per il Traffico Stradale norvegese. Nel Paese ci sono ancora circa un milione di autovetture immatricolate con motori diesel. “La velocità con cui stiamo assistendo alla sostituzione della flotta di autovetture ora potrebbe indicare che nel 2026 avremo anche più auto elettriche che diesel”, afferma. Oltre alle auto a benzina pura, nel Paese ci sono poco meno di 210.000 ibride plug-in e circa 156.000 ibride nel parco autovetture del Paese.

Nell’ultimo anno, poco meno del 60% delle nuove immatricolazioni globali di auto elettriche è stato in Cina, poco meno del 25% in Europa e circa il 10% negli Stati Uniti. I primi 5 Paesi con la quota più alta di vendite di veicoli elettrici sono la Norvegia (l’80% delle vendite totali), l’Islanda (41%), la Svezia (32%), i Paesi Bassi (24%) e la Cina (22%).

___________________

Fonte: Opplysningsrådet for Veitrafikken; International Energy Agency; foto di Rawpixel

VERIFICATO ALLA FONTE | Guarda il protocollo di Fact checking delle notizie di Mezzopieno

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Se trovi utile il nostro lavoro e credi nel principio del giornalismo costruttivo non-profit | sostieni Mezzopieno

[claudiosuenaga]

Graças às políticas pró inclusivas e afirmativas, as eternas "minorias discriminadas" têm direito a quotas de empregos e de vagas em universidades, e é favorecida nas carreiras, tanto no Estado como nas empresas, deixando para trás outros, mesmo que mais qualificados e competentes. Num mundo onde tudo se pode criticar, qualquer crítica, discordância ou até a mais leve piada em relação às suas incessantes reivindicações, prerrogativas e militâncias é criminalizada. Essas "minorias" são incensadas por todos os poderes constituídos do mundo, desde Hollywood até a alta hierarquia da Igreja Católica. O seu modo de vida é glorificado e promovido por todas as instituições, desde a ONU, por toda a indústria cultural e por toda a mídia. A sua ideologia tomou conta dos sistemas de ensino do Ocidente. Não basta aceitar os seus ditames, é obrigatório aderir a eles, por mais bizarros que sejam. Essas "minorias", longe de serem "excluídas" e "discriminadas", são, muito pelo contrário, a comunidade mais integrada, protegida, paparicada e privilegiada da história da humanidade. Quem agora está totalmente marginalizado, fora da rede, off grid, somos nós, que nos tornamos os "diferentes" e "anormais". Esta política global nada tem a ver com direitos, mas tudo a ver com controle; tem a ver com o condicionar as pessoas a terem medo de expressar e até pensar as mais óbvias verdades. O Politicamente Correto nada mais é do que o eufemismo para a velha Censura da Ditadura desta Nova Ordem Mundial.

[ricardian-werewolf]

9: The Cost of the Crown

(Oh yeah, there's a reason for THIS gif. Totally.) @lordbettany - I almost want (need) to see this gifset on your dash for the sole sake of your unhinged comments.

Ao3 link

Summary: Eight weeks of travel and troop movements have passed. Finally after over two years, Alina and Nikolai reunite. With that reunion comes tension, a lot of pent up emotion and some very devious plans to get a certain saint into a particular king's bed.

TWs: None, except implied smut in the end, and a church gets blown up (though no one graphically killed).

Chapter below the cut.

The Vy, a week’s ride from Os Alta.

8 weeks later. 

Alina’s fingers found purchase on the spy-glass clutched in her fingers. She rode side-saddle on a calm west-Ravkan mare of the fairest white, her kefta’s skirts tumbling down her legs in a heap of green satin and fox-fur. Her kefta’s top had been closed at the throat and buttoned up against the freezing chill. Her white hair was done up in a braided chignon. Woven through it were strands of gold and green ribbon. She wore a crown of hammered gold fashioned in the style of Morozova’s antlers. A gift for Nikolai to undo when he reached her.

At her side, Olga checked her rifle. The line down her cheek had left a scar, holy anointed. She dipped her head in the presence of the Sankta. Alina’s gloved finger touched her cheek, and she raised a brow. 

“News?”

“They are headed southwards, Moya Tsaritsa.” Olga murmured. Soon, the banners of the double-eagle and fox in splendour would paint the horizon in swathes of babe’s blue and emerald green. With them, at their helm, would be the true king. An open rebellion against the Lantsov pretender who’d been crowned by the Apparat had begun. Starting originally in the eastern reaches, past Os Alta, the peasantry had thrown down their plows and picked up their scythes. They prayed to their saints, begging for an end to the hunger that sickened their stomachs; robbed their cradles and meager coffers. It had been against the new king’s grain quotas, impossible to achieve even in times of peace, and the mood had become a tangible one of rage. When the militia was brought in to quell the uprising, the people lashed out, taking over the grain stores and the city’s Duma, press-house and inn. From there, they used the printing press of the press-house and a learned nobleman held at musket-point, to write an edict of the uprising. It demanded that Nikolai Lantsov, the one true Ravkan king, end centuries of Serfdom, remove the threats of Shu Han and Fjerda, and most amazingly, overturn the choke-hold the nobility had on the land.

Nikolai himself had written these peasants, and while Vasily or his father would have sent more men to crush the uprising - Nikolai acknowledged and allowed it to continue. He congratulated the peasantry on fighting the corruption of their pretender king, and asked them to keep him in their prayers.

Murmurs of the Fox-Saint, the King of Scars, had swept the country already. From inn to ale-house and banyan, the murmurs of King Nikolai returning had swallowed Ravka whole. The Fox Saint and the Sun Saint were said to join together at the center of the Vy and relieve Ravka of the Darkling and Lantsov Pretender. Unto that, their reign would be one of peace and prosperity. Already, a new design of a royal banner was beginning to spread through the villages and smaller towns - an emerald green backing of a red fox under a sunburst. The fox wore a crown. Some of the pieces added the firebird above the sunburst, wings aloft in a baptism of fire that would cleanse the land and air.

