Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
2 Days Late And Cervix Is Hard
family
contingencies festive forced me to see one of them recently. They are painful ritual of the holiday calendar for this reason. It's the same scenario every year we rejoice in the month of November to the idea of Christmas, come together, meet, share (for some rejoicing begins in July).
Arrive on December 24 and we wonder what we doing there. It feels an obligation to full nose for everyone. We are obliged to be nice and do not take that nonsense to inserting the beads on the thread of the conversation. An art, believe me.
New this year is that the sister-in question was repeated. It has spawned what!
Full of hope, I thought motherhood was going to pass on her new a layer of sweetness that it would consider the world around her and to defuse a bit. So many hopes dashed.
If motherhood has changed something, perhaps to have established an external focus: that of another person, her child here.
A child so precious, that until recently could not approach him after going through a decontamination areas: antibacterial gel, influenza vaccination ...
This divine child, who happens to be my niece (adorable, it goes without saying) is like all children from 3 months: she eats, she cries, she sleeps (on highly controversial) and starts to smile. And most importantly, it does not leave his parents in peace more than three hours ... as almost all babies. This is not about to get better in this case as soon as the beautiful child begins to cry, within 10 seconds (20 max) below, one of his parents seems to come and "relieve".
This little game we had a great time during Christmas Eve.
I began to seriously worry for the "sanity" of the parents of my niece, when the step-sister on the table in front of his plate, a video monitor, transmitting images from a camera view nocturnal movement sensor placed on the first floor near the baby. I confess that I stayed speechless (internally, of course).
around me I watched to see if we all lived in a parallel world or if I was the only one to operate in a paranormal world. My dear husband looked up at the ceiling, to signify to me that he too thought it was OTT (over the top), especially since he had a ringside seat to watch the video of the baby. Between bites of foie gras.
Mortal Eve.
All that to say that I feel when I talk about the family gatherings around me, he seems that the sister-in Is The New Mother-in-law. A bit like we say that Orange Is The New Black. It was she who spread terror in the family now.
Fortunately it's not every day is Christmas!
Anyway, we're all the sister of someone!
Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The facts and events recounted in this post are pure fiction and imagination.
course.
Edited due to cases of conscience - 12.30.2009 at 3:48 p.m. (withdrawal of the ticket)
Edited again on 3 / 01 / 10 - because I forcing anyone to read, eh! (Re release)
I'm fairly provided two beautiful sisters.
Edited again on 3 / 01 / 10 - because I forcing anyone to read, eh! (Re release)
*****
I'm fairly provided two beautiful sisters.
contingencies festive forced me to see one of them recently. They are painful ritual of the holiday calendar for this reason. It's the same scenario every year we rejoice in the month of November to the idea of Christmas, come together, meet, share (for some rejoicing begins in July).
Arrive on December 24 and we wonder what we doing there. It feels an obligation to full nose for everyone. We are obliged to be nice and do not take that nonsense to inserting the beads on the thread of the conversation. An art, believe me.
New this year is that the sister-in question was repeated. It has spawned what!
Full of hope, I thought motherhood was going to pass on her new a layer of sweetness that it would consider the world around her and to defuse a bit. So many hopes dashed.
If motherhood has changed something, perhaps to have established an external focus: that of another person, her child here.
A child so precious, that until recently could not approach him after going through a decontamination areas: antibacterial gel, influenza vaccination ...
This divine child, who happens to be my niece (adorable, it goes without saying) is like all children from 3 months: she eats, she cries, she sleeps (on highly controversial) and starts to smile. And most importantly, it does not leave his parents in peace more than three hours ... as almost all babies. This is not about to get better in this case as soon as the beautiful child begins to cry, within 10 seconds (20 max) below, one of his parents seems to come and "relieve".
This little game we had a great time during Christmas Eve.
I began to seriously worry for the "sanity" of the parents of my niece, when the step-sister on the table in front of his plate, a video monitor, transmitting images from a camera view nocturnal movement sensor placed on the first floor near the baby. I confess that I stayed speechless (internally, of course).
around me I watched to see if we all lived in a parallel world or if I was the only one to operate in a paranormal world. My dear husband looked up at the ceiling, to signify to me that he too thought it was OTT (over the top), especially since he had a ringside seat to watch the video of the baby. Between bites of foie gras.
Mortal Eve.
All that to say that I feel when I talk about the family gatherings around me, he seems that the sister-in Is The New Mother-in-law. A bit like we say that Orange Is The New Black. It was she who spread terror in the family now.
Fortunately it's not every day is Christmas!
Anyway, we're all the sister of someone!
Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The facts and events recounted in this post are pure fiction and imagination.
course.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Peter Doig White Canoe Sell
The riddle of Wednesday # 12
Published on December 16 at 5:09 p.m.
This is the last riddle for 2009. Event! In this festive season, my neurons are struggling to connect. A mixture of hot wine, whiskey and mince pies to cause interference with my precious myelin. That is why this final riddle will be hyper fastoche.
In fact it is more a question of speed as if your neurons are not too tired, you should find the answer in under two minutes on Google. To win just to be there before the others did!
drumroll ...
What year and where London was installed the first escalator in the UK?
Tsss-to-che fa!
The first gives the correct answer will win a surprise.
Good luck baby!
Go to the next riddle January 6, 2010
Bravo saam first (first?) To find the correct answer:
at Harrods in 1898
saam , you send me your mailing address
I can send you a little surprise
Thank you all for your participation good morning
Monday, December 14, 2009
Balloom Costumes Ottawa
My blog'tour regional specialties - London UK
I participate in Blog'tour regional specialties, an initiative of papillae Pupils and . It involves creating a library of regional specialties of France and Navarre, but also abroad.
Having lived in Yorkshire and lives in London now, I'll naturally make a few British specialties. The specialties are selected based on my personal library.
I really wanted to talk about the Banoffee Pie (OMG), Yorkshire pudding, scones, fish and chips, the lemon curd, and Cornish pasties ... but my library is my fault.
First things first: The must-
The French wine!
Wine supposedly of French origin, british sauce, beautifully presented in a can. Ideal for use at any time and in any circumstance!
Well, seriously ...
Scotch egg
Egg hard coated sausage, itself covered with a mixture of bread crumbs and herbs. The whole fried in plenty of oil.
Contrary to what its name might suggest, the Scotch egg is not Scottish. It was invented in London in 1738. It is eaten cold or reheated.
Met ideal for picnics with the English are very fond.
Stichelton (cheese)
Blue English par excellence. You can find the best cheese in the famous London Neal's Yard Dairy, near Covent Garden.
17 Shorts Gardens London WC2H 9AT
17 Shorts Gardens London WC2H 9AT
Fudge
The confectionery English!
The inescapable Marmite
Marmite: spreadable paste made from yeast used for fermentation of beer, natural plant substances and very rich in vitamin B1.
La Marmite can be eaten spread on toast, or serve as a basis for a sandwich.
restricted to British or palace insiders. Valiant little stomachs, abstain.
It's very special.
What are your specialty "gourmet" English?
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Brent Corrigan Produce
Sunday Recipe - Vanilla Kipferl, shortbread Felder
Last week I was in Strasbourg for a pastry shop run by Felder, former pastry chef of the Hotel de Crillon for 15 years. The workshop theme was "Around the gourmet coffee," but was changed at the last moment for a workshop buttons, to my great joy. Finally I would demystify the biscuit! But I will tell you that another time.
At the end of the workshop and after the small glass white wine (for us to reward our culinary efforts), Christophe has opened a bag of homemade cookies. A marvel, biscuits, shortbread very good taste of vanilla.
I've made today and I'm pretty happy with the result. It is divine.
public
Ingredients for the biscuit
35 g caster sugar 1 vanilla pod
120 g
soft butter 140 g flour 60 g
almonds ½
teaspoon vanilla extract For Finishing
60 g sugar
2 packets of vanilla sugar
Preheat oven to 170 ° C
pour the granulated sugar in a blender, add the pod vanilla and mix to get a very vanilla sugar. Sift sugar into a bowl.
Add the melted butter, flour, almond powder and vanilla extract. Mix together using a wooden spoon until you have a smooth paste. Work
then this dough by hand so as to obtain a ball. The
separate into 4 pieces.
On a lightly floured work, lay the pieces in a sausage shape. Align and cut into regular segments of 2 cm.
Place the biscuits on a floured plate légerment.
Bake and cook for 15 minutes.
Meanwhile, mix together the icing sugar with the vanilla sugar packets.
Upon exiting the oven, cool the cookies on a rack before rolling them in icing sugar and vanilla.
Beware: highly addictive!
At the end of the workshop and after the small glass white wine (for us to reward our culinary efforts), Christophe has opened a bag of homemade cookies. A marvel, biscuits, shortbread very good taste of vanilla.
I've made today and I'm pretty happy with the result. It is divine.
public
For you, I'll book the recipe
Vanilla Kipferl
Ingredients for the biscuit
35 g caster sugar 1 vanilla pod
120 g
soft butter 140 g flour 60 g
almonds ½
teaspoon vanilla extract For Finishing
60 g sugar
2 packets of vanilla sugar
Preheat oven to 170 ° C
pour the granulated sugar in a blender, add the pod vanilla and mix to get a very vanilla sugar. Sift sugar into a bowl.
Add the melted butter, flour, almond powder and vanilla extract. Mix together using a wooden spoon until you have a smooth paste. Work
then this dough by hand so as to obtain a ball. The
separate into 4 pieces.
On a lightly floured work, lay the pieces in a sausage shape. Align and cut into regular segments of 2 cm.
Place the biscuits on a floured plate légerment.
Bake and cook for 15 minutes.
Meanwhile, mix together the icing sugar with the vanilla sugar packets.
Upon exiting the oven, cool the cookies on a rack before rolling them in icing sugar and vanilla.
Beware: highly addictive!
