Writer

dattilo

I am

Antonio Dragossido

No matter if is a short story or a screenwriting, no matter if is a poetry or a book, no matter if is a post on my blog or a representation on the stage, because I can't stop to write.

"I am an AC power writer

trying to order shapeless words

in sequences of titillating hunger;

when my reader can be nourished

and twinkle like fireflies stars,

When he had enough of my art

can discover his emotions"

Antonio Gargiulo by www.dragossido.com

The hand of a man meets a woman

When the hand of a man
meets the roundness of a woman,
It is no longer the hand, but is transformed
in silk of the same silk,
in gold of the same gold,
in sweetness in the same sweetness,
in precious stones of the same preciousness...
And that moment is so sublime
that no words can define it,
no poetry can be enough
and even a whole encyclopedia
can define the heavenly feeling
of that precise moment...
of that precise instant...
in which the hand touches the woman.
And it is melting, it is lightning,
is flickering flames lit,
that frenetic dance,
flares up and become entangled.

Antonio Gargiulo by www.dragossido.com

My books

Copertina amore = love

Last contents

  • I am back, writer of nothing, trying to write something

    English

    "I am an AC power writer

    trying to order shapeless words

    in sequences of titillating hunger;

    when my reader can be nourished

    and twinkle like fireflies stars,

    When he had enough of my art

    can discover his emotions "

    Antonio Gargiulo

    I am back to my website and blog, a website that two years ago, he turned twenty, a site done before in html, then in php plus blog into splinder and now finally with drupal in one place. Last year I tried to divide by topic but I can not separate things.

    I'm a writer, poet, screenwriter, playwright, stage director and moviemaker director; I am a technical sound and lighting and DJ; I am the developer of websites, servers, NAS and network networks; I am trained in business management, economics, human resource management, guest relations and public relations; I attended master's degree in communications, market research, marketing on paper and on the web .... I am this and much more ...

    BUT I AM NOTHING OF ALL THAT!

    I started writing for fun when I was 11 for girls of which I fell in love and on the diaries of my classmates until, it was my classmate and good friend that prompted me to write something important and so in 1993 I began my first book.

    It's 23 years now, and I find myself with more than 350 blog posts, 4 books, 2 short stories, several national and international awards, a subject and a script ready to be staged, and almost half a wardrobe full of notes, phrases, research and scripts and other half wardrobe of disks and cd shows.

    MY FAULT

    My worst fault is that maybe I'm a very curious person, who watches every facet of the world around me, I read a lot, but not the classic book, because only sometime I go to comb through the library. I also read the mood and character of the people, their movements, their attitudes and I can understand soon if a person is sick. I get distracted more often even when I search something, reading two or three other things that have nothing in common what I'm really searching. I cherish my mind with a voracity that feeds the greed itself to become even more hungry for knowledge.

    And so, while all the others are focused on one thing and those who started after me to write has already reached great results, I'm still standing there at the start ... as in the game of Monopoly i am still with the dice in hand ... just i am like that from the last 23 years.

    WHAT I REALLY WANT

    When I started writing, I had been a little affected by reading Jules Verne and Isaac Asimov. Millions of people took to Professor Otto and his grandson Alex Lidenbrook at the center of the earth or were trapped under the ice and the octopus in Captain Nemo's company. I wanted with my writing describe and to do things to the characters and, in fact then, I also wrote my subject and my script ... I always want to pick up the others on stage and teach them the best of what to do, how to move, what to say ... as a director.

    Of course I could publish marketing books, php, drupal, html, SEO, blogs, sites, business management, economics, and more tomorrow, but even if the technologies change, the rules were those of first advertisements in the newspapers and then I let others do, to enjoy their moment of glory. I have no delusions of leadership or leading syndrome or stage to give and give lectures; I write to get it done at other actor on stage or in front of the camera.

    I like to be the director and not the protagonist and I just want to divulge my thoughts, my scientific research, political and social.

     

    That is why I still have not decided which direction will take the post, but I hope you can all follow me and read me.

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  • A true stories of real life

    English

    it is evening ... Walking in the usual way home from afar when I see six women still near a traffic light in a row ... ... a distance of one meter from each other ... A blonde with hair bob, white complexion, average height, normal forms, very short white dress ... a brunette, blacks bobbed hair, a bit 'tanned, slightly low, voluptuous curves, patterned dress on white background nature very short ... Another brunette, long hair gathered in the tail, normal stature, tiny forms, lean, black top and mini mini red skirt ... a black woman, buxom, medium height, Topp black leggings and black transparent ... a brunette girl high and with generous curves, dressed in jeans ... a girl as tall as me, a bit 'in flesh and very generous in form, with the loop amplifier and mini black mini skirt ...