Alina herself had created that idea. The new maps she was making as part of her saintly progress were tactical, a way of observing the Darkling’s weak points. As they moved along the Vy, Alina was starkly reminded of how it had been a scant 4 years ago, when she was merely 16. She had been a girl then, unaccustomed to the mantle of Sainthood. The Apparat and White cathedral had marked her 17th name-day with the mantle being a crushing one. Then, her 2 year exile and slumber had forced her to become a woman. Her childishness of girlhood burned in the fire she swore to her followers had purged her of sin, and whitened her hair for eternity. In truth, her hair was going to stay white perhaps centuries more.  

She adjusted the reins of her mare, pulled close to Tamar as the procession began again. The Kefta Alina wore today, while green, would soon be changed to gold as they moved closer to the lands around Os Alta. The Duchy of Udova had sent their to-be Duchess a cape of ermine-fur and purple velvet, which she knew was safely packed into a trunk. The traditional offerings of bread and salt had passed her lips many a time as they’d picked their way north. While old maps of Ravka noted the Vy as being from Kiribirsk to Os Alta, a second wing of the Vy, known as the Yuzhnyy, ran from Dva Stolba to Os Alta, passing Keramzin as the major source of trade and travel for the southern expanse of Ravka.

The crossroads of the two Vy’s was directly west of Os Alta by a good thirty miles. Balakariev loomed before the procession, and Alina raised her hand. They halted, and Alina looked over her shoulder to regard the followers. Entire villages had vacated to follow their savior, and Alina tilted her head to the side to count the number of women, children, and older men. Normally, all of them wouldn’t be the kind to fight a war against the Darkling, but they’d followed her. The Apparat’s claws were in the hand of the Lantsov Pretender. His Soldat sol were hers to command. Indeed, Alina noted their brown robes emblazoned with her sunburst. She nodded to them, drew a line with her pinky finger.

Be covert. Be on the outlook for spies. 

The weeks of training, a scant eight, had turned them from a poor force to a crack fighting team that rivaled any of the top First Army regiments. The 22nd would be their only superior. Alina couldn’t wait to show them off to Nikolai. In those eight weeks, she and her soldiers had developed a sign language of finger symbols and codes that showed who was foe or friend. Her raised hand to pause the procession had in of itself been a symbol - keep the flock together. Amongst her followers, plain-clothes Soldats were herding the faithful into a tighter group.

Their leader, Vladim Ozwal reined in his steed and bowed his head, his hand clenched to his chest.

“Sankta, What do you require?”

“Look out for spies. Disperse some of your men to the town to ensure there are no threats. Send a rider to-” Alina removed her crown and melted one of the antler fronds off it. She tied the bit’s slender tip off with a green hair-ribbon and handed it to Vladim. “-to give this to the Fox-Saint and tell him that I will be awaiting him in the inn’s bed-room.”

Vladim bowed his head, splayed his fingers out and wheeled his horse. Her commands were barked out without a word spoken. The sign-language provided the perfect covert operative in case the Darkling’s spies had slipped amongst her faithful. Alina let a smile touch her lips, and urged her horse forward.

The procession wound its way down the hill and spilled into the town. Alina, reining in her horse, accepted glasses of tea, thick slices black bread and salt. The flour stores were starkly low, but someone had still offered up the loaf to feed her. Another, sadder smile reached her face. She let the sunlight fill the town in thanks, and swung off her horse. Her boots hit the cobblestones with a welcome thud and she reached for Olga’s arm. Even though she was at full strength, her legs wobbled a little.

“Yes, Sankta?”

“Get me the mayor.” 

Olga nodded, and disappeared into the crowd. The town square of Balakariev was war torn and attempting to present as anything but. It succeeded remarkably. Scrappy blue flags painted with crude gold suns waved from the windows, and the double-headed eagle flapped overhead in the town square. The mayor, a major civil servant of Nikolai’s father’s generation came over with Olga on his arm. The two of them were markedly similar, and Olga bowed deeply. 

“My grandfather, Mayor Ivan Alexandrevich of Balakariev is delighted to offer you the use of his town, Sankta Sol.” Olga spoke for her elder, and he pinched her thin cheek, chuckling. “Indeed, Sankta,” He bowed deeply, and spread his arms. “I wish for you to take my home. We have many rooms-”

Alina knew refusing an offer would be sin, but she held up her hand before the mayor could worsen the bulging vein in his temple. “Your offer is most appreciated, good sir, However might I suggest you offer that room to his majesty Prince Nikolai and his General of First Army, Dominik Vertov? I live amongst my flock.” Alina’s voice softened and she folded her hands behind her back. “I am not one much suited for living amongst four walls these days, however-” She needed to offer an olive branch.

“I would be more than happy to dine with you and your esteemed family, sir.”

Ivan’s eyes widened in joy and he kissed Alina’s hand profusely. She sighed inwardly and Olga giggled, mouthing; he’s old fashioned, forgive him, Moya Sankta.

She smiled, and waved her free hand. Once her other hand was free of Ivan’s lips - which reminded her faintly of Vasily’s - Alina found herself swept into a whirlwind tour of the town. As she passed houses, market-squares and fountains, people stopped in their work and fell to their knees. Alina regarded them all coolly and let the light from a passing lantern flare in a sunburst for a moment - a sign of good fortune. 

It was as they were walking amongst the town’s outskirts that Alina’s eyes settled on the town’s church and the line of homeless flowing out from the door. She gathered her skirts, and moved closer to the Mayor. 

“Are there nuns here?”

“Indeed, Sankta. Mainly followers of the Order of Sankta Anastasia.”

Alina nodded. “And what do they line up for?”

“Pottage and tea, Sankta,” Olga’s fingers edged to her pistol. If there was anywhere for the Darkling’s spies, in the former sniper’s eyes, it was here. Alina shot her a glare. Not Here. The hand stilled, and moved back to its place at Olga’s belt. 

“May I be allowed to see them? To offer blessings?”

The mayor’s eyes widened. “Y-you would?”

“Is it not good faith to give unto those who are suffering?” Alina asked, quoting from the Istorii Sankt’ya. 

