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.... ANOTHER YEAR IN HOSTAGE!

back like every year the feast of the patron in Piano di Sorrento and unfortunately returned without its main character, Michael the Archangel, whose statua per il nono anno consecutivo rimane chiusa tra le quattro mura della Basilica ostaggio di un sacerdote e di un vescovo per giunta di un'altra diocesi. Prigioniero contro la volontà della stragrande maggioranza dei carottesi, prigioniero di menzogne quali la presunta tradizione dell'uscita venticinquennale, menzogna costruita contando sulla poca memoria dei fedeli e con noi abbiamo già smontato l'anno scorso.

Dopo la raccolta di firme dell'anno scorso ci siamo presi un anno di pausa ma la battaglia per liberare l'Arcangelo e ben lungi dall'essere conclusa, dobbiamo ottenere ciò che ci è stato tolto, vogliamo che San Michele esca per le nostre strade al più presto. Soprattutto vogliamo che la frequenza della processione is four, maximum five years.
As the bishops of the diocese a year ago we called we are the ones who want to bring down the statues, only that we include almost all Carottes and though the church, according to the prelate in question is a monarchy, we are confident that can not remain deaf to the calls for a long time to be more pressing.

PS: I leave you with a little provocation, but are you sure that is the true patron Saint Michael's plan? That is, that has all the benefits of a Patron Saint?

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NATIONAL MOURNING WITH BUTTS ....

Today, September 21, 2009, the whole of Italy is in mourning for the dead in six paracadusti mission, the whole of Italy with the exception Piano di Sorrento. Yes, while all of Italy cries Plan has also seen fit to shoot the stupid barrel of the novena to St. Michael. You read that right, despite mourning the barrels are echoed both in the early morning and at noon. E 'baffling that nobody thought of that committee and is even more amazing that Don Pasquale if you have forgotten, it will say that maybe he was not, and when the first barrels exploded it was too late to stop it. Okay, but this may 'apply to the barrels not for the 8 to noon!! In our little town has experienced a surreal moment when, while on the screen ran images of pain and introspection to make a fitting background were gli stupidi ed, in questo caso più che mai, odiosi botti. Mi chiedo dove fosse don Pasquale, a cosa stesse pensando, possibile che dalle 8, quando ha ascoltato le prime esplosioni, non abbia avuto il tempo di chiamare i responsabili del comitato per impedire questo vergognoso comportamento.

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LORD OF WAR (Bob Dylan)

Venite padroni della guerra
Voi che costruite i grossi cannoni
Voi che costruite gli aeroplani di morte
Voi che costruite tutte le bombe
Voi che vi nascondete dietro ai muri
Voi che vi nascondete dietro alle scrivanie
Voglio solo che sappiate
Che posso vedere attraverso le vostre maschere
Voi che non avete mai fatto nulla
Se non costruire per distruggere
Voi giocate con il
my world Like it's your little toy
You put a gun in my hand And you hide

from my eyes And you turn and run away
When the fast bullets fly Like Judas of old

You lie and deceive
A world war can be won You want me to believe

But I see through your eyes And I see

through your brain Like I see through the water flowing down the drain

You load the weapons
What others have to shoot
And then you sit and watch While the death toll
salt
And you hide in your mansions While

Young blood flowing from their bodies
and is buried in the mud You

caused the worst fear That can never spread
Fear to bring children in this world

threatened Since my baby unborn and unnamed

You
not worth the blood that flows in your veins

What do I know when to talk is not my turn
will say that I'm young
will say that I do not know enough
But there's one thing I know
Though I'm younger than you That even Jesus does not forgive
What

you do Let me ask you
Your money is worth so much I will buy forgiveness

thought you might find

I think that when death That will require a toll
all the money you have accumulated will not
to buy back your soul And I hope you die

And your death will soon follow your casket


A pale afternoon And watch as you fall down in

pit And I'll be on your grave
Until I'm sure you're dead.
(Bob Dylan)

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