Friday, June 13, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
Phildar 431 Telecharger
A natural light, the morning light softly, reveals flashes of golden flakes. Dark brown, wavy-shaped and cylindrical, slightly twisted, rather than property. Its pungent smell and tells me its freshness, the moment of his hasty and furtive apparition, his trampling causes a rhythmic sound angry ... fuck! The contact springs and warm, slightly damp with the lower part of my body wakes up my nose numb. Her sight reminds me of a suggestion of taste, far from being pleasant rather sour and disgusting, causing involuntary abdominal contractions, which force me to a sudden retreat to the bathroom. While clearly distinguish the remains of my recent breakfast, floats on the bottom of the cup, colors and density variables, refer to my mind an image that materializes next to me, at the height of my nose ... two long ears, tongue hanging out, a tail and a reverent look for anything malicious, I awaken a deep sense of guilt. If the memory is only focused on the previous night, capturing the memory of my oversight, darkened by waves alcohol and an artificial exhaustion, caused by a voluntary return home late. I can not blame my disrespectful but faithful companion, from the front my sinister and blind selfishness, have decided to violate a strict rule to safeguard their health, hearing and working with his bodily needs. I pick up the remains of myself and those of Samson left rhythmically along the corridor, which have become flat in shape, when around the corner ... dark brown, wavy, cylindrical shape so that other ...?
Friday, March 28, 2008
Precision Trainer Xt User Manual
Pride
"A cloud of smoke, which all run away, do not see anything, the police tear gas, the fear, I hand in my father looking for a way out." Arena were quelling a demonstration in Milan. I must have been no more than ten years. My life starts there, hanging that hand, the memory of my childhood more clearly just begun. The next slide memory in elementary school "Ruffini," famous for being the next great Leonardo's fresco "The Last Supper", but then again there were rows of Japanese to Corso Magenta. Fusi Gigliola The teacher kept me in consideration, not because the most talented, but because the most bizarre. I knew amaze me. Once he gave a task: Fill both sides of the notebook "or". I was at home, watching TV, I did not want, and my mother was not some attention to my tasks were different times, the children were in the hands of institutions, of which adults they trusted him blindly. Not like now with the parents alerted to alleged or actual carnal accusations. I was very interested in the sad "or" and wanted to see the cartoons. I began to draw bigger and bigger, to fill an entire page, four "or" on a single page. The next day at school I suffered the humiliation first, my notebook was thrown into the air in the middle of class. I had gone too far. Silently I picked it up and put me back to the place. I realized that there was a limit to the acceptance of different, the balls were not to go too! I treasure it. I was promoted to the fifth to answer all the questions and carrying out manual work, such as a clay pallosissimo rosary and a cross stitch embroidery, which I still hung in the bedroom of my childhood. A full marks, redeemed, move pride. From there, the medium was a jump. My parents had an open mind, so open to trust a school experiment at the Milan Conservatory. The school would join in the experimental, the Institute for the Blind and the dear master of the Conservatory Abbado was to look like a cruel scientist. I walked shyly, wearing a skirt loden sad that my mother loved so much. The first day I noticed the lack of rules, I was immediately taken for a ride, because all too well dressed. The first quarter report card had my good grades but a bad opinion about me: "She is not engaged, hard to socialize, even if he has good returns." I picked up the situation, literally. I gave up the returns and devoted myself to the work of leaders. The lessons, run by me, ended up being a game of hide and seek, and time around a bottle of Italian. The teachers followed, looking for those who would be able to submit. Not to mention the blind, innocent victims, who crushed the dots Brail not to make them lighter, finishing with a shove down the stairs. On a personal level was a success. In the