Friday, December 11, 2009
Email Confidentiality Sample
The Saturday shot # 48
Gare de l'Est, Paris, December 4, 2009
As a desire to leave again for the weekend in a city to discover
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Breast Feeding Broken Veins Cheek
No Internet No Cry The
Yesterday, I was involuntarily deprived of the Internet at home. A failure that we cut the broadband and landline. The origin of this disorder is still unknown, but I have strong suspicions about the man who dressed in his yellow vest at the Karl Lagerfeld, fenced then as a maniac with his jackhammer on the sidewalk two doors from my house. Coincidentally its hype and my cut of the virtual world have occurred at the same time. Just a thought like that.
Well guess what folks? This failure has made me the most good. I was able to advance in my job, finish the couriers who trailed, concoct a delicious dinner and cook exquisite cookies. And the evening and roping in bed, I finally hit the stack of DVDs still shrink-wrapped who asked only to be initiated. I watched a good little comedy franchouillard well.
This morning, a technician from BT (British Telecom) is came in the early hours of the morning (effectiveness) to repair the line. This was done in just over two hours (not speed).
And the cause of the disorder remains unknown.
The man in yellow, I say! And if I want to go further into the conspiracy theory, I would say that it surprised if they put someone on the street listening. That way, neither seen nor heard! I know I have an overactive imagination (and even if you knew the dreams that I'm sick right now!).
The moral is that life without the Internet, that's fine.
Well guess what folks? This failure has made me the most good. I was able to advance in my job, finish the couriers who trailed, concoct a delicious dinner and cook exquisite cookies. And the evening and roping in bed, I finally hit the stack of DVDs still shrink-wrapped who asked only to be initiated. I watched a good little comedy franchouillard well.
This morning, a technician from BT (British Telecom) is came in the early hours of the morning (effectiveness) to repair the line. This was done in just over two hours (not speed).
And the cause of the disorder remains unknown.
The man in yellow, I say! And if I want to go further into the conspiracy theory, I would say that it surprised if they put someone on the street listening. That way, neither seen nor heard! I know I have an overactive imagination (and even if you knew the dreams that I'm sick right now!).
The moral is that life without the Internet, that's fine.
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
How Long Does Orajel Stay Numb
paradoxes of online shopping - Amazon was my
Found in 1994 as a site selling books online, Amazon has extended successively to CDs and DVDs and for items as diverse as children's bicycles, televisions or bread machines.
This movement toward the concrete, move from selling online store, is pretty ironic when you thought, in the 90s, that the rise of the Internet would kill the trade in store.
is a bit like saying the Internet and email would be coming to the end of the post. The email may have supplemented some letters, but I must say I've never received so many packages that since the development of the Internet.
Stores Amazon will come to collect orders on the site. Thus, no need to make the heels waiting for the postman or run to the post office to pick up the package after the failure factor.
Nice initiative, what do you think?
Muriel Thanks for the link.
Published December 10
Did you know? Amazon plans to open stores in the United Kingdom. The famous
sales site on the Internet continues to increase profits and expand its product line. Found in 1994 as a site selling books online, Amazon has extended successively to CDs and DVDs and for items as diverse as children's bicycles, televisions or bread machines.
This movement toward the concrete, move from selling online store, is pretty ironic when you thought, in the 90s, that the rise of the Internet would kill the trade in store.
is a bit like saying the Internet and email would be coming to the end of the post. The email may have supplemented some letters, but I must say I've never received so many packages that since the development of the Internet.
Stores Amazon will come to collect orders on the site. Thus, no need to make the heels waiting for the postman or run to the post office to pick up the package after the failure factor.
Nice initiative, what do you think?
Muriel Thanks for the link.
Credit @ xrrr
Friday, December 4, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Chris Gibson's No More Moles Book Worth It
A true tradition London: Trafalgar fir
Tonight will be the ceremony of lighting Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square. Ceremonies illuminations, he has already had a lot in London since early November. The point of being tired of Christmas before St. Nicolas!
ceremony Trafalgar fir stands out in that it embodies a tradition of Christmas in London established over 60 years.
Since 1947, Norway donated a Christmas tree to Britain. This tree is the symbol of friendship Anglo-Norwegian remember the second world war. When Norway was invaded by German forces, King Haakon VII fled to England and a government in exile was established in London.
For most Norwegians, London became a symbol of freedom in these difficult times. The Norwegians also had their "Here London, Norwegians Norwegians speak " since information about the war were broadcast in Norwegian from London.
tonight's ceremony is a symbol of Anglo-Norwegian friendship, but also a real tradition of Christmas for Londoners.
The tree is carefully selected for months or even years in advance in one of the forests surrounding Oslo. In November, during a ceremony attended by Mayor of Westminster, the British ambassador to Norway and the Mayor of Oslo, the tree 20 feet high, is cut. It is then transported by boat to the British coast and ends its journey by truck. The tree is then Greece has mounted a hydraulic crane and decorated according to the Norwegian tradition. The tree will remain in place in Trafalgar Square until the 12th night of Christmas. It will then be debited and recycled. Although pretty
tradition. It is far from the commercialism of Oxford Street and co and it is refreshing.
the program: music, Christmas songs and wonder.
December 3, from 18h
London's Trafalgar Square, WC2N 4JJ
ceremony Trafalgar fir stands out in that it embodies a tradition of Christmas in London established over 60 years.
Since 1947, Norway donated a Christmas tree to Britain. This tree is the symbol of friendship Anglo-Norwegian remember the second world war. When Norway was invaded by German forces, King Haakon VII fled to England and a government in exile was established in London.
For most Norwegians, London became a symbol of freedom in these difficult times. The Norwegians also had their "Here London, Norwegians Norwegians speak " since information about the war were broadcast in Norwegian from London.
tonight's ceremony is a symbol of Anglo-Norwegian friendship, but also a real tradition of Christmas for Londoners.
The tree is carefully selected for months or even years in advance in one of the forests surrounding Oslo. In November, during a ceremony attended by Mayor of Westminster, the British ambassador to Norway and the Mayor of Oslo, the tree 20 feet high, is cut. It is then transported by boat to the British coast and ends its journey by truck. The tree is then Greece has mounted a hydraulic crane and decorated according to the Norwegian tradition. The tree will remain in place in Trafalgar Square until the 12th night of Christmas. It will then be debited and recycled. Although pretty
tradition. It is far from the commercialism of Oxford Street and co and it is refreshing.
the program: music, Christmas songs and wonder.
December 3, from 18h
London's Trafalgar Square, WC2N 4JJ
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Ds Csi Dark Motives Hoe Pak Ik De Metaal
The riddle of Wednesday # 11
This week I think you do Gogole be of no help because I offer a picture. In the photo, a sign that I have hidden a word.
Published December 2 at 21h55
This week I think you do Gogole be of no help because I offer a picture. In the photo, a sign that I have hidden a word.
The first or the first word that will tell me what's behind the green rectangle will win a surprise.
click click to view larger
Good luck! Here is the solution
It Mandy was the fastest.
Again, congratulations!
I'll post a little surprise next week
Thank you all for your participation.
Next riddle, December 16.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Orbital Diagram Of Bromine
The Advent calendar girls
Today, December 1, the day of the Advent calendar. Traditionally, I unsheathed my beautiful handmade calendar (but not mine) that I filled with love of chocolate goodies and menus. No candy, because the girl is not fond of. This is not an evil.
This year's calendar of felt nice stay in the cupboard because Molly has found another far more interesting for him to visit a store aisle. Rely instead
What a bitch this Kitty. It starts with me to break this little pussy menu (I feel that Google will untimely landings fuser).
We eat all the sauces of the Hello Kitty cutlery, plates, toothpaste, toothbrushes, biscuits, chocolates, handbags, figurines, water bottles, tshirts, socks, umbrella ... I'll spare you the exhaustive list because I'm too good.
But it is true that we had not the advent calendar.
If you want my opinion, it loses the exchange to Molly. It would have been very pretty surprised with the traditional calendar.
Here I suspect the supermarket chocolate every time you open door.
Misery.
Today, December 1, the day of the Advent calendar. Traditionally, I unsheathed my beautiful handmade calendar (but not mine) that I filled with love of chocolate goodies and menus. No candy, because the girl is not fond of. This is not an evil. This year's calendar of felt nice stay in the cupboard because Molly has found another far more interesting for him to visit a store aisle. Rely instead
What a bitch this Kitty. It starts with me to break this little pussy menu (I feel that Google will untimely landings fuser).
We eat all the sauces of the Hello Kitty cutlery, plates, toothpaste, toothbrushes, biscuits, chocolates, handbags, figurines, water bottles, tshirts, socks, umbrella ... I'll spare you the exhaustive list because I'm too good.
But it is true that we had not the advent calendar.
If you want my opinion, it loses the exchange to Molly. It would have been very pretty surprised with the traditional calendar.
Here I suspect the supermarket chocolate every time you open door.
Misery.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Fairy Tails Lice Shampoo
Recipe Sunday - The marble cake (so easy!)
This Sunday I suggest a classic. A recipe so easy, not decadent for a penny.
Ingredients 200g butter 4 eggs
200 g sugar 4 g salt 200 g flour
2 packets of vanilla sugar
30 g cocoa powder
My thing to me : vanilla syrup or honey to make the cake softer
Preheat oven to 180 ° C and slide rack in middle.
Butter a loaf pan, 28 cm in length.
Melt the butter in a saucepan. Remove from heat.
Break the eggs into two large containers, separating the whites from the yolks.
Add sugar and salt to egg yolks. Mix well with wooden spoon.
Then add alternately with small amounts of flour and melted butter. Finish by adding a tablespoon of vanilla syrup (or honey). Mix well.
Beat the egg whites until stiff, incorporating a bag of vanilla sugar midterm.
Mix the whites into the batter. Working with the wooden spoon.
Divide mixture into 2 containers. Stir in cocoa in one and the rest of the vanilla sugar in the other.
