scratch away at my first Christmas spent. Fall on a Saturday, with great irony: the Child Jesus not only do I will give vacation days, but in fact shirk my free time a precious weekend. Probably because I was bad.
My crib is actually quite blasphemous: a bottle of Coca-Cola in glass acts as Madonna, complete with a veil from a blue bag for recycling, the corkscrew has become St. Joseph, accompanied by a straw folding mo a stick, a champagne cork wrapped in gold paper, then, plays the blond Child. As pastors I tossed a few small wooden sculptures depicting dwarfs and fishermen, and smurf a cyclist, all on a dry-counter Kilkenny. Some call my
brilliant work, other sacrilegious, I simply "pop-trash." We post pictures, but I do not have a digital camera. Take a hint as well. About
gifts, this year I will not any. And if the guilt already gripped me in the past, now that I imagine even a paycheck! Anti-capitalist movement or innate laziness and indifference? For posterity will judge.
continues to snow. There's no mistletoe, no-think-limonarcisi the creature from below without taking anything away from my family's Christmas dinner, always full of good food, good wine and excellent company, I fear that this will be one of the worst Christmas of my life . Not the worst ever (there was a time when I tried to compose more songs to suffer), but probably from the podium.
Or life will take me by surprise again, like that time in 2004 when two friends of mine invented for me the worst cocktail of history and I sent him down in one breath.
0 comments:
Post a Comment