short time I was the one who could command to insert a spoon in the ass to the class nerd. Second term: "The girl had a loss in performance. Its insertion is complete, however, shows clear signs of leadership ability." It was a successful experiment, as a school, but my pride still came out the winner. The rest was a disaster. But it was there that I met Julie Comella, long platinum blonde hair, always disheveled, flared jeans, sweaters wide; a blowjob in school, which of us was not at that age, apart from the usual nerd. Julius was beautiful and damned; a leader! We understand now, but it was too conventionally accepted. In the eyes of others could not love us, we had to be at all, grant us, we were not allowed to be a couple, it was anti-political, was a fascist. We loved pretending nothing, suffering the lack of intimacy. At parties we had to kiss everybody, not to show preferences, seconded to be superior, but suffers from die observed you tongue in my mouth, with strangers. Every slap, every heartbeat in the privacy, torture, every smile, a misunderstanding. We knew we love each other, but that was not the time and place. He was the son of an actor, that I approached him even more. I was the daughter of a theatrical impresario, always on tour and missing too much to want, once back home, to get my head in my problems, and a mother only ever accompanied by glasses of Lambrusco and discs Aznavour. One evening, while my brother and I were in bed, we heard a bang in the bathroom. Fell banging his head on the edge of the bath, had blood on their hands and looking distraught with grief. Matthew and I, looked hide the shame and the lost dignity. We drove away in a bad way. Even now I hate Aznavour. Julius made a party in the rehearsal room of his father. The whole class participated. We played a strange game, like dodgeball. The row of men at the center was to capture one of the many females who tried to reach the opposite bank and reversed. I did everything to fall into his arms, to be taken, captured, to enjoy a moment of intimacy admitted, or even masked. He did the same, until a jealous voice among the guests: "Excuse me, but if Julie wanted to have a party only with Elisa, he could warn us!" And it was over. Julius would not have ever given up its role as a leader, and shortly after I left. It was difficult for me to collect the shot. Every morning I saw him flirting with other in class, indifferent to my heart twisted. One day, however, I realized the truth. While we were all together in a circle to sing a song of Baptists, "The song of the sun," crossed his eyes, he had continued to observe from a distance, was still in love! Immediately took advantage of the situation and how the evil Medusa marmorizzai, boyfriend with his best friend, Nicola. I became the perfect love, always attached to him, flaunting scandalous kisses and attention by geisha, performing all kinds of provocation, an effective way to heal my wounded pride. Julius was never at school. In this way, perhaps, I was showing his indifference. I felt stupid, as I could hope to win with him as one of the tricks as a child! I had lost. My life changed, I had deep ruts in the soul, as my guilt. I began to politics, as can a fourteen year old, with the conviction resulted more from belonging to a group, and personal. These were the years of lead, Milan was a pressure cooker. YOU KNOW IT to make it explode. They had just killed and Fausto Iaio. I went to that big event, motivated by anger, indignation, contempt. So many people, a lot of smoke, lots of police batons as they hovered in the air by skittles circus. I'm running away trying to save themselves. It was there that lend a hand saw, was Julius, beautiful, with a handkerchief over his face, brandished a big stick of wood. I looked into his eyes, grabbed me and ran strong, making their way to beating. My heart was beating crazy. We were able to overcome the trucks hell, where our comrades were locked case and beat the living daylights. We kept running, away from there, breathless, to be able to find, embrace, love finally in front of everyone. A whistle, do not know where I step over the ear, suddenly the silence around me, I immobilizzai, the body of Julius who slumped in slow motion. I, who continues to tighten. La mia vita finiva lì, in quella Appes hand, il ricordo della mia adolescenza più chiaro, per semper Spezzato. 