With a tablespoon, divide the two preparations in pan, alternating to give a marbled effect.
Bake for one hour. To check for doneness, prick the tip of a knife into center of cake: it should come out clean.
Tip: In most recipes that use egg whites until stiff, they must be incorporated in the dough gently, otherwise they will "break". For this recipe, they can work without too much caution because the final texture of the cake is quite dense.
For the syrup with vanilla : I use syrup Fabbri. This is the kind of syrup found in Starbucks or equivalent. For those who live in Britain, you will find the syrup Fabbri at Sainsbury.
I found this recipe in the excellent
They were regaled
This Sunday I suggest a classic. A recipe so easy, not decadent for a penny.
When we have 3 darling little home for tea and we did not really want to break the head, marble cake is perfect.
Ingredients 200g butter 4 eggs
200 g sugar 4 g salt 200 g flour
2 packets of vanilla sugar
30 g cocoa powder
My thing to me : vanilla syrup or honey to make the cake softer
Preheat oven to 180 ° C and slide rack in middle.
Butter a loaf pan, 28 cm in length.
Melt the butter in a saucepan. Remove from heat.
Break the eggs into two large containers, separating the whites from the yolks.
Add sugar and salt to egg yolks. Mix well with wooden spoon.
Then add alternately with small amounts of flour and melted butter. Finish by adding a tablespoon of vanilla syrup (or honey). Mix well.
Beat the egg whites until stiff, incorporating a bag of vanilla sugar midterm.
Mix the whites into the batter. Working with the wooden spoon.
Divide mixture into 2 containers. Stir in cocoa in one and the rest of the vanilla sugar in the other.
With a tablespoon, divide the two preparations in pan, alternating to give a marbled effect.
Bake for one hour. To check for doneness, prick the tip of a knife into center of cake: it should come out clean.
Tip: In most recipes that use egg whites until stiff, they must be incorporated in the dough gently, otherwise they will "break". For this recipe, they can work without too much caution because the final texture of the cake is quite dense.
For the syrup with vanilla : I use syrup Fabbri. This is the kind of syrup found in Starbucks or equivalent. For those who live in Britain, you will find the syrup Fabbri at Sainsbury.
I found this recipe in the excellent
Saturday, November 28, 2009
A Lot Of Bumps On Leg Herpes
The Saturday shot # 47
Little Girl and the Sea - Remembrance summer
Maguero Beach, Summer 2009 Thursday, November 26, 2009
Reptile Versus Mammal Respiration
100 days to become a better person
is the challenge proposed Josie Long , under the London Word Frestival 2010.
Josie, actress, coordinates and participates in this project with a group of fellow musicians, actors and writers. She invites you to join this project. This is to make resolutions, initiatives that will make you a better person day after day for 100 days. For example, you decide to learn a foreign language, be more considerate with your family, put you in the gym, write an entry in your journal every day ... anything that would make you tend towards a better self.
I find the idea very appealing and very web 2.0. It's like a challenge that we set off to itself with a community of strangers watching you.
How does it work?
1 - Must register before December 1 on website with their name, email address and its resolution.
2 - From 1 December, the resolution must be held and practiced every day for a period of 100 days (or beyond if your good you will be encouraged).
3 - Keep a diary of your activities when possible: notes, photos, videos ... and find the site of your progress.
One Hundred Days To Make Me A Better Person
Follow the project on Twitter
and soon Flickr
Josie, actress, coordinates and participates in this project with a group of fellow musicians, actors and writers. She invites you to join this project. This is to make resolutions, initiatives that will make you a better person day after day for 100 days. For example, you decide to learn a foreign language, be more considerate with your family, put you in the gym, write an entry in your journal every day ... anything that would make you tend towards a better self.
I find the idea very appealing and very web 2.0. It's like a challenge that we set off to itself with a community of strangers watching you.
How does it work?
1 - Must register before December 1 on website with their name, email address and its resolution.
2 - From 1 December, the resolution must be held and practiced every day for a period of 100 days (or beyond if your good you will be encouraged).
3 - Keep a diary of your activities when possible: notes, photos, videos ... and find the site of your progress.
One Hundred Days To Make Me A Better Person
Follow the project on Twitter
and soon Flickr
project not as Fun? Come on, it starts?
Friday, July 10, 2009
Benefits Of Tibicos Mushroom
still believe
The wasp took a few laps to anything flying at the pleasure red oilcloth. Ernestine
frowned without looking up, and made a small gesture irritated with his left hand while his right hand pushed his glasses a little higher on his nose thin and long. Ignoring this warning, the wasp already operates a scholarly approach of sugar. Ernestine, still without a glance towards bold, seized the small cover oblong, while the insect already drunk with the smell of sugar, rested on the white parallelepipeds, she buried a sharp movement and precise . We now hear
small humming furiously, finally looked Ernestine sugar, looking upset. Should we leave asphyxiation take its course? Ernestine did not feel able to fully assume its place in the hierarchy of species. She took the sugar bowl in his hands, and while holding the lid closed carefully, walked to the kitchen door, which was still open for those hot days of June. At the time of releasing the animal, she had a hesitation wasp, infuriated by the anguish of captivity, was likely to turn against it and prick it with rage.
When she finally decided to loosen the sugar bowl, with a thousand precautions, she realized that the roar had ceased, the wasp was dead. The little striped body, curled up, looked like a tiny trash. With a sigh, Ernestine retraced his steps and threw the entire contents of sugar in the trash. She rinsed the pan, placed it on the rack, and returned to his crossword.
In powder, ten letters.
It seems that the whole animal world today had scores to settle with her. While attempting to gather his thoughts, the howling sounds of Mina in the yard. Ernestine gave a deep sigh, and resigned, went back to the door, she opened wide. Chartreuse pussy on the stone wall, surrounded by a swarm of admirers hairy, jerking in postures unambiguous; she accompanied her erotic dance in a series of screams, growls and hoarse mewing, certainly delightful to the ears feline but absoluent unbearable for the rest of the neighborhood.
New dilemma; disperse large brush strokes of the pack, and confine Mina? She could not resign himself to surgery, however benign, which would rid the cat of its invasive heat. So far, she had always been to place the many offshoots of Mina, among the children and grandchildren of her friends and neighbors, but every year the sarabande resumed, and lasted until sometimes an entire week. Mina was not one of those cats that will satisfy their discrete Vice away, hiding their shame for the woods and vacant lots; Ernestine, watching, thinking of these couples and teenagers seeking asylum from sexuality emerging within the home. Was it, towards Mina, also guilty of an unfortunate lax parenting? Ernestine smiled, noting that the tour had its absurd reflection. She approached the wall, bolted Mina, the pack at his heels.
Spinning on the road, the throng meowing forced Simone, who arrived on his bicycle to swerve. She put one foot on the sidewalk and began to bend down to pick oranges which had rolled down, rushed out of the cage she had affixed to the luggage rack. Ernestine
rushed to his aid.
"Do not worry, okay, it's not the first time cats that I knit in the legs! This dirt
Mina is still in heat.
Well, it's natural, right? You do not do operate!
I know, Simone, I know ...
I had you brought oranges Angel brought me twelve kilograms yesterday, I do not know what to do!
Thank you, you are very nice, you take the coffee at least?
course, if I do not mind ...
As if the visits could disturb me! "
The two women moved into the kitchen, a little piece of fresh home of Ernestine. The light of early summer, golden, silky, penetrated by the half-open door. Ernestine began to heat water, and put sugar in the sugar bowl, which was now dry. As she was leaving the coffee pot in the fridge, Simone asked him
"So, always in your crossword?
What do you want my dear, we must take care! And then it moves me a little brain, it requires me ... Coffee, how you want it?
Not too loud, say it is already late! After I'm not going to sleep, and Angel will still say that I move like a bullet.
It's true, he has never had a problem falling asleep! Even in math class!
Especially in math class ! "
In a past that seemed so far away already, Angel and Simone were two schoolchildren and Ernestine, a teacher from the village, responsible for a single class that had seen a parade on its benches all families in the area. Before Angel and Simone, there were parents: Francis and Matilda, Toussaint and Joseph. Ernestine felt she had trained two generations of residents. She had seen the installation of new families, the departure of the former, she noted the gradual replacement of cotton shirts and dresses with ruffles by uniformed schoolchildren worldwide to any country: the inevitable T-shirt and pants of jeans Fashion was more or less blue, more or less worn, more or less wide ... She had accepted with equanimity the changes of clothing, which were not accompanied in his eyes a real transformation of those who claimed. Students were still students, rowdy, talkative, undisciplined dreamers, null spelling, unbearable and endearing. She had seen the following reforms: reform methods, curriculum reform, reform of the vocabulary - it was a bit surprised to learn, some years before her retirement, she was no longer a teacher but "professor schools. Why not after all ... Ernestine did not attach much importance to such details.
After his retirement, Ernestine had returned to his home town, thirty miles from the village where she had worked. It was not uncommon for former students, who had kept with her friendships, come visit him. Like Simone today, the villagers never came empty-handed as it is true that small gifts neighborhood, garden vegetables, jams and pastries household, fragrant herbs gathered yesterday in the bush nearby, play a leading role sociability in the province. Ernestine was not left out, always at the bottom of a kitchen cupboard a box of chocolates and biscuits to accompany the fresh coffee served to its visitors. If the evening approached, a small liquor was proposed, it was customary to refuse the first time, then drink it slowly, dipping a biscuit like a sponge that absorbed the powerful liquid.
Simone had filed his straw hat on a chair, and now turned his coffee with a gesture applied. The small white porcelain cup, which was exquisitely graceful shape obsolete, would make a curious posed no satellite dish on the oilcloth with red squares.
"And your family? Everyone OK?
Pascal works well, you know! You'd be surprised to see her books!
Knowing his mother, I am not surprised at all ... You were the first anywhere, if I remember correctly.