The Mayor’s eyes almost bulged out of his head as Alina swept off in a trail of skirts, dust, and the smell of unwashed bodies. Weeks amongst her followers, who while suffering from the ruins of starvation, still possessed homes and incomes, no matter how pitiful. These people were devoid of anything. She came up to the simple wooden doors and knocked on them. Gasps went up from the congregation. 

“Is there a reason this isn’t open?” She asked a woman waiting in the queue who held a babe to her chest. The little thing was hollow-eyed with hunger, and the woman wasn’t much older than her twenty years. 

“The Head Sister says they have no pottage to give.”

“Nonsense.” Alina scoffed, refusing to think clearly. She went to rap her fist against the door again, and then her head twisted back as a bugle call rang through the air. The roar of hoofbeats was growing louder with every passing moment, and she stepped down the stairs of the church in shock as the full swell of First Army’s 28 regiments - cavalry and infantry - streamed into the town. At their head was Nikolai, his kepi was bent a little, the uniform he wore covered in smuts from riding hard for evident weeks. He swiveled in the saddle and dismounted from his steed with the speed of a seasoned soldier. 

He was running to her. Alina’s heart stuttered in her chest and she tore up the street to him, not caring for the dust or how her hair looked or her skirts. She threw her arms wide, and ran straight into Nikolai’s waiting grasp. The crushing feeling of the collision with him knocked the air from her lungs, and she gasped in hysteria as he spun her around.

“Alina!” He cried. “We didn’t see your banners! I thought you were still back at Keramzin!” He gasped. 

“We did a lot of hard travel over the past weeks.” Alina breathed. 

Tears were pouring down her cheeks, and she cupped his face in her hands. She smiled, feeling the ghost of stubble against her palm. He’d not been shaving. The exhaustion and burned skin of his face gave her an estimate of the amount of land and time he’d covered from Chernast to Balakariev. Judging by the regiments he’d gathered, he’d amassed quite a mass of men and munitions. There was another bugle blast, and the artillery surged into the town. At the head of the crush of soldiers was Dominik, yelling orders to men and women. Isaak was at his side, snapping at the non-coms to get the lower ranks into file and dig latrines for the massive tent-city that was about to come into existence.

She watched Ivan and Olga head back to the town square to welcome the First Army to their humble town, and she turned her gaze back to the waiting crowd. Nikolai looked up, and his eyes widened at the gathered group. He sniffed, noted the closed blue doors of the church and fished in his pocket for his pocket-watch. Flipping it open, he noted the time - a little after the noon bell.

“Why’re they not open? It’s вторник.”

“Apparently the head sister has no pottage to give.”

Nikolai scoffed. “Let’s see about that.” He slipped his arm through Alina’s and the two of them moved back to the church. Knocking on the massive door, silence emanated back. He made a face. “Not even a priest. Hmm.”

His fingers shifted through his pockets and he pulled out a pair of lockpicks. Bending over, he began to pick the lock while the waiting crowd shifted from foot to foot and fidget. They were evidently used to such depravity as waiting with the patience of divinity. This was evidently not something remiss to them.

With a satisfying click, the lock gave and Nikolai pushed the doors open. He stepped in, and something under-foot twinged. He stopped cold, and held up his hand. 

“Tripwire.”

Alina’s eyes widened as Nikolai dropped to his knees and blindly touched the wire in front of him. With the slightest touch of his finger, he felt the tension in the wire and grimaced.

“Get them into the square.” He could feel the whole church under him being boobytrapped with enough fabrikator-explosive to level the church. He rose to his foot, and was almost free of the church’s doors when one of the congregants closest to him leaped forward. Nikolai moved too slow to catch the man’s fall, and both fell to the ground, right on the wire.

Alina screamed as the explosion rippled outward. What she felt next was the feeling of being lifted off her feet and thrown into the air. Looking down, she saw black wings emerging from Nikolai’s back and the sight of the Merzost flowing over his wounded skin to heal the tissue.

She flew backwards, threw a glass-plated window, and the whole world spiraled into darkness.

When Alina came to, she found herself lying on a cot in what was certainly the mayor’s wife’s bedchamber. She coughed, the stench of plaster and crud in her lungs. She hacked, wheezed, and struggled upright. Steady hands pushed her down, and she fought back wildly, clawing at the air.

“Calm down! Alina, it’s me!” 

Alina’s eyes flew open properly and she settled on Nikolai’s hands on her shoulders. She stopped fighting and stared up at him in shock. Her ears were ringing, blood dripped from her nose. She sneezed, and then her stomach roiled.

“Here.” Nikolai shoved a china basin under her chin and she expelled her stomach contents, all while he pulled back her hair. “Shh. it’ll be alright.” His wings were still looming out from behind his back. She wondered if they were a permanent fixture.

“T-the tripwire?” She wheezed. Nikolai sighed.

“A booby trap. I don’t think whoever did it accounted for the unhoused needing their food-stores of the day.” He noted her wide eyes and rushed to soothe her. “We’ve fed them and made sure they have space in the camp to be tended to and live in. No one died.”

“Except for the man who pushed you onto the wire.” Alina’s voice dropped. She wanted to maim the man, to blind him with her holy light and make him live as an example of what it meant to harm the man she loved.

“He was desperate, Alina.” Nikolai murmured. “I believe he merely panicked.” 

“Or he tried to kill you.” She spat. 

“That is for the saints to determine, not us.” He murmured against her hair. She snorted, and growled;

“I am a saint. I say he meant to kill you.”

“If it soothes you, no one else was hurt. The explosion was a foolish, home-made attempt. I don’t even know if they meant to kill us or anyone. It explains the lack of a priest and nuns. That is unusual. Maybe they retreated to the nunnery for the summer.”

“And left those people to starve?” She whispered.

“People are unkind.” He examined the disaster of her braided coiffure and sighed. Reaching over, he grabbed her brush and began to run the bristles through the silvery strands. The ribbons were carefully unwound and removed, and as he ran the brush through her curls, Alina realized no one since Genya had done her hair. She’d stuck it in a braid during her exiles and in hiding, and now, she was here, in the mayor of Balakariev’s wife’s bedroom, getting her hair brushed by Nikolai Lantsov.