"A cloud of smoke, which all run away, do not see anything, the police tear gas, the fear, I hand in my father looking for a way out." Arena were quelling a demonstration in Milan. I must have been no more than ten years. My life starts there, hanging that hand, the memory of my childhood more clearly just begun. The next slide memory in elementary school "Ruffini," famous for being the next great Leonardo's fresco "The Last Supper", but then again there were rows of Japanese to Corso Magenta. Fusi Gigliola The teacher kept me in consideration, not because the most talented, but because the most bizarre. I knew amaze me. Once he gave a task: Fill both sides of the notebook "or". I was at home, watching TV, I did not want, and my mother was not some attention to my tasks were different times, the children were in the hands of institutions, of which adults they trusted him blindly. Not like now with the parents alerted to alleged or actual carnal accusations. I was very interested in the sad "or" and wanted to see the cartoons. I began to draw bigger and bigger, to fill an entire page, four "or" on a single page. The next day at school I suffered the humiliation first, my notebook was thrown into the air in the middle of class. I had gone too far. Silently I picked it up and put me back to the place. I realized that there was a limit to the acceptance of different, the balls were not to go too! I treasure it. I was promoted to the fifth to answer all the questions and carrying out manual work, such as a clay pallosissimo rosary and a cross stitch embroidery, which I still hung in the bedroom of my childhood. A full marks, redeemed, move pride. From there, the medium was a jump. My parents had an open mind, so open to trust a school experiment at the Milan Conservatory. The school would join in the experimental, the Institute for the Blind and the dear master of the Conservatory Abbado was to look like a cruel scientist. I walked shyly, wearing a skirt loden sad that my mother loved so much. The first day I noticed the lack of rules, I was immediately taken for a ride, because all too well dressed. The first quarter report card had my good grades but a bad opinion about me: "She is not engaged, hard to socialize, even if he has good returns." I picked up the situation, literally. I gave up the returns and devoted myself to the work of leaders. The lessons, run by me, ended up being a game of hide and seek, and time around a bottle of Italian. The teachers followed, looking for those who would be able to submit. Not to mention the blind, innocent victims, who crushed the dots Brail not to make them lighter, finishing with a shove down the stairs. On a personal level was a success. In the short time I was the one who could command to insert a spoon in the ass to the class nerd. Second term: "The girl had a loss in performance. Its insertion is complete, however, shows clear signs of leadership ability." It was a successful experiment, as a school, but my pride still came out the winner. The rest was a disaster. But it was there that I met Julie Comella, long platinum blonde hair, always disheveled, flared jeans, sweaters wide; a blowjob in school, which of us was not at that age, apart from the usual nerd. Julius was beautiful and damned; a leader! We understand now, but it was too conventionally accepted. In the eyes of others could not love us, we had to be at all, grant us, we were not allowed to be a couple, it was anti-political, was a fascist. We loved pretending nothing, suffering the lack of intimacy. At parties we had to kiss everybody, not to show preferences, seconded to be superior, but suffers from die observed you tongue in my mouth, with strangers. Every slap, every heartbeat in the privacy, torture, every smile, a misunderstanding. We knew we love each other, but that was not the time and place. He was the son of an actor, that I approached him even more. I was the daughter of a theatrical impresario, always on tour and missing too much to want, once back home, to get my head in my problems, and a mother only ever accompanied by glasses of Lambrusco and discs Aznavour. One evening, while my brother and I were in bed, we heard a bang in the bathroom. Fell banging his head on the edge of the bath, had blood on their hands and looking distraught with grief. Matthew and I, looked hide the shame and the lost dignity. We drove away in a bad way. Even now I hate Aznavour. Julius made a party in the rehearsal room of his father. The whole class participated. We played a strange game, like dodgeball. The row of men at the center was to capture one of the many females who tried to reach the opposite bank and reversed. I did everything to fall into his arms, to be taken, captured, to enjoy a moment of intimacy admitted, or even masked. He did the same, until a jealous voice among the guests: "Excuse me, but if Julie wanted to have a party only with Elisa, he could warn us!" And it was over. Julius would not have ever given up its role as a leader, and shortly after I left. It was difficult for me to collect the shot. Every morning I saw him flirting with other