Oh, me ... I learned everything by heart, I was a needy. Pascal is very intelligent, he reads everything that comes to hand. And it raises many questions.
Angel was also very clever. If he had wanted to work, he did what he wanted.
He was especially smart to invent dirty tricks! How can you do not blame him, all he showed you?
My God, in forty years I have seen more! And I must admit it had some humor ... You were especially
the patience of a sheep! "
Ernestine laughed, and closed his eyes a moment. She opened them again, straightening his glasses that had slipped back on his nose and asked:
"And Jerome?
Jerome's fine, I left it to Mom for the day.
It must be thrilled!
Do you think it makes the goat! He would walk on his hands. To return to Pascal ... "
Simone stopped and remained open mouth, looking a bit stupid. It seemed she did not know about. Ernestine was not surprised; Simone child had the habit of interrupting when embarking on a complex argument, either before reciting a lesson, like a runner who interrupts his momentum to better measure the barrier and assess his chances.
"Yes, there is still something I want to ask you with Pascal.
Go ahead, I'm listening. If I can advise you, I will.
I know you will, Ernestine. I confess that I do not know where to start ... Here, his mistress of this year I said it several times was really, really, really talented ...
And she suggests you make him skip a class, right?
If it was only that! To tell you everything, she told me that Pascal was gifted, and he had to change schools.
Really?
Yes. There is an institute in Marseilles, a sort of school for the gifted. They did play the piano, painting, and they follow a curriculum tailored to their level.
I see ... They park them, like little monsters, we must not mix with normal children ...
It's not really how she presented it to me!
Yes but that's how Pascal risk of life. "
Simone paused and mentally weighed the award of Ernestine. She lifted her chin and smiled.
"Your response does not surprise me. I had somewhat the same. But Angel is not our opinion.
Very well! But what does he think so, your dear husband?
Ange ... You know, when he began to think, we do not really know where this is going.
is the least we can say!
He put himself in the head that Pascal would become like him, if he was not in this school. A dunce.
I see ... "The memories
cascade effect before the eyes Ernestine. A small boy smiling, charming, absolutely unbearable and wildly endearing. Small rodents hidden in pockets and removed at the appropriate time under the noses of terrified girls, fighting, and their cortege of black eye and bloody nose, the pews covered with crushed mine who smeared a black indelible pants. The tears and cries too, who got on the other end of town when they had to sign the school reports ... And much later, some a little more serious mischief, failure at school, dropping out, the recovery stress of the family farm after CAP past without enthusiasm.
Angel, gifted child? Rolled by an institution unable to keep pace? Maybe.
"But Pascal, it seems, not all the same behavioral problems as his father. He stands well, he takes pleasure in working ... Angel
think it can not last. He may be right.
If you agree with your husband, why do you come to me for advice?
I want your opinion before making a decision, because ...
Yes?
Actually, there's a money problem. "
Ernestine took off his glasses and wiped the corner of her cotton blouse - a gesture that reflected a home discomfort. Behind the humanist, revolutionary and ambitious social project ...
"Let me guess ... The institute is private.
Yes. And registration fees are not cheap.
No trading system?
No, we're informed.
And how is it that the teacher Pascal was able to advise you that? It
we had not really recommended, it is Angel who asked himself after the interview with this lady. She, rather wanted to send him to Paris, in a similar box, but public.
In Paris? A boy of eight years?
Yes, Marseille, it would be better, you understand.
Simone, since you came to ask me my opinion, I'll give it. You're asking for serious trouble if you get into this crazy project. Because he is delusional, both morally and financially. Pascal must remain in a normal environment with children his age and his environment. If you send it there, Angel and you kill and you will probably lose.
So, we advise against you? I do not recommend
, I forbid! And that's the old lady who speaks! "Simone
sipped a sip of coffee, looking bored.
"You never could make you obey Angel.
But you, though.
This time, it will not, Ernestine. He wants to sell the vineyard.
What nonsense! "
silence settled a little heavy between the two women, broken by the cooing of a dove haunting placed on the roof. Simone emptied his cup, saucer and rested on the rose.
"Ernestine, thank you for the coffee and everything else. Even though I know it will not lead to much, I'll talk to Angel tonight.
Feel free ironing, come when you want. The door is open.
I know. See you soon. "The silhouette
a little round Simone disappeared behind the block, on his rickety bicycle, hat asked the devil on the top of the skull. Ernestine, standing in the doorway, wiping his glasses.
She was wrong when she imagined that parents and children remained the same, identical in the kaleidoscopes of fashion. The time was well over, when the kids away from any categorization grew at their own pace. Oh, it was not of those who lament the memory of an idealized past, often pure fantasy maintained by a nauseating nostalgia. No child could boast of having taken place in a golden age and if toddlers were freer fifty years ago, mostly because the absence of any prospect of escape from their parents forbade them to project their desires on social emancipation. The talented little workman does not escape to the factory the day of his fourteen years, the small peasant learned from books to better reflect the sale of eggs, and the son of a pharmacist, stupid crying, left victorious College sticking out his chest under his velvet jacket.
But the undeniable progress that was access to education for all, was it that a whole generation of parents avid sacrifice him and their young ? And alertness, the smoothness, the speed of a child become "skills" to grow in value, release capital for the word? What ever replace the special school football games, the boys of the neighborhood, swimming after school and all those pleasures that have always been the spice of the childhood?
She sat down, picked up his newspaper, and let his eyes wander in the empty moments. Then, a specific act, she scored in the boxes of the game, a dry writing, the word Escampette. 
The wasp took a few laps to anything flying at the pleasure red oilcloth. Ernestine
frowned without looking up, and made a small gesture irritated with his left hand while his right hand pushed his glasses a little higher on his nose thin and long. Ignoring this warning, the wasp already operates a scholarly approach of sugar. Ernestine, still without a glance towards bold, seized the small cover oblong, while the insect already drunk with the smell of sugar, rested on the white parallelepipeds, she buried a sharp movement and precise . We now hear
small humming furiously, finally looked Ernestine sugar, looking upset. Should we leave asphyxiation take its course? Ernestine did not feel able to fully assume its place in the hierarchy of species. She took the sugar bowl in his hands, and while holding the lid closed carefully, walked to the kitchen door, which was still open for those hot days of June. At the time of releasing the animal, she had a hesitation wasp, infuriated by the anguish of captivity, was likely to turn against it and prick it with rage.
When she finally decided to loosen the sugar bowl, with a thousand precautions, she realized that the roar had ceased, the wasp was dead. The little striped body, curled up, looked like a tiny trash. With a sigh, Ernestine retraced his steps and threw the entire contents of sugar in the trash. She rinsed the pan, placed it on the rack, and returned to his crossword.
In powder, ten letters.
It seems that the whole animal world today had scores to settle with her. While attempting to gather his thoughts, the howling sounds of Mina in the yard. Ernestine gave a deep sigh, and resigned, went back to the door, she opened wide. Chartreuse pussy on the stone wall, surrounded by a swarm of admirers hairy, jerking in postures unambiguous; she accompanied her erotic dance in a series of screams, growls and hoarse mewing, certainly delightful to the ears feline but absoluent unbearable for the rest of the neighborhood.
New dilemma; disperse large brush strokes of the pack, and confine Mina? She could not resign himself to surgery, however benign, which would rid the cat of its invasive heat. So far, she had always been to place the many offshoots of Mina, among the children and grandchildren of her friends and neighbors, but every year the sarabande resumed, and lasted until sometimes an entire week. Mina was not one of those cats that will satisfy their discrete Vice away, hiding their shame for the woods and vacant lots; Ernestine, watching, thinking of these couples and teenagers seeking asylum from sexuality emerging within the home. Was it, towards Mina, also guilty of an unfortunate lax parenting? Ernestine smiled, noting that the tour had its absurd reflection. She approached the wall, bolted Mina, the pack at his heels.
Spinning on the road, the throng meowing forced Simone, who arrived on his bicycle to swerve. She put one foot on the sidewalk and began to bend down to pick oranges which had rolled down, rushed out of the cage she had affixed to the luggage rack. Ernestine
rushed to his aid.
"Do not worry, okay, it's not the first time cats that I knit in the legs! This dirt
Mina is still in heat.
Well, it's natural, right? You do not do operate!
I know, Simone, I know ...
I had you brought oranges Angel brought me twelve kilograms yesterday, I do not know what to do!
Thank you, you are very nice, you take the coffee at least?
course, if I do not mind ...
As if the visits could disturb me! "
The two women moved into the kitchen, a little piece of fresh home of Ernestine. The light of early summer, golden, silky, penetrated by the half-open door. Ernestine began to heat water, and put sugar in the sugar bowl, which was now dry. As she was leaving the coffee pot in the fridge, Simone asked him
"So, always in your crossword?
What do you want my dear, we must take care! And then it moves me a little brain, it requires me ... Coffee, how you want it?
Not too loud, say it is already late! After I'm not going to sleep, and Angel will still say that I move like a bullet.
It's true, he has never had a problem falling asleep! Even in math class!
Especially in math class ! "
In a past that seemed so far away already, Angel and Simone were two schoolchildren and Ernestine, a teacher from the village, responsible for a single class that had seen a parade on its benches all families in the area. Before Angel and Simone, there were parents: Francis and Matilda, Toussaint and Joseph. Ernestine felt she had trained two generations of residents. She had seen the installation of new families, the departure of the former, she noted the gradual replacement of cotton shirts and dresses with ruffles by uniformed schoolchildren worldwide to any country: the inevitable T-shirt and pants of jeans Fashion was more or less blue, more or less worn, more or less wide ... She had accepted with equanimity the changes of clothing, which were not accompanied in his eyes a real transformation of those who claimed. Students were still students, rowdy, talkative, undisciplined dreamers, null spelling, unbearable and endearing. She had seen the following reforms: reform methods, curriculum reform, reform of the vocabulary - it was a bit surprised to learn, some years before her retirement, she was no longer a teacher but "professor schools. Why not after all ... Ernestine did not attach much importance to such details.