Her stomach churned and she groaned.

“Tell me it was something I ate.” 

“Not sure on that.” He reached for a silver plate and held up an apple slice. “Here. this’ll help settle your stomach.”

“How? It’s Summer.”

“A little help from the Little Palace greenhouses.”

Alina breathed. 

“The Darkling rules over the Little Palace.”

“He’s neglectful of one of the tenets of building relations with Otkazat’kya. Those in positions even as lowly as gardeners appreciate basic respect and decency. I’ve known the gardeners of both palaces since I could walk.” He slipped the slice between her open lips. She bit down and the tart sweetness caused tears to bud in her eyes.

“Have your soldiers ravaged the town’s stores?” She blinked at him. He rolled his eyes. “I am but a man, Alina. Not even I as king can cease a marauding army from painting the town red.” 

She laughed and then groaned again. 

“No more jokes, you ass.”

He snickered, and pressed a kiss to her temple. “I thought Grisha don’t get sick.”

“We don’t, but getting thrown through a window does leave more wounds than let on.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time I think of ways to dispose of my enemies.” 

“Your most powerful, most dangerous enemies,”

He winked, and traced a line down her cheek. “Mmm.” A dangerous glint entered his eyes and she sighed fondly. Fisting her fingers in his hair, she set the basin aside, and dragged him down into a deep kiss.

His tongue snuck out, pleading entrance, and she let him in without a moment’s hesitation. They’d slept together before this, starting from that night in Os Alta after he’d announced their engagement. It had been a hot night filled with sweaty sheets and sinful words that would burn lesser couples. 

This, however, was different. The kisses from Nikolai’s lips were hungrier, desperate. The monster within him was keening for her light, unafraid of it. She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the flex of muscle under her palm, and grinned.

“Mind taking that shirt off?”

“Only if I get to-” His lip brushed her earlobe and murmured; “Undress you.”

“Do the wings stay present?”

“Oh, yes. And the claws.” He tore off his gloves with his teeth and she gasped at the sight of his talons, imagining those onyx shards in her thighs.

“Bring it on, Moi Tsarsevich.” She purred, dragging him down with her. He hissed, his inky fangs finding purchase in the tender flesh of her neck. He sucked at the skin, leaving a shining, wet and reddened hickey. 

“That’s Moi Tsar, Sankta.” He growled. “And if you’re not good, I’ll have you begging for me to break you in half.”

“Oh, will you?” Alina teased, slipping a hand under his shirt, watching his eyes darken with that primal hunger. “Remind me, what did you say to me after my awakening?” She purred.

“‘I’ll not let you from my bed, even if you threaten to burn me to a pile of ash.’” Nikolai quoted, nipping her ear-tip with his teeth. 

“And are we staying true to that?” She examined the time on his pocket watch. “Or are you going to at least let me perform my services to my flock?”

Nikolai growled. “I much prefer your services here.”

Alina rolled her eyes and stroked his cheek.

“Then, you might want to get on your knees, Nikolasha.” Her grin turned devilish. 

“And start praying to your glorious Sankta to let you confess.”

The look he gave her was so hungry, so wanting, that Alina purred and shoved him back into the bed. To any listening maid or soldier, the noise the two made would send even the heartiest souls scampering for their prayer books, ears burning. The pent-up wanting of two years of no intimacy (they’d never figured out how to do it through the tether even while awake), made them into wild beasts that raked clawed hands across one another’s flesh and their releases to be violent, sweat-soaked and filled with the guttural cries of two people so deeply hungry for the other that the world and heavens would buckle under them.

As Alina snuggled into Nikolai’s arms, he kissed her soft hair and idly braided it under his fingers. At long last, the monster within him settled, and he splayed his wings out to cocoon them both in its inky embrace. She sleepily pressed her ring-clad hand to his chest and she nuzzled into his pec, murmuring something.

“What was that?” He yawned sleepily.

“I love you.”

Nikolai’s fingers stilled in braiding her hair, and a smile split his face in two. 

“You know, you’ve never said that to me once.”

She reached for a pillow to hit him with, but the wing encircling her trapped her movements. He chuckled at her glare. “Don’t think of burning me. Not after that sinful tongue of mine-”

Alina buried her face in her hands and groaned. “There’s people listening!”

“Let them. You deserve to be worshiped.” He winked at her angry look and ran a thumb down her cheek. “And, you know you loved it.” 

His lips pressed feathery kisses to the tip of her nose, her eyelids and lips in quick succession, like tiny star bursts on the canvas of her face. She giggled, and snuggled closer to him. “Don’t…” she yawned. “Let go of me.”

“No such chance, Moya Sol.”

She smiled, and threw an arm over his stomach, then let out a loud snore and nestled closer. Nikolai stifled a laugh and rolled onto his side, bringing her closer to him so they could spoon. He kissed her neck and nestled his face into the crook of it. 

They both slept easy and for a long, long time. When they woke, a whole day had passed. With their rising, came plans to formulate an attack against the Darkling. However, these were not the half-baked plans of Nikolai and Alina in the attack on the Grand Palace 4 summers ago, but a plan that would work without fail, having no gaps for which the Darkling to poke his fingers into.

It would be perfect, it would work, and no more casualties than the ones naming towns from Os Alta to the Fold would be added. No more men would be cut down by the Volcra, no more women and children made widows and fatherless. 

The Sun Saint had her fox, and the Fox had his queen once more with him. All was right in the world, and all would be so. Even if things went poorly - which they would not - all would be well, and the hell of the Darkling’s rule would end not with a whimper, but a bang.

They would meet him where all of it began - at the Making of the Heart of the World, and from there, send the bastard son of a bitch back to where he truly belonged - hell. And with him would go all of his monstrous kith and kin.

End of chapter 9.