in class, indifferent to my heart twisted. One day, however, I realized the truth. While we were all together in a circle to sing a song of Baptists, "The song of the sun," crossed his eyes, he had continued to observe from a distance, was still in love! Immediately took advantage of the situation and how the evil Medusa marmorizzai, boyfriend with his best friend, Nicola. I became the perfect love, always attached to him, flaunting scandalous kisses and attention by geisha, performing all kinds of provocation, an effective way to heal my wounded pride. Julius was never at school. In this way, perhaps, I was showing his indifference. I felt stupid, as I could hope to win with him as one of the tricks as a child! I had lost. My life changed, I had deep ruts in the soul, as my guilt. I began to politics, as can a fourteen year old, with the conviction resulted more from belonging to a group, and personal. These were the years of lead, Milan was a pressure cooker. YOU KNOW IT to make it explode. They had just killed and Fausto Iaio. I went to that big event, motivated by anger, indignation, contempt. So many people, a lot of smoke, lots of police batons as they hovered in the air by skittles circus. I'm running away trying to save themselves. It was there that lend a hand saw, was Julius, beautiful, with a handkerchief over his face, brandished a big stick of wood. I looked into his eyes, grabbed me and ran strong, making their way to beating. My heart was beating crazy. We were able to overcome the trucks hell, where our comrades were locked case and beat the living daylights. We kept running, away from there, breathless, to be able to find, embrace, love finally in front of everyone. A whistle, do not know where I step over the ear, suddenly the silence around me, I immobilizzai, the body of Julius who slumped in slow motion. I, who continues to tighten. La mia vita finiva lì, in quella Appes hand, il ricordo della mia adolescenza più chiaro, per semper Spezzato. Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Eating Chocolate And Heartburn
... In the distance you think my doubts, my anger at the time it does not remove the eye before me ... I feel jealous of what you have not spilled on my lips ... and for you all this is not just a problem that I have created ... and hours not to hide my face ... no where to host my senses ... a thin line separates us imagined that leaves no touch our dreams ... I am creating mountains with my fears ... and believe it or not attempt to clear the fog so intense ... This fog does not provide my fingerprint on the road ... And I tell you you're like a mixture of smells that never stayed in my body ... as an optical illusion that can never reach ... desiring to be more like ... pronounce it as my soul need ... and not only my faults are part of who I am ... and as I write this I get to thinking about my mother ... Because she loves me like what you see? ... Why can not you admit to me the same way? ... and at this point I can hide around the world ... I wish to disappear at times ... and the only action is to lie in bed and pass the hours ... and yes, as you said, hiding my face ... sweep my mistakes, my failures, my shortcomings, as While you want to call ... unassembled hide a lot of noise ... rest of what both drilling my head ... And I feel cold ... I feel the need to snuggle my reasons why I Love You ... warmth to what at this point no one can give me ... whisper to my senses like when you're by my side ... and pass this time so confusing ... hide my head back under these sheets so cold ... let me unveil moon with whom you dream tonight ... let your light is not cool to my loneliness ....
Monday, February 18, 2008
Order Grecian Formula Online
... reborn warm light reflecting my delicacy ... I am reflected in your eyes, scaring my fears ... and surround me with your arms trying to calm my shakes ... and perhaps might be something more dream than real ... my phone screen is filled with messages that rarely read ... I think if that way ... I wonder if this is true ... and if a judge is really here to give us the right ... I close my eyes and remember those situations like when I was in the playground with my Baby pictures ... and a hundred children around me screaming, crying, feeling like a prison ... And all around me the feeling that turns ... everything revolves around me ... And sunlight then slap the side of my face and reveals the shortcomings of my face ... and you're not here to see them ... I may fall into some soft soil, asphalt alone and thirsty, which only gives off heat ... I let my body become dehydrated, which the wind get what one wants ... My eyes unblinking, with a thirst for tears one day and spill ... my chapped lips, dry Love, longing to be kissed .... wanting to be caramel ... And I wake from this nightmare that many days does my be ... At what point will this war that still do not know when it started? "... When regain my nine lives, those who give away without leaving anything in return ... How many hours I have left to finish this way? "... And that is something that I would find at the end of the ...
