angry Angie

Once upon a story, there was a young lady called Angie who was angry from sunrise to midnight, grinding her teeth and stomping her feet, but then the midnight would come and she would suavely sing to the stars and the night dew, until the sun would rise again to make her fists clench.

the point is,

a man who liked to always point his point out, at a certain point pointed his finger at the wrong person who pointed a gun at him and made his pointed head vanish in a thousand tiny points.

un signore a cui piaceva sempre mettere i puntini sulle i, a un certo punto puntò il dito, per l’appunto, contro la persona sbagliata, che puntò un fucile contro di lui e fece sparire la sua testa in mille piccoli punti.

the corners shop

il venditore di angoli spese tutto il giorno tagliando angoli su misura per una noiosa stanza ovale nella casa del governatore, una serie di angoli a 360 gradi per gli studenti della classe quinta, e l’angolo tra Elms Street e Poplars Street. 

the owner of the Corners Shop spent the day cutting bespoke corners for the oval room in the governor’s villa, a set of 360-degrees corners for the students of the fifth year, and the corner between Elms Str. and Poplars Str.

all about the blues

a man dressed in turquoise was struggling to take a picture of his ultramarine labrador licking the cerulean water of a lonely sea.

l’uomo dal completo turchese stava affannosamente tentando di catturare una posa del suo labrador oltremare che leccava l’acqua cerulea di un mare introverso.



there was once a little Robert
who cracked his thin black pen
and all the ink poured on the ruled pages
and stank the notepad up
of inkstink

and the inkstink travelled
and stank the whole class up
and travelled
and invaded the whole school
and travelled
and travelled
until the whole world was stinking of inkstink

til little Robert ripped the page
that stank of inkstink
to make a paperboat