[rettabaleno]

parole crociale: un tipo di colla

io e te abbiamo due corpi diversi, due gusti, quattro occhi, venti dita della mano e venti dei piedi, dieci o dodici paure, un centinaio di punti deboli, abbiamo due teste, un’infinità di pensieri, qualche miliardo di neuroni (di più io), un numero troppo vasto e confuso di sogni. soprattutto abbiamo due origini, lingue, grammatiche del comportamento e delle emozioni diverse, abbiamo due codici della realtà, abbiamo due esperienze passate. a te non piacciono i latticini, la pasta, il ragù, la pizza e la gastronomia italiana in toto; a me non piacciono le sitcom libanesi e le profumazioni troppo dolci e intense, non mi piacciono i regali materiali e il fatto che nella tua famiglia nessuno festeggi il compleanno; a te non piacciono le escursioni in alta quota e i rifugi montani dove si mangia la polenta (perché non ti piace la polenta), non ti piacciono i concerti, le poesie, i musei e gli eventi culturali; a me non piace che non ti piaccia un cazzo di quello che piace a me; tu non cogli l’ironia piemontese e io non capisco i meme arabi su Trump, sul basket, sull’hummus e poi tutte le donne che segui sui social sono fashion blogger rifatte, dimmi che ci azzecco io con queste, io che non ho tette e sono un metro e sessanta di parole forbite e ricerca esistenziale?

eppure, viviamo da un anno e cinque mesi nella stessa casa, con le pareti bianche e i quadri che abbiamo appeso insieme anche se storti, ogni sera prepariamo insieme la cena e parliamo di Mahmood, del nonno Sandro, di Roberto, di Eleonora, parliamo della vecchia mansarda in via Nizza perché abbiamo già fatto un trasloco con tanto di camion e pacchi DHL e parliamo del lavoro, tu mi hai vista cambiare quattro lavori e sostenuta ogni qualvolta lo stronzo di turno voleva pagarmi meno di quanto era stato contrattato, mi hai portata da un avvocato e me li hai fatti denunciare tutti (questi pezzi di merda), e io ti ho visto crescere sempre di più con la tua partita iva e hai fatto investimenti da così tanti zeri che neppure so immaginarli, poi siamo inseparabili e se siamo lontani è perché io vado in ufficio o perché tu vai a Milano, ma poi in ufficio e a Milano io parlo di te e tu parli di me e ci sentiamo. oggi sei andato tu al mercato e la signora del pesce ti ha chiesto dove fossi io: chissà cosa le hai detto però, che bastarda, non ti ha fatto neppure lo sconto.

soluzione: amore

[sefarad-haami]

Una formación de seis policías judíos en el gueto de Varsovia, julio de 1942

🇪🇸 La policía judía del gueto de Varsovia fue creada al mismo tiempo que el gueto y estaba compuesta por jóvenes bien educados, principalmente abogados y personas de clase alta. Al comienzo, la policía se encargaba del tráfico, la limpieza y el orden en el gueto, pero en 1941 tuvo que suministrar trabajadores forzados a las autoridades alemanas. En julio de 1942, cuando comenzaron las deportaciones masivas de judíos de Varsovia a Treblinka, la policía judía recibió la orden de reunir a los judíos para estas deportaciones. A los policías judíos se les prometió inmunidad para ellos y sus familias, y algunos creyeron que al cumplir con estas órdenes, estaban ayudando a salvar vidas judías. Sin embargo, al participar en las redadas, se convirtieron en el grupo más odiado dentro del gueto. A medida que las deportaciones continuaban, los policías judíos se dieron cuenta de que su propio destino también era incierto y empezaron a desertar, buscar empleo en los talleres del gueto o esconderse. En respuesta, los alemanes aplicaron medidas más duras, amenazando con arrestar a sus familias si no cumplían con la cuota diaria de deportados. El 21 de septiembre de 1942, durante Yom Kipur, la mayoría de la policía judía y sus familias fueron deportados a Treblinka, terminando así las deportaciones masivas en Varsovia.

🇺🇸 The Jewish police of the Warsaw ghetto were established simultaneously with the ghetto itself and were comprised of well-educated young people, mostly lawyers and individuals from the upper class. Initially, the police were responsible for traffic control, sanitation, and maintaining order within the ghetto, but in 1941, they were tasked with providing forced laborers to the German authorities. In July 1942, when the mass deportations of Jews from Warsaw to Treblinka began, the Jewish police were ordered to gather Jews for these deportations. The Jewish police were promised immunity for themselves and their families, and some believed that by following orders, they were helping to save Jewish lives. However, their participation in the raids made them the most hated group within the ghetto. As the deportations continued, the Jewish police realized that their own fate was uncertain, and they began to desert, seek employment in the ghetto's workshops, or go into hiding. In response, the Germans took harsher measures, threatening to arrest their families if they didn't meet the daily deportation quota. On September 21, 1942, during Yom Kippur, the majority of the Jewish police and their families were deported to Treblinka, marking the end of the mass deportations in Warsaw.

[kneedeepincynade]

B..but gommunism is when no science! Pageru said so!

The post is machine translated

Translation is at the bottom

The collective is on telegram

⚠️ NUOVO PRIMATO INGEGNERISTICO CINESE NELL'ENERGIA PULITA | È ENTRATA IN FUNZIONA LA PRIMA TURBINA EOLICA OFFSHORE DA 16MEGAWATT AL MONDO 😉 ⚠️

🇪🇺 Nel mentre l'Occidente, ipocritamente, parla di ecologismo, ma non investe realmente in produzione di energia idroelettrica, solare ed eolica, la Cina continua a promuovere la Modernizzazione caratterizzata dall'Armonia tra l'uomo e la Natura, mantiene i suoi primati nel settore e ne raggiunge di nuovi 😍

😘 L'Armonia tra l'uomo e la Natura e la Coesistenza Armoniosa differiscono completamente, sia nella retorica che nell'essenza, dal fasullo ambientalismo Occidentale, come spiegato qui:

🍀 能源危机扒开欧洲环保主义的虚伪外衣 | "La crisi energetica strappa via il mantello ipocrita dell'ambientalismo europeo" 🤧