After his retirement, Ernestine had returned to his home town, thirty miles from the village where she had worked. It was not uncommon for former students, who had kept with her friendships, come visit him. Like Simone today, the villagers never came empty-handed as it is true that small gifts neighborhood, garden vegetables, jams and pastries household, fragrant herbs gathered yesterday in the bush nearby, play a leading role sociability in the province. Ernestine was not left out, always at the bottom of a kitchen cupboard a box of chocolates and biscuits to accompany the fresh coffee served to its visitors. If the evening approached, a small liquor was proposed, it was customary to refuse the first time, then drink it slowly, dipping a biscuit like a sponge that absorbed the powerful liquid.
Simone had filed his straw hat on a chair, and now turned his coffee with a gesture applied. The small white porcelain cup, which was exquisitely graceful shape obsolete, would make a curious posed no satellite dish on the oilcloth with red squares.
"And your family? Everyone OK?
Pascal works well, you know! You'd be surprised to see her books!
Knowing his mother, I am not surprised at all ... You were the first anywhere, if I remember correctly.
Oh, me ... I learned everything by heart, I was a needy. Pascal is very intelligent, he reads everything that comes to hand. And it raises many questions.
Angel was also very clever. If he had wanted to work, he did what he wanted.
He was especially smart to invent dirty tricks! How can you do not blame him, all he showed you?
My God, in forty years I have seen more! And I must admit it had some humor ... You were especially
the patience of a sheep! "
Ernestine laughed, and closed his eyes a moment. She opened them again, straightening his glasses that had slipped back on his nose and asked:
"And Jerome?
Jerome's fine, I left it to Mom for the day.
It must be thrilled!
Do you think it makes the goat! He would walk on his hands. To return to Pascal ... "
Simone stopped and remained open mouth, looking a bit stupid. It seemed she did not know about. Ernestine was not surprised; Simone child had the habit of interrupting when embarking on a complex argument, either before reciting a lesson, like a runner who interrupts his momentum to better measure the barrier and assess his chances.
"Yes, there is still something I want to ask you with Pascal.
Go ahead, I'm listening. If I can advise you, I will.
I know you will, Ernestine. I confess that I do not know where to start ... Here, his mistress of this year I said it several times was really, really, really talented ...
And she suggests you make him skip a class, right?
If it was only that! To tell you everything, she told me that Pascal was gifted, and he had to change schools.
Really?
Yes. There is an institute in Marseilles, a sort of school for the gifted. They did play the piano, painting, and they follow a curriculum tailored to their level.
I see ... They park them, like little monsters, we must not mix with normal children ...
It's not really how she presented it to me!
Yes but that's how Pascal risk of life. "
Simone paused and mentally weighed the award of Ernestine. She lifted her chin and smiled.
"Your response does not surprise me. I had somewhat the same. But Angel is not our opinion.
Very well! But what does he think so, your dear husband?
Ange ... You know, when he began to think, we do not really know where this is going.
is the least we can say!
He put himself in the head that Pascal would become like him, if he was not in this school. A dunce.
I see ... "The memories
cascade effect before the eyes Ernestine. A small boy smiling, charming, absolutely unbearable and wildly endearing. Small rodents hidden in pockets and removed at the appropriate time under the noses of terrified girls, fighting, and their cortege of black eye and bloody nose, the pews covered with crushed mine who smeared a black indelible pants. The tears and cries too, who got on the other end of town when they had to sign the school reports ... And much later, some a little more serious mischief, failure at school, dropping out, the recovery stress of the family farm after CAP past without enthusiasm.
Angel, gifted child? Rolled by an institution unable to keep pace? Maybe.
"But Pascal, it seems, not all the same behavioral problems as his father. He stands well, he takes pleasure in working ... Angel
think it can not last. He may be right.
If you agree with your husband, why do you come to me for advice?
I want your opinion before making a decision, because ...
Yes?
Actually, there's a money problem. "
Ernestine took off his glasses and wiped the corner of her cotton blouse - a gesture that reflected a home discomfort. Behind the humanist, revolutionary and ambitious social project ...
"Let me guess ... The institute is private.
Yes. And registration fees are not cheap.
No trading system?
No, we're informed.
And how is it that the teacher Pascal was able to advise you that? It
we had not really recommended, it is Angel who asked himself after the interview with this lady. She, rather wanted to send him to Paris, in a similar box, but public.
In Paris? A boy of eight years?
Yes, Marseille, it would be better, you understand.
Simone, since you came to ask me my opinion, I'll give it. You're asking for serious trouble if you get into this crazy project. Because he is delusional, both morally and financially. Pascal must remain in a normal environment with children his age and his environment. If you send it there, Angel and you kill and you will probably lose.
So, we advise against you? I do not recommend
, I forbid! And that's the old lady who speaks! "Simone
sipped a sip of coffee, looking bored.
"You never could make you obey Angel.
But you, though.
This time, it will not, Ernestine. He wants to sell the vineyard.
What nonsense! "
silence settled a little heavy between the two women, broken by the cooing of a dove haunting placed on the roof. Simone emptied his cup, saucer and rested on the rose.
"Ernestine, thank you for the coffee and everything else. Even though I know it will not lead to much, I'll talk to Angel tonight.
Feel free ironing, come when you want. The door is open.
I know. See you soon. "The silhouette
a little round Simone disappeared behind the block, on his rickety bicycle, hat asked the devil on the top of the skull. Ernestine, standing in the doorway, wiping his glasses.
She was wrong when she imagined that parents and children remained the same, identical in the kaleidoscopes of fashion. The time was well over, when the kids away from any categorization grew at their own pace. Oh, it was not of those who lament the memory of an idealized past, often pure fantasy maintained by a nauseating nostalgia. No child could boast of having taken place in a golden age and if toddlers were freer fifty years ago, mostly because the absence of any prospect of escape from their parents forbade them to project their desires on social emancipation. The talented little workman does not escape to the factory the day of his fourteen years, the small peasant learned from books to better reflect the sale of eggs, and the son of a pharmacist, stupid crying, left victorious College sticking out his chest under his velvet jacket.
But the undeniable progress that was access to education for all, was it that a whole generation of parents avid sacrifice him and their young ? And alertness, the smoothness, the speed of a child become "skills" to grow in value, release capital for the word? What ever replace the special school football games, the boys of the neighborhood, swimming after school and all those pleasures that have always been the spice of the childhood?
She sat down, picked up his newspaper, and let his eyes wander in the empty moments. Then, a specific act, she scored in the boxes of the game, a dry writing, the word Escampette.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Maplestory Private Server Logging In
Bitter Mother's Day
Each year, the last Sunday of May, all school France to recite compliments praising the sweet tenderness, kindness, caring eternal "moms." They then offer some nice gifts makeshift classroom under the watchful eye of the teacher, according to the image of Epinal in force in our country.
The good mother, the very one described by the so-called praise, must accept these gifts with delight. Are they not offered by small loved ones, the sweet treasures that she loves so much? Since its inception, the festival celebrates mothers and motherhood much less triumphant than the all-powerful dictatorship of the child on his mother. Dictatorship gladly granted by the latter, you might say, but this tyranny, which is expressed by the apprehension of the child as the sole focus, and only worry ultimate prize of a lifetime, it is weakened for be accepted?
Mother's Day is a ritual for this reason impossible to refuse. Deviate returns to opt for a simple contemporary imagery that values caring mother and willing, happy in his disposition - which ranks all those who would propose an alternative representation of motherhood in the ranks of "Bad mothers". That only a few minutes pondering: what mother, if not an unnatural mother, her child may explain that the poem transforms the presiding genius in the home, and that the iron provided by the family meeting, away from the bridge, humiliate and maintain in a narrow domestic world and overwhelming? How do you explain to young toddlers conditioned by advertising, regimented by the institutions that masquerade under the annual hides - badly - the specter of recurrent natalist propaganda, who dreams of repopulating France knock on his belly, which glorifies the housewife and stigmatizes those who work? Being a mother is not necessarily the best role of a lifetime, and certainly not the only one? "You're going to hurt him," it makes it so fun "and these phrases are small, every year, often uttered that famous Sunday, stifle any hint of rebellion against the party who did is not for everyone.
But children are here as mere tools, manipulators because manipulated. This is of course for adults who perpetuate this scam that this speech should go. Unfortunately, all turn a deaf ear. It may well protest, the "mom" smothered in flowers, there is nobody to listen. But have you ever sought advice from mothers to "do their party? 
Each year, the last Sunday of May, all school France to recite compliments praising the sweet tenderness, kindness, caring eternal "moms." They then offer some nice gifts makeshift classroom under the watchful eye of the teacher, according to the image of Epinal in force in our country.
The good mother, the very one described by the so-called praise, must accept these gifts with delight. Are they not offered by small loved ones, the sweet treasures that she loves so much? Since its inception, the festival celebrates mothers and motherhood much less triumphant than the all-powerful dictatorship of the child on his mother. Dictatorship gladly granted by the latter, you might say, but this tyranny, which is expressed by the apprehension of the child as the sole focus, and only worry ultimate prize of a lifetime, it is weakened for be accepted?
Mother's Day is a ritual for this reason impossible to refuse. Deviate returns to opt for a simple contemporary imagery that values caring mother and willing, happy in his disposition - which ranks all those who would propose an alternative representation of motherhood in the ranks of "Bad mothers". That only a few minutes pondering: what mother, if not an unnatural mother, her child may explain that the poem transforms the presiding genius in the home, and that the iron provided by the family meeting, away from the bridge, humiliate and maintain in a narrow domestic world and overwhelming? How do you explain to young toddlers conditioned by advertising, regimented by the institutions that masquerade under the annual hides - badly - the specter of recurrent natalist propaganda, who dreams of repopulating France knock on his belly, which glorifies the housewife and stigmatizes those who work? Being a mother is not necessarily the best role of a lifetime, and certainly not the only one? "You're going to hurt him," it makes it so fun "and these phrases are small, every year, often uttered that famous Sunday, stifle any hint of rebellion against the party who did is not for everyone.