    I approach slowing pace ... even a car slows down ... The girl with the nature of the design approaches the car ... A man reaches for the car ... embraces ... then touches the backside ... continues to touch and fingers will undermine all the way down between the graceful forms ... the girl rebels ... the machine runs while the girl back on the sidewalk ... the question "what do women we are here so beautiful" finds perhaps a sad or perhaps answer no ...

    I walk among them looking at them ... And the eye falls ... Watch those pretty little triangles that are formed between the thighs together ... Of course I am a man and I also do not think that there is someone in my place would have looked tonsils. .. Although, with those skirts round neck, I think it would be possible to see the ...

    I feel guilty for having watched as others ... I watch a police car slowly pass close to the girls ... They do nothing even though they have already seen exactly what do these women ... I would add that for a change they do nothing but I fear that someone will be offended ... Where I come from it is said that those who say the truth has never endured ...

    But now I want to see their eyes ... Being able to tell if they are sad or embarrassed ... Take out from their eyes how they feel ... I'll be right back ...

    Journey trying to cross their eyes ... They're arguing with a minstrel who does ask for money to sing ... But make eye of the girl with red skirt ... I must admit that is what I like the most ... I smile, but in his eyes I read only sadness and disappointment of a woman who does not believe in anything ... of a woman who would not believe even if a man were to say that the earth revolves around the sun ... I feel sad. ..

    To go home I must again pass each other ... Back back thinking how you bastard the world ... The blonde says, "Shall we go?" and I said, 'No, thank you! "... still I look at the girl with red skirt and crying my heart ... I have a lump in my throat but the greeting ... After a while even the buxom girl asks me:" Let's go ? " and I said "No thanks!" ... But she asks: "Why not?" ...

    I have not been able to answer ...

    I left saying goodbye.

    prostitute[2].jpg

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  • The rain

    English

    pioggia

    The rain beats relentless and I seek shelter in a street of this city I do not know. Knock on wood afraid to ask for shelter and, to my surprise, just knock on the door where I will present you. Great wonder in your eyes and in my way for a moment seems to stop. I invite me to come in and we are alone in the house. Rain on tinkling glasses and you wear an evening gown adorned with beautiful laces in the front. I look at me smile and you lean close to the table, I still look at it and you dissolve the first tie on the front. I do not draw near, saying to you: "stripped". You undress, and you lie flat on the table, look at you and I order you not to move. I want to look at your naked body lying on that table and still look your hands on your hips to slip slip on your belly while you close your eyes and you move sinuously. I order you not to touch you, to let me still look as you move and you know how I like to see you as you move. Then move! Come on and let me watch as you move. Put your hands behind your back and move leaving me watching. Are you freaking? If you are exciting? Do you want to touch you? Then ask me to do it! Ask me, please, as you continue to move! Ask me for pleasure and muoiviti yet! Scongiurami to do it and move always showing you more of me! Beg to do you hustle like a bud and by moving floor and sinuously! Beg to touch you until I tell you to do it! Not good: I want to hear you say you want to make love with me! Tell me you want me! Tell me you want me inside you so rude now! Tell me you want me! Tell me you want to be mine! Tell me you want to make love to me! Only now you can! I see your hands slipping sinuous your hands that lie in wait, the groans echo in the room until you reach the maximum of pleasure giving chills to your whole body, your head turned donna_sotto_la_pioggiao your right and the fantastic groans with light hissing inside shed your mouth ajar. Finally, I ask: "Promise me you will never change anything between us." I promise! But now you keep moving, I want to see you moan again! You wriggle and continue to moan and groans are even stronger, the hiss of your fingers join the moans hissing. I look at it, you get up, I viani closely and with the hand I throw out the window, the window does not break and I find myself naked look beyond this glass. Get to the bare glass resting your body on it and keep moving sinuously exploring your femininity and the moans leave streaks on the glass. Your moans are recorded from my mind and from my heart that sees only a thin glass between us that maybe can shatter if only you wanted to. But you do not infrangerai this glass and essodiventa more often and in a moment, as if in a dream, I find myself inside the house and you out of it in the rain. Now you're in the rain and bad air, almost as if nothing had happened, I say: "All this was only an unattainable dream because you do not I'll never have and I shut you in this house!" Like Mina Stroker's Dracula, you have lived intense moments, but then decide to shut myself up as a prisoner and segregarmi. Looking to escape the rain and I would just like to be able to catch you. I'll turn into rain for you to be able to caress and if this is not suffiiciente, sell my soul to the devil and become fog, because if God does not want us to be together, then I will ask the devil to turn into mist ...

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