🍀 促进人与自然和谐共生 | "Promuovere la convivenza armoniosa tra uomo e Natura" 👂🙂🦻

🇨🇳 Il 18/07, il Presidente Xi Jinping, insieme ai membri del 20° Comitato Permanente dell'Ufficio Politico del CPC, ha tenuto una riunione sul tema della costruzione di una "Bella Cina", per promuovere l'edificazione di un Grande Paese Socialista Moderno sotto ogni aspetto e il raggiungimento del Grande Ringiovanimento della Nazione Cinese. 😍

⭐️ La Cina, ha osservato il Presidente, dovrebbe sostenere una Filosofia di Sviluppo di Alta Qualità, caratterizzata dalla Coesistenza Armoniosa tra l'uomo e la Natura, basata su una Prospettiva Scientifica dello Sviluppo 🚩

⭐️ «Il Partito Comunista Cinese deve promuovere il progresso economico, politico, culturale e sociale a tutto tondo, [...] e trovare un equilibrio tra i Rapporti di Produzione e le Forze Produttive, e tra la sovrastruttura e la base economica. [...] Deve perseguire uno sviluppo che promuova la produzione, la prosperità e un ecosistema sano, costruire una società rispetta delle risorse e dell'ambiente», secondo una Filosofia di Sviluppo costruita sul Principio "以人为本"❤️❤️

🇨🇳 L'impegno della Cina nella protezione ambientale e nella produzione di energia pulita è incrollabile, ma il percorso verso gli obiettivi, nonché il modo, il ritmo e l'intensità degli sforzi per raggiungere gli obiettivi prefissi devono essere determinati dalla Cina stessa, non da forze esterne, ha sottolineato il Presidente Xi Jinping ⭐️

💬 «Mantenere i cieli blu, le acque limpide e le terre pulite», ha dichiarato Xi Jinping 🇨🇳

🤔 Anche perché, dove sono i grandi successi dell'Occidente in questo settore? Invece di focalizzarsi su valori assoluti, atti ad attaccare Cina e India, i due Paesi più popolosi sul Pianeta, bisognerebbe ragionare osservando i valori delle emissioni PRO CAPITE 😡

🇺🇸 L'americano medio, negli USA, è responsabile per la produzione di 14.4 tonnellate di CO2 a PERSONA (❗️), mentre il cittadino Cinese medio ne produce 7.1, meno della metà! Questo cosa significa? Che il cittadino USA inquina molto più del singolo cittadino Cinese, e la popolazione USA è costituita da 334,233,854 persone, mentre quella Cinese da 1,425,671,352 ❗️

🤔 Peggio degli USA? Un altro Paese Occidentale, il Canada (15.2) - persino il Tedesco medio produce più emissioni del cittadino Cinese medio. Basta ipocrisia! 😡

💨 In questi giorni, la prima turbina eolica da 16MW al MONDO (ripeto, al MONDO) è entrata in funzione nella Provincia del Fujian, ed è stata collegata alla rete per la produzione di energia ieri, 19/07, segnando un ulteriore sviluppo e un ulteriore primato della Cina nella produzione di apparecchiature eoliche e di generazione di energia pulita 🥇

📊 In condizioni normali, un giro della turbina eolica può generare 34,2 kWh di elettricità, fino a 66 milioni di kWh all'anno. Alla fine del 2022, la capacità installata cumulativa della Cina dell'energica eolica è stata di 30,51GW, pari al 53% della quota globale 😍

🧾 Secondo le statistiche del GWEC, che si occupa di energia eolica, la Cina è il leader mondiale nella produzione di energia eolica, e detiene anche il primato nell'Energia Solare e Idroelettrica ☀️

🇪🇺 L'UE, considerando tutti i 27 Paesi membri, non raggiunge minimamente la capacità eolica della Cina ♨️

🌸 Iscriviti 👉 @collettivoshaoshan

⚠️ NEW CHINESE ENGINEERING RECORD IN CLEAN ENERGY | THE WORLD'S FIRST 16MEGAWATT OFFSHORE WIND TURBINE HAS BEEN OPERATIONAL 😉 ⚠️

🇪🇺 While the West, hypocritically, talks about ecologism, but does not really invest in the production of hydroelectric, solar and wind energy, China continues to promote Modernization characterized by Harmony between man and Nature, maintains its primates in the sector and reaches new ones 😍

😘 The Harmony between man and Nature and Harmonious Coexistence differ completely, both in rhetoric and in essence, from the bogus Western environmentalism, as explained here:

🍀 能源危机扒开欧洲环保主义的虚伪外衣 | "The energy crisis strips away the hypocritical cloak of European environmentalism" 🤧

🍀 促进人与自然和谐共生 | "Promoting harmonious coexistence between man and Nature"

🇨🇳 On 18/07, President Xi Jinping, together with members of the 20th Standing Committee of the CPC Political Bureau, held a meeting on the theme of building a "Beautiful China", to promote the building of a Great Modern Socialist Country in every respect and the achievement of the Great Rejuvenation of the Chinese Nation. 😍

⭐️ China, noted the President should uphold a High Quality Development Philosophy, characterized by the Harmonious Coexistence of Man and Nature, based on a Scientific Perspective of Development 🚩

⭐️ ′′ The Communist Party of China must promote all-round economic, political, cultural and social progress, [...] and find a balance between Production Ratios and Productive Forces, and between the superstructure and the economic base. [...] It must pursue a development that promotes production, prosperity and a healthy ecosystem, build a society that respects resources and the environment», according to a Development Philosophy built on the Principle "以人为本"❤️❤️

🇨🇳 China's commitment to environmental protection and clean energy production is unwavering, but the path to the goals, as well as the manner, pace and intensity of efforts to achieve the set goals must be determined by China itself, not by external forces, President Xi Jinping stressed ⭐️

💬 "Keep blue skies, clear waters and clean lands," said Xi Jinping 🇨🇳

🤔 Also because, where are the great successes of the West in this area? Instead of focusing on absolute values, capable of attacking China and India, the two most populous countries on the planet, we should reason by observing the values ​​of PER CAPITA emissions 😡