But children are here as mere tools, manipulators because manipulated. This is of course for adults who perpetuate this scam that this speech should go. Unfortunately, all turn a deaf ear. It may well protest, the "mom" smothered in flowers, there is nobody to listen. But have you ever sought advice from mothers to "do their party?
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Play Gametechdecklive
Paul Carbone fell from the train. His body rolls down the embankment, the skirts of his jacket floating give the appearance of a strange beetle gray. A tense arm on his stomach, just above the liver, the red hand of his own blood, and on hand, a black hole with regular borders, where death comes to surprise in the dampness of a night train Paris-Nice. Now his corpse defiled ground and scratched by brambles lies a few meters from the railway, in a pitiful and miserable little pile. * * *
She opens her eyes, and removes a specific act that the speaker crackles at the bottom of his right ear. A low whistle discomfort listening to the song, and parasite flow of images, one after another, just rhythm to his pleasant drowsiness. She turns off the equipment on his knee, leans over, opens his briefcase and pulls out a packet of copies of students, some of which are already daubed with red. She goes to work.
The train enters the station, mechanically modulated voice resonates in the car to announce the arrest. She gets up, puts on his coat, grabs her bag and down the train.
The cold slap, it brings the edges of his collar, not the press. The coffee there, the hot lights, the hiss of the percolator. A hazelnut croissant, the bus arrives in twenty minutes. On the counter, the tiny girl of the boss, sitting, chewing a sandwich with a contemplative air. She has a flower name, Capucine. Mine crumpled, smell delicious sleepy little girl, still steeped in dreams.
The bus slows down, stops at the gate of the school. It snowed yesterday, a cold moisture soaks the ground, his boots sinking. She climbed breathing hard the path to the building it will occupy today. It has six hours of classes to give Monday is a big day. She returns to her mentally schedule, number of rooms, students' names, the texts it should be photocopied. Will she have enough money to borrow some coffee? She knows that she drinks a little too much, it is certainly not very good. It recognizes a student who is waiting, standing in front of the building's entrance, perhaps the arrival of a friend. She smiled, hoping she does not greet, she did not want to talk.
The warmth of the staff room fell on her shoulders, the piece that sizzles the hum of conversations scheduled for the copier can not interrupt. She approaches the large rectangular machine, made his choice, the mechanism snaps into a small metallic noise and can get a few moments later the cup filled with hot liquid, to taste unpleasant, but still comforting . It tries to avoid his colleagues, wants to preserve this last bubble of silence before the big show - because just now, immediately, it will keep them, attract them to her, seduce them, again and again ...
The first bell rings in the hallway. She hurries to the end of drinking his coffee, throw the cup into the trash, adjusts his bag on his shoulder and headed for the stairs. Waterspouts of students rushed to the classroom, she has the impression of being grazed by a cyclone disheveled and screaming. She retains her sternly, trying to preserve his dignity - to an arrival faculty, not to show the anguish that still captures the giddiness that hugs his heart at the door, then they are massed there, smiling, cheeky, kind, if disturbing ... The second ring barely covers the hubbub, we're at it, the game can resume.
Monday, May 11, 2009
What Does Yeduc Contain?
Preamble The decision time
The spooler runs the Web
blasts if tenuous, and bites
hearts, O impatience
What choice? Dying safe
In the quiet days oppressive equal
Or live
Calling the infinite seas trembling vibrato,
When the spooler its tangled foliage
And that wire is no longer
What nodes where the heart surrenders . 
The spooler runs the Web
blasts if tenuous, and bites
hearts, O impatience
What choice? Dying safe
In the quiet days oppressive equal
Or live
Calling the infinite seas trembling vibrato,
When the spooler its tangled foliage
And that wire is no longer
What nodes where the heart surrenders .
Cost Of Building A Racquetball Court
Why?
New pages, space available as a skin caressed yet ...
There is always the man whom the rage to write a kind of modesty a bit deaf to all these whiteness it prepares to mark its secretions intellectual - when the thought process continues in touch when, the passivity of the idea as a mechanism meets the business of writing.
The word "writing" includes also a laborious and monastic connotations that perfectly matches what has become today the task of the writer. Where are the dilettantes
Stendhalian, what happened to the je ne sais quoi of all the great classics, the thrill of sensual pleasure that is the most aristocratic ?
Where is Montaigne, the patron saint of lovers?
The time for reflection. The author looks at writing, he listens to think - and as it does not derive any real satisfaction of course, he theorizes his book to refrain especially feel it.
That's what I've done ... 
New pages, space available as a skin caressed yet ...
There is always the man whom the rage to write a kind of modesty a bit deaf to all these whiteness it prepares to mark its secretions intellectual - when the thought process continues in touch when, the passivity of the idea as a mechanism meets the business of writing.
The word "writing" includes also a laborious and monastic connotations that perfectly matches what has become today the task of the writer. Where are the dilettantes
Stendhalian, what happened to the je ne sais quoi of all the great classics, the thrill of sensual pleasure that is the most aristocratic ?
Where is Montaigne, the patron saint of lovers?
The time for reflection. The author looks at writing, he listens to think - and as it does not derive any real satisfaction of course, he theorizes his book to refrain especially feel it.
That's what I've done ...
What Color Shutters For A Blue House
Promenade Park
It's cold. Fortunately he found the door miraculously opened, it offers a much shorter path to the bus stop. He imagines the table, kitchen, well-filled glasses. They probably already led the bottles, the maestro behind her kitchen putting the finishing hand to his work, they are just waiting for him.
He runs on the roads as if frozen by an early frost. Frost in October, never seen, the cold was like before the city after two weeks of continuous rain, and everyone digs into his memory to recover memories of winter comes too soon take the place of the Indian summer. Most of the season, Atmosphere botched ... He smiles and thinks the fears of the year one thousand. Forecasters are warm to theorize about time, and he who does not care much for this short climate for earlier releases of this giant iceberg. The cold even distorts his vision; he thinks he sees the trees moving, deforming the benches. Its not sound like very small repetitive echoes.
A gravel lodged in his shoe. He growls, trying to continue, resigned, and abuts on the base of Diana overlooking the South Lawn of Luxembourg. From the top of her thighs superb hand ready to plunge into his quiver, she looks at his fingers numb struggle with the laces, a smirk on his lips. See this tall man with a hundred lashes for a tiny pebble, so it is so ridiculous as that, man?
"My old, your comment is not original. If you're cultivating a little, instead of look stupid people with a bow in hand, you know. In the genre cliche, it is not better! "
The gravel is gone, Mark throws an angry look toward the statue, as if to verify that it has taken note of what he has to throw. Does he dream? but she laughed at this, the bitch!
He laughed too. If he does during his life incurring the contempt of the statues, it is not so bad.
He joined the main path, turns one last time, waved his hand toward the mocking friendly, no hard feelings!
It takes three steps, stumbles, falls, stifling a groan.
We must believe that it was more serious than he thought and he has an arrow stuck in the wood back, and his body now forms a small mound shabby, already hardened by the frost. 
It's cold. Fortunately he found the door miraculously opened, it offers a much shorter path to the bus stop. He imagines the table, kitchen, well-filled glasses. They probably already led the bottles, the maestro behind her kitchen putting the finishing hand to his work, they are just waiting for him.
He runs on the roads as if frozen by an early frost. Frost in October, never seen, the cold was like before the city after two weeks of continuous rain, and everyone digs into his memory to recover memories of winter comes too soon take the place of the Indian summer. Most of the season, Atmosphere botched ... He smiles and thinks the fears of the year one thousand. Forecasters are warm to theorize about time, and he who does not care much for this short climate for earlier releases of this giant iceberg. The cold even distorts his vision; he thinks he sees the trees moving, deforming the benches. Its not sound like very small repetitive echoes.
A gravel lodged in his shoe. He growls, trying to continue, resigned, and abuts on the base of Diana overlooking the South Lawn of Luxembourg. From the top of her thighs superb hand ready to plunge into his quiver, she looks at his fingers numb struggle with the laces, a smirk on his lips. See this tall man with a hundred lashes for a tiny pebble, so it is so ridiculous as that, man?
"My old, your comment is not original. If you're cultivating a little, instead of look stupid people with a bow in hand, you know. In the genre cliche, it is not better! "
The gravel is gone, Mark throws an angry look toward the statue, as if to verify that it has taken note of what he has to throw. Does he dream? but she laughed at this, the bitch!
He laughed too. If he does during his life incurring the contempt of the statues, it is not so bad.
He joined the main path, turns one last time, waved his hand toward the mocking friendly, no hard feelings!
It takes three steps, stumbles, falls, stifling a groan.
We must believe that it was more serious than he thought and he has an arrow stuck in the wood back, and his body now forms a small mound shabby, already hardened by the frost.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Denise Milani's Stomach
The future of mankind Breaking
The other day I laid an egg. An egg rather pretty, brown, slightly speckled with red, perfectly smooth and regular. An egg like any other egg. Finally, what an egg.
It was out two weeks I was feeling a little bloated - what I put into the account of chronic constipation, sore but oh so little literary common among the female population. Bread, laxatives, various remedies; my transit improved, my discomfort persisted. Like a little ball of chewing gum stuck to the intestinal wall, egg, he prospered.
Now that I think, luckily I could catch it in time. I still feel some responsibility towards him, he would have been a pity he foolishly perish at the bottom of the bowl of the toilet. Mostly it seems to me that our species, lay eggs is not an act so commonplace. You tell me, there are eggs. A healthy female lays one egg every 28 days. Finally, lays ... That's all much like an egg, except that it does not come out. And above all, an egg, it does not brood.
Because the problem is there. I talked to Peter, of course, and the first surprise, we agreed on one point: we will have this egg hatching. I look good, well, after narrowly drafted to let him die like that without a little attention, without even an effort to make it bloom!
The trouble is that neither Peter nor I have time to hatch an egg. I inquired: incubation, it can be long. Especially that, I suppose, the incubation of a human egg has to have some similarities with pregnancy in utero. I guess it is fine to have at least two or three months to give it something. Where? Peter and I are working on. Even taking turns, I can not see us succeed in maintaining a regular breeding for three months.
And then will add details idiots, who can all put down in less than two. How hatching? Should we sit on it? Do not we risk so the crush? At what temperature should you keep? How to recognize warning signs of the outbreak? A real Chinese puzzle
... My mother has found a temporary solution: the incubator. Just find an incubator, set to arrive in about 37 degrees - that the temperature inside the human body, so it should go, and wait. No need for constant presence, no fear of breakage ... the perfect nanny somehow. Unless an incubator, it is not the Samaritan. Then we have our minds to turn to the medical profession.
Meanwhile, I put the egg in a kettle.
This idiot doctor has put five minutes before realizing the problem. It took him Prosper show - yes, I gave him a name. My mother did say it was bad luck before birth (sorry, the outbreak), but I do not know why I had before baptizing very difficult to attach myself. Since I can call, I'm already much more maternal with him - in short, it took me to get out of its bag for Prosper to consent to stop saying, laughing: "you do not like omelets? Peter, who is a lawyer, he noted that he had no right to refuse a patient - in this case, me - until you have at least listened. The doctor took us for two crazy and he wanted us out, when I suggested a simple solution.
"Get a radio in my gut: spawning has certainly left scars that prove that Prosper is my egg" - Freudian slip: I almost said my son. And I asked myself: If it was a girl? Will I have to find a new name? Well, we'll see on ultrasound.
The idea was chosen: here I am on the radiologist's table, held his stomach with both hands to force laughing. It annoys me, I feel it bothers me. I'll finish it by sticking a slap, it will pass the urge to cackle at that idiot!
No, sir, is not that the chickens that lay eggs!!
I was right, there is a problem with my intestines. The whole team is piously Obstetrics examined my radio, silence itself is religious. Dr. feverishly wipes his glasses with the hem of her gown; internal guard eat his pencil, and fewer of the radiologist.
"You've never done more tests? You are followed by a gynecologist? "
what he thinks? I'm a big girl for almost fifteen years. I too, like all my buddies, was initiated into the joys of smears and breast kneading. But no, everything has always been normal, thank you.
"In fact, it's true that your doctor could not notice anything, you have an anomaly very discreet, but ... It's amazing, I do not think you ever seen anything like it. "
Well, he'll drop his scoop? What is the info on my uterus that kills?
"In reality, you'll laugh (I m'esclaffe already), your uterus and your gut com-mu-they communicate! There is a kind of small airlock that connects them, and ... The egg must have developed there, before leaving through natural when it became too big. Your egg is in fact exactly like a hen's egg, an egg that has hardened. "They watch me all
like a Zara sweater one day sales. I do not like the greedy glimmer in the depths of their eyes.
Peter brings them back to earth, far from their dreams of vivisection.
"Well, actually, what can you do? You lend an incubator? "
Not only do they lend it to us, but I believe we have solved our problem ... It definitely keeps the party for a breeding season in hospital.
Prosper grows constantly. He has a scarf and a hat for premature keep warm, and since I've drawn him a smile, he seems at ease in the artificial light of the incubator.
So on purely medical, everything is going pretty well. After some hesitation, the temperature was set at 38 degrees 5 - it would seem that an egg may need more heat than a normal human being. The incubator is reinforced plastic, Prosper is well protected. The neonatal nurses at the center have been very few days to get used to, but they are very professional, she spoke and handle like other babies. There are many one who told me the first time with a sigh: "My poor child! "But before my bewildered air, she realized that I was quite happy to replace nine months pregnant with a brooding remotely without any hassle or discomfort. Since then, I discern instead a touch of envy in her eyes, she gave birth three times ...
But already, that, that I have a real problem. Even if I head to the girls who are pregnant and nausea and freak out like crazy before the episiotomy, I confess that I ask myself some questions. Am I a real woman, I have not heard the agony of the stirrups? Will I be a mother? Prosper will be there my child or that of the incubator? Will it be like ducklings, following the first one they perceive to be out of the egg? In fact, if he says mom to monitoring, it will annoy me a tad ...
And amidst all these existential questions, I have hit the media, such as African locusts on the field. I thought it would leak, despite assurances from the director of the hospital and from there to see Prosper make the cover of Paris Match!
"A human egg at the Salpetriere! Exclusive: Confessions of the hen-wife! "I had to swear to my mother that I had not told this guy she did eat corn with my brothers and me. Since the solicitations have not stopped, I put dark glasses on Prosper. Same interview I was offered to pose nude, but they were disappointed to see that I had no tail.
Finally, despite the absence of pregnancy, I feel very tired. Can we make an egg-blues?
I was contacted by the chairman of the National Ethics Committee. It seems they want to do a session on my case, which raised "questions of new and fascinating to the human spirit. "I worry a little.
I had reason to worry. Basically, if I followed everything - and given the jargon used by these brave people is not won - the question is what will do in a lot of situations I had never considered, but now will prevent me from sleeping until they hatch. Prosper is it humane, he who was not born in the usual way? Whoever Prosper break by accident or not he would commit murder? If other situations arise, he will spread the use of the incubator, or attempt to reintroduce the egg in the uterus so that the child is born "more natural"? Should we detect at birth in girls the anomaly in my guts? This anomaly may justify a therapeutic abortion? The
oviparity Is the solution for some infertile couples ?!!!!
We swim in delirium, there. I have not chosen to be oviparous! And anyway, the longer it goes, the more I find it very well. First, because it lets me work until birth without asking any questions. Secondly, because if I did not want to keep Prosper, I could have simply let it fall into the bowl, and it was done. I think what bothers these people, they will confess and certainly not is that I'm probably the first woman to expect a baby without it changes more than that my life without it makes me sick, without any upheaval. The hen, she will fuck, because she has nothing of a mater dolorosa ... It seems that the Vatican j'inquiète. Will I be excommunicated?
He moved!! That's today! Four months and dust ... The egg is as big as a watermelon. Peter bought a camcorder for the occasion. I wonder how he goes out, I hope he does not spout.
The outbreak was a success. But Pierre is a little disappointed, a shell was stuck on the lens, the film is partially obscured. Finally, it is clear Prosper went out of its shell by typing with his skull. He has a small bump on the top of the head, the doctor thinks it will go away. Otherwise, tough luck, it will give him the air of an intellectual high brow.
Finally, everyone is reassured: Prosper is a normal baby, with everything you need where you need it. The radiologist wanted to pass it to the pot - so to speak - to check status its viscera, and he obviously does not keep her mother on that front. Finally, as I pointed out to nurses who have a good laugh, because it's a boy, otherwise I would have a bit surprised.
Obviously, I do not have masses of milk, but good, the formula is not for dogs. My little chick did not look at all traumatized by his funny production, and as I have no pound to lose, I think in terms of the mood of the mother, everybody wins.
The only problem will be to keep some anonymity, I think we will move. 
The other day I laid an egg. An egg rather pretty, brown, slightly speckled with red, perfectly smooth and regular. An egg like any other egg. Finally, what an egg.
It was out two weeks I was feeling a little bloated - what I put into the account of chronic constipation, sore but oh so little literary common among the female population. Bread, laxatives, various remedies; my transit improved, my discomfort persisted. Like a little ball of chewing gum stuck to the intestinal wall, egg, he prospered.
Now that I think, luckily I could catch it in time. I still feel some responsibility towards him, he would have been a pity he foolishly perish at the bottom of the bowl of the toilet. Mostly it seems to me that our species, lay eggs is not an act so commonplace. You tell me, there are eggs. A healthy female lays one egg every 28 days. Finally, lays ... That's all much like an egg, except that it does not come out. And above all, an egg, it does not brood.
Because the problem is there. I talked to Peter, of course, and the first surprise, we agreed on one point: we will have this egg hatching. I look good, well, after narrowly drafted to let him die like that without a little attention, without even an effort to make it bloom!
The trouble is that neither Peter nor I have time to hatch an egg. I inquired: incubation, it can be long. Especially that, I suppose, the incubation of a human egg has to have some similarities with pregnancy in utero. I guess it is fine to have at least two or three months to give it something. Where? Peter and I are working on. Even taking turns, I can not see us succeed in maintaining a regular breeding for three months.
And then will add details idiots, who can all put down in less than two. How hatching? Should we sit on it? Do not we risk so the crush? At what temperature should you keep? How to recognize warning signs of the outbreak? A real Chinese puzzle
... My mother has found a temporary solution: the incubator. Just find an incubator, set to arrive in about 37 degrees - that the temperature inside the human body, so it should go, and wait. No need for constant presence, no fear of breakage ... the perfect nanny somehow. Unless an incubator, it is not the Samaritan. Then we have our minds to turn to the medical profession.
Meanwhile, I put the egg in a kettle.
This idiot doctor has put five minutes before realizing the problem. It took him Prosper show - yes, I gave him a name. My mother did say it was bad luck before birth (sorry, the outbreak), but I do not know why I had before baptizing very difficult to attach myself. Since I can call, I'm already much more maternal with him - in short, it took me to get out of its bag for Prosper to consent to stop saying, laughing: "you do not like omelets? Peter, who is a lawyer, he noted that he had no right to refuse a patient - in this case, me - until you have at least listened. The doctor took us for two crazy and he wanted us out, when I suggested a simple solution.