🇺🇸 The average American in the USA is responsible for producing 14.4 tons of CO2 per PERSON (❗️), while the average Chinese citizen produces 7.1, less than half! What does this mean? That the US citizen pollutes much more than the single Chinese citizen, and the US population is made up of 334,233,854 people, while the Chinese one is 1,425,671,352 ❗️

🤔 Worse than USA? Another Western country, Canada (15.2) - even the average German produces more emissions than the average Chinese citizen. Enough hypocrisy! 😡

💨 These days, the first 16MW wind turbine in the WORLD (I repeat, in the WORLD) went into operation in Fujian Province, and was connected to the grid for power generation yesterday, 19/07, marking further development and further leadership of China in the production of wind power equipment and clean energy generation 🥇

📊 Under normal conditions, one revolution of the wind turbine can generate 34.2 kWh of electricity, up to 66 million kWh per year. At the end of 2022, China's cumulative installed capacity of wind power was 30.51GW, accounting for 53% of the global share 😍

🧾 According to GWEC statistics, which deals with wind energy, China is the world leader in wind energy production, and also holds the record in solar and hydroelectric energy ☀️

🇪🇺 The EU, considering all 27 member countries, does not reach China's wind capacity in the slightest ♨️

🌸 Subscribe 👉 @collettivoshaoshan

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Il Tempo di Oggi martedì, 20 agosto 2024

[persa-tra-i-miei-pensieri]

1430 punti (882 senza handicap) e sono arrivata penultima (11°) a questo torneo primavera di bowling ma posso comunque farmi un pat pat sulla spalla e dirmi brava per vari motivi:

con il riporto di 428 birilli ho fatto i seguenti punteggi: 153, 136, 160, 132, 145, 156 per una media di 147

prima di tutto le condizioni di salute non buone un raffreddore terribile che mi ha costretta ieri a non partecipare al rientro con cui avrei potuto provare ad alzare il riporto dei birilli abbattuti durante le qualificazioni (sono riuscita comunque a qualificarmi su 24 partecipanti) e oggi per riuscire a giocare la finale sono stata tutto il giorno sotto le coperte e mi sono fatta due aerosol e ho ridotto l'uso dello spray per il naso con cui mi stavo quasi avvelenando ieri per le dosi esagerate.

ho chiuso uno split piuttosto complicato e mi hanno fatto i complimenti per quella chiusura quindi sono felice così

la differenza di birilli con gli altri finalisti non è nemmeno tanto alta (almeno con alcuni) perché ho fatto 22 birilli in più rispetto all'ultimo, mentre con il 10° ho solo un birillo di differenza, con il 9° solo 12 birilli, con l'8° 27 birilli, con il 7° 49 birilli e da qui in poi inizio ad allontanarmi dagli altri finalisti perché con il 6° 50 birilli, con il 5° 55 birilli, con il 4° 59 birilli, con il podio sono distantissima infatti dal 3° posto sono distante di 121, con il 2° di 157 e con il 1° classificato di addirittura 218 birilli.

Vabbè mi consolo guardando la luna piena che splende nel cielo e sventolando la bustarella del premio (25€ con cui non recupero nemmeno la quota che è servita per partecipare al torneo ma shhh fa niente XD) 🎳💸🌕🤧

[gregor-samsung]

“ Una volta Murray mi aveva detto di avere un'infatuazione per lei: la sua goffaggine fisica secondo lui rappresentava il segno di un intelligenza in sviluppo quasi troppo rapido. Credevo di capire che cosa intendesse: Winnie procedeva a gomitate e strattoni nel mondo circostante, a volte superandolo. - Non so che rapporto personale tu abbia con quella sostanza, - disse, - ma credo che sia un errore perdere il senso della morte, persino la paura. La morte non costituisce proprio il limite di cui abbiamo bisogno? Non ti sembra che dia una consistenza preziosa alla vita, un senso di chiarezza? Bisogna chiedere a se stessi se tutto ciò che si fa in questa vita avrebbe le stesse caratteristiche di bellezza e significanza senza la consapevolezza che si tende a una linea finale, a un confine, a un limite. Guardai la luce inerpicarsi nelle arrotondate sommità delle nuvole di alta quota. Chloralit, Velamint, Freedent. - La gente pensa che io sia stramba, - continuò. - E certamente ho una teoria stramba circa la paura umana. Immagina te stesso, Jack, uomo tutto casa e famiglia, persona sedentaria, che si trova improvvisamente a camminare nel folto di una foresta. Con la coda dell'occhio cogli qualcosa. Prima di avere ulteriori informazioni, sai che si tratta di qualcosa di molto grosso, che non trova posto nel tuo normale schema di riferimento. Un difetto nel quadro del mondo. Uno di voi due non dovrebbe essere lì. Poi la suddetta cosa diventa pienamente visibile. È un grizzly, enorme, di un bruno lucente, barcolla, cola bava dalle zanne scoperte. Tu, Jack non hai mai visto un animale grosso nella foresta. La visione di questo grizzly ti risulta così elettrizzantemente strana da darti un senso rinnovato di te stesso, un nuova consapevolezza dell'io nei termini di una situazione unica e orripilante. Vedi te stesso in un modo nuovo e intenso. Ti riscopri. Ti vedi in piena luce nell'imminenza di venire smembrato. La belva, retta sulle zampe posteriori, ti ha reso capace di vedere come sei veramente come per la prima volta, fuori dall'ambiente famigliare, solo, separato, integro. La definizione che diamo di questo complesso procedimento è: paura. - La paura è autocoscienza portata a un livello più elevato. - Esatto, Jack. - E la morte? - chiesi. - L'io, l'io, l'io. Se la morte potesse essere vista come un fatto meno strano e privo di riferimenti, il tuo senso dell'io in rapporto con essa diminuirebbe, e con esso anche la paura. “

Don DeLillo, Rumore bianco, traduzione di Mario Biondi, Einaudi (collana ET Scrittori), 2023²⁰; pp. 272-273.

[Edizione originale: White Noise, Viking Press, NYC, 1985]

[klimt7]

Influencer? Ma de che? De cosa?

Ma chi sono Fedez e Chiara Ferragni, se non dei personaggi finti? Persone senza alcuna verità, senza genuinità, che propagandano solo il loro vuoto cosmico. Ovvero ogni mezzo è lecito, pur di raggiundere un unico fine: fare soldi, soldi, soldi, soldi. Facendosi beffa della fiducia della gente. Utilizzando perfino lo specchietto per le allodole che sono le iniziative di beneficienza!!

Ovvero quando l'orrido utilizza i buoni sentimenti delle persone per "farci la cresta"

Un incontro di ego

Sulle parole di Meloni contro l’influencer, Selvaggia Lucarelli dice che la premier ha intercettato un umore diffuso. Perché nell’opinione pubblica «c’è insofferenza verso questa ostentazione continua – di case da ricchi e abbigliamento da migliaia di euro – sbandierata con un’arroganza che denota mancanza di empatia nei confronti del prossimo».

Mentre quello tra Fedez e Ferragni «è stato un incontro di anime e di ego e mi pare che non ci sia uno dei due che ogni tanto fa fare un passo indietro all’altro. Sono lanciati entrambi in una corsa sfrenata senza mai guardarsi indietro e chiedersi se hanno sbagliato qualcosa». Intanto, mentre la tuta Laneus che indossava l’influencer nel video di scuse finisce sold out, si scopre che nonostante le comunicazioni di Balocco all’Antitrust in realtà l’operazione ha fatto guadagnare all’azienda 650 mila euro. Che potrebbero diventare 230 mila in caso di pagamento della sanzione.

La perdita di followers

Intanto La Verità parla oggi dei follower di Ferragni su Instagram. Dal 14 al 20 dicembre l’influencer ne ha persi 76.512. Un’inezia rispetto ai quasi trenta milioni che la seguono. Ma c’è dell’altro. Intanto perché è la perdita maggiore mai registrata dall’account. E nell’ultimo anno i follower sono cresciuti del 4,4% mentre per quel tipo di account la crescita media ogni dodici mesi è dell’11,4%. In più, secondo Hype Auditor il 23,7% degli account sono «sospetti». Il 18,9% è composto da account con più di 1500 following. Il 4,8% sono invece bot o persone che utilizzano servizi specifici per l’acquisto di “mi piace”, commenti e followers. Secondo InsightIQ la quota di account sospetti è più alta. E secondo il quotidiano, facendo una media tra le rilevazioni si può affermare che otto milioni di follower di Ferragni sono «profili poco chiari».

Ma ci rendiamo conto che questo è un castello costruito sul nulla? Ma quale imprenditrice? Ma quale beneficienza?

Comportamenti cinici e volgari solo per far quattrini. Vendersi l'anima senza avere un minimo di dignità, di coscienza, di umiltà.

Troppo facile chiedere scusa dopo aver reiterato certe condotte inamissibili per anni e anni. Costruire una narrazione del tutto fuorviante di sè e della propria persona.

E cavarsela con un semplice:

C'è stato un errore di comunicazione!

E POI SCOPRIRE CHE PURE I MILLANTATI 30 MILIONI DI FOLLOWERS sono l'ennesima bugia, l'ennesimo inganno, un ulteriore abuso della credulità popolare.

Perchè è troppp facile nell'attuale mondo digitale millantare follower inesistenti a cui non corrispondono persone reali ma account del tutto fasulli che si ha avuto l'accortezza di comprare per tempo.

A che scopo? Per apparire ancora più influenti di quel che si è. Insomma la stessa intelligenza del pavone che mostra la ruota solo per impressionare chi se lo ritrova davanti!

Ma noi abbiamo bisogno di tutto questo mondo finto e balordo?

Ci serve davvero avere una realtà popolata e infestata da questo tipo di parassiti in cerca di una notorietà fasulla?

La verità è che essere dei miserabili, oggi confina davvero con il voler fare l'influencer

🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑🤑 ?

Forse sarete anche pieni di soldi ma restate dei miserabili come persone.

E questo fa tutta la differenza del mondo

🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

.

[popolodipekino]

mattinale

Discesero fino alla porta del borgo. Passato l'archivolto, la strada prese a dilungarsi verso l'Appia: andò tra uliveti appena argentati dall'alba e proni scheltri di viti nelle vigne. Poi rigirava, come sola, sopra le bagnate spalle del monte. Al primo tornante rigirò pure la veduta. Il Pestalozzi levò il capo un attimo, spense il motore, frenò, fermò la corsa, con una certa cautela: sostò due minuti, da strologare il mattino. Era l'alba, e più. Le vette dell'Algido, dei Carseolani e dei Velini inopinatamente presenti, grigie. Magia repentina del Soratte, come una rocca di piombo, di cenere. Di là dai gioghi di Sabina, per bocchette e portelli che interrompessero la lineatura del crinale, il rivivere del cielo si palesava lontanamente in sottili strisce di porpora e più remoti ed affocati e splendori, di solfo giallo, di vermiglione: strane lacche: nobili riverberi, come da un crogiuolo del profondo. Spentasi la tramontana il giorno innanzi, ecco, ad alternare gli auspici, la bava calda, sulla pelle e sul viso, l'alito gratuito e omai cadente d'una strapazzata di scirocco. Di là, da dietro a Tivoli e a Càrsoli, flottiglie di nubi orizzontali tutte arricciolate di cirri, con falsi-fiocchi di zafferano, s'avventavano l'una dopo l'altra a battaglia, filavano gioiosamente a sfrangiarsi: indove? dove? chissà! ma di certo indò l'ammiraglio loro le comandava a farsi fottere, come noi il nostro, con tutti i velaccini in tiro nel vento. Labili, cangevoli fuste, bordeggiavano a quota alta e irreale, in quella specie di sogno capovolto che è il nostro percepire, dopo il risveglio ad alba, bordeggiavano la scogliera cinerina delle montagne degli Equi, la nudità dealbata del Velino, antemurale della Marsica. da C.E. Gadda, Quer pasticciaccio brutto de via Merulana

(poi ditemi che il pasticciaccio è pesante. sim, é verdade, la lettura non è scorrevolissima, però, per zeus, ci si trovano dentro certe chicche...)