"Get a radio in my gut: spawning has certainly left scars that prove that Prosper is my egg" - Freudian slip: I almost said my son. And I asked myself: If it was a girl? Will I have to find a new name? Well, we'll see on ultrasound.
The idea was chosen: here I am on the radiologist's table, held his stomach with both hands to force laughing. It annoys me, I feel it bothers me. I'll finish it by sticking a slap, it will pass the urge to cackle at that idiot!
No, sir, is not that the chickens that lay eggs!!
I was right, there is a problem with my intestines. The whole team is piously Obstetrics examined my radio, silence itself is religious. Dr. feverishly wipes his glasses with the hem of her gown; internal guard eat his pencil, and fewer of the radiologist.
"You've never done more tests? You are followed by a gynecologist? "
what he thinks? I'm a big girl for almost fifteen years. I too, like all my buddies, was initiated into the joys of smears and breast kneading. But no, everything has always been normal, thank you.
"In fact, it's true that your doctor could not notice anything, you have an anomaly very discreet, but ... It's amazing, I do not think you ever seen anything like it. "
Well, he'll drop his scoop? What is the info on my uterus that kills?
"In reality, you'll laugh (I m'esclaffe already), your uterus and your gut com-mu-they communicate! There is a kind of small airlock that connects them, and ... The egg must have developed there, before leaving through natural when it became too big. Your egg is in fact exactly like a hen's egg, an egg that has hardened. "They watch me all
like a Zara sweater one day sales. I do not like the greedy glimmer in the depths of their eyes.
Peter brings them back to earth, far from their dreams of vivisection.
"Well, actually, what can you do? You lend an incubator? "
Not only do they lend it to us, but I believe we have solved our problem ... It definitely keeps the party for a breeding season in hospital.
Prosper grows constantly. He has a scarf and a hat for premature keep warm, and since I've drawn him a smile, he seems at ease in the artificial light of the incubator.
So on purely medical, everything is going pretty well. After some hesitation, the temperature was set at 38 degrees 5 - it would seem that an egg may need more heat than a normal human being. The incubator is reinforced plastic, Prosper is well protected. The neonatal nurses at the center have been very few days to get used to, but they are very professional, she spoke and handle like other babies. There are many one who told me the first time with a sigh: "My poor child! "But before my bewildered air, she realized that I was quite happy to replace nine months pregnant with a brooding remotely without any hassle or discomfort. Since then, I discern instead a touch of envy in her eyes, she gave birth three times ...
But already, that, that I have a real problem. Even if I head to the girls who are pregnant and nausea and freak out like crazy before the episiotomy, I confess that I ask myself some questions. Am I a real woman, I have not heard the agony of the stirrups? Will I be a mother? Prosper will be there my child or that of the incubator? Will it be like ducklings, following the first one they perceive to be out of the egg? In fact, if he says mom to monitoring, it will annoy me a tad ...
And amidst all these existential questions, I have hit the media, such as African locusts on the field. I thought it would leak, despite assurances from the director of the hospital and from there to see Prosper make the cover of Paris Match!
"A human egg at the Salpetriere! Exclusive: Confessions of the hen-wife! "I had to swear to my mother that I had not told this guy she did eat corn with my brothers and me. Since the solicitations have not stopped, I put dark glasses on Prosper. Same interview I was offered to pose nude, but they were disappointed to see that I had no tail.
Finally, despite the absence of pregnancy, I feel very tired. Can we make an egg-blues?
I was contacted by the chairman of the National Ethics Committee. It seems they want to do a session on my case, which raised "questions of new and fascinating to the human spirit. "I worry a little.
I had reason to worry. Basically, if I followed everything - and given the jargon used by these brave people is not won - the question is what will do in a lot of situations I had never considered, but now will prevent me from sleeping until they hatch. Prosper is it humane, he who was not born in the usual way? Whoever Prosper break by accident or not he would commit murder? If other situations arise, he will spread the use of the incubator, or attempt to reintroduce the egg in the uterus so that the child is born "more natural"? Should we detect at birth in girls the anomaly in my guts? This anomaly may justify a therapeutic abortion? The
oviparity Is the solution for some infertile couples ?!!!!
We swim in delirium, there. I have not chosen to be oviparous! And anyway, the longer it goes, the more I find it very well. First, because it lets me work until birth without asking any questions. Secondly, because if I did not want to keep Prosper, I could have simply let it fall into the bowl, and it was done. I think what bothers these people, they will confess and certainly not is that I'm probably the first woman to expect a baby without it changes more than that my life without it makes me sick, without any upheaval. The hen, she will fuck, because she has nothing of a mater dolorosa ... It seems that the Vatican j'inquiète. Will I be excommunicated?
He moved!! That's today! Four months and dust ... The egg is as big as a watermelon. Peter bought a camcorder for the occasion. I wonder how he goes out, I hope he does not spout.
The outbreak was a success. But Pierre is a little disappointed, a shell was stuck on the lens, the film is partially obscured. Finally, it is clear Prosper went out of its shell by typing with his skull. He has a small bump on the top of the head, the doctor thinks it will go away. Otherwise, tough luck, it will give him the air of an intellectual high brow.
Finally, everyone is reassured: Prosper is a normal baby, with everything you need where you need it. The radiologist wanted to pass it to the pot - so to speak - to check status its viscera, and he obviously does not keep her mother on that front. Finally, as I pointed out to nurses who have a good laugh, because it's a boy, otherwise I would have a bit surprised.
Obviously, I do not have masses of milk, but good, the formula is not for dogs. My little chick did not look at all traumatized by his funny production, and as I have no pound to lose, I think in terms of the mood of the mother, everybody wins.
The only problem will be to keep some anonymity, I think we will move.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Can You Book A Flight Without Paying
here ...
... This unbearable suspense.
No, I'm not a pigeon.
Here are some miscellaneous texts, some thoughts more or less (a) varied, some traces of what goes through my cortex deep layers of the days when I sometimes allowed to wander the fingers (mine? Who knows ) on my keyboard.
Happy reading and good luck. 
... This unbearable suspense.
No, I'm not a pigeon.
Here are some miscellaneous texts, some thoughts more or less (a) varied, some traces of what goes through my cortex deep layers of the days when I sometimes allowed to wander the fingers (mine? Who knows ) on my keyboard.
Happy reading and good luck.
How Long Should I Be On Superpump 250
Vie Parisienne
Passersby do not give me the alms of their tired eyes. Sometimes their eye glides over my complexion dirty like a mud puddle, something smooth and nothing disgusting about what not to invite to linger. I'm afraid; this idea of satisfaction fills me stupid. Because I'm stupid, as they like to repeat it all to me. It is true that my attitudes are horror comics when they start to chase me.
"It is really too stupid! "It
joke, I play. They also pretend, they would do well to really get me pissed. Sometimes I get stones. One of them got punctured the eye. I do not blame them. It makes me interesting, it reinforces my power of repulsion, more powerful, more durable than all the seductions of Venus in pristine mules netted. They are resplendent with color primitive and brutal: eye cobalt, orange hair, nails dregs of wine. I'm staying forever gray, fade into the heady absorption of concrete everlasting. I am clear in this show where I bang as obscene graffiti on the facade of a bridge club. That's one of those seductive nymphets pass near me. It saves me the end of his New Balance, her pout Pearl - pink love # 12 - disgusted rather than sulking. I chierais him well on the head just for the pleasure of hearing his little cries of wet pussy, nice baptism. She walks away, his buttocks swaying from side to side in an ellipse which wants troubling. That does not bother me, can not do anything to me. I prefer their quick couplings refined rape of my peers, companions erased as I delivered my desires on the sidewalk that haunt us together.
You say to yourself what being foul. You're right, I am to you a kind of monster. You make me feel pretty. What pleasure I bring you: disgust and fear no imminent danger! I like to think that you are happy with me. And I do not think I'm to be pitied. A fried moldy, water a gutter ... I'm good. I am the great parasite, jaded as a god and I am the white spots on the clean sheet, I am the power in the bun. But I'm also what is weaker and more unknown. I probably die in silence, crushed under the wheel of a car, spread viscera for the first time red to gray.
I am a pigeon. And royally, I fuck you. 
Passersby do not give me the alms of their tired eyes. Sometimes their eye glides over my complexion dirty like a mud puddle, something smooth and nothing disgusting about what not to invite to linger. I'm afraid; this idea of satisfaction fills me stupid. Because I'm stupid, as they like to repeat it all to me. It is true that my attitudes are horror comics when they start to chase me.
"It is really too stupid! "It
joke, I play. They also pretend, they would do well to really get me pissed. Sometimes I get stones. One of them got punctured the eye. I do not blame them. It makes me interesting, it reinforces my power of repulsion, more powerful, more durable than all the seductions of Venus in pristine mules netted. They are resplendent with color primitive and brutal: eye cobalt, orange hair, nails dregs of wine. I'm staying forever gray, fade into the heady absorption of concrete everlasting. I am clear in this show where I bang as obscene graffiti on the facade of a bridge club. That's one of those seductive nymphets pass near me. It saves me the end of his New Balance, her pout Pearl - pink love # 12 - disgusted rather than sulking. I chierais him well on the head just for the pleasure of hearing his little cries of wet pussy, nice baptism. She walks away, his buttocks swaying from side to side in an ellipse which wants troubling. That does not bother me, can not do anything to me. I prefer their quick couplings refined rape of my peers, companions erased as I delivered my desires on the sidewalk that haunt us together.
You say to yourself what being foul. You're right, I am to you a kind of monster. You make me feel pretty. What pleasure I bring you: disgust and fear no imminent danger! I like to think that you are happy with me. And I do not think I'm to be pitied. A fried moldy, water a gutter ... I'm good. I am the great parasite, jaded as a god and I am the white spots on the clean sheet, I am the power in the bun. But I'm also what is weaker and more unknown. I probably die in silence, crushed under the wheel of a car, spread viscera for the first time red to gray.
I am a pigeon. And royally, I fuck you.
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