Friday, February 15, 2008
What Is The Time Of Mid Night Hot On Ftv
Son of the moon
Venivo da Milano, Aveva più little twenty years and did the actress. Forced to sit for long periods in the capital, because of the evidence, decided to move permanently. Looking for a house was not easy, rents were not within my reach, so prevaricated advantage of friendships, turning around all the districts of Rome. That time I lived in the Snake Alley, the house was the friend of a friend of mine, practically a stranger, herself an actress, but much bigger than me. The night I arrived, about ten o'clock, I received a hurry, he showed me the bed and ran away, urlandomi that there was nothing to eat. He slammed the door. I threw the bag on the bed and began to accuse the fast. I went to open the fridge, only to curiosity, of course. Two hard-boiled eggs, a bowl of boiled potatoes, covered closely by the transparent film, a low-fat yogurt, a surplus of butter. Even if I could, I would not have made further depress. Andarmi decided to buy a pizza. In the alley I noticed a lot of dirt on the floor syringes, bottles and overflowing dumpster. The faces of strangers ruined by poverty or desperation, or both, were women, mostly prostitutes. I worried for my return home late at night after the show. I did make a round pizza in a pizzeria deserted, with damp walls and the air that smelled of rancid oil, but the pizza was nice. I made the beats a script on my accent and told me the usual relative moved to Milan to work. "How to work well there, but the city, the weather ...." Yes I know, I hate Milan, not only for this. Milan is just hate. I took the pizza and went to eat at home. It was dimly lit, two windows looked out on the street, while those in the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, overlooking a small internal courtyard, where you could wash the dirty linen of the neighbors. It was the kitchen that witnessed the scene. They started yelling, insulting him heavily, she defended herself, weeping, he took a slap, and she spat in his face. "You're a bitch, this is not my son." She had a small child in her arms. "You're a pig, how do you think such a thing, disgusting!" He blinded by anger, continued to deny, to accuse her of treason, "He's blond, slut." She waved, heedless of the child, Stratton if he could he would have thrown out the window. He could not defend themselves. He took advantage, seized and sank the blade of a knife in his belly. I screamed, I dropped the pizza on the floor, I did not know what to do, other neighbors went to the house and began to scream too: "Call the police, an ambulance! Presto! "I had no idea what the number. Completely in the ball, unable, helpless, frustrated, angry, unable to help that baby. The night was sleepless, many people, police cars, ambulances, gossip, interviews. The next morning, I went to drink coffee, I was very tired, the road was quiet and I could not back out of my mind that scene. I looked at the box had been emptied, as the heart of that child. 
Venivo da Milano, Aveva più little twenty years and did the actress. Forced to sit for long periods in the capital, because of the evidence, decided to move permanently. Looking for a house was not easy, rents were not within my reach, so prevaricated advantage of friendships, turning around all the districts of Rome. That time I lived in the Snake Alley, the house was the friend of a friend of mine, practically a stranger, herself an actress, but much bigger than me. The night I arrived, about ten o'clock, I received a hurry, he showed me the bed and ran away, urlandomi that there was nothing to eat. He slammed the door. I threw the bag on the bed and began to accuse the fast. I went to open the fridge, only to curiosity, of course. Two hard-boiled eggs, a bowl of boiled potatoes, covered closely by the transparent film, a low-fat yogurt, a surplus of butter. Even if I could, I would not have made further depress. Andarmi decided to buy a pizza. In the alley I noticed a lot of dirt on the floor syringes, bottles and overflowing dumpster. The faces of strangers ruined by poverty or desperation, or both, were women, mostly prostitutes. I worried for my return home late at night after the show. I did make a round pizza in a pizzeria deserted, with damp walls and the air that smelled of rancid oil, but the pizza was nice. I made the beats a script on my accent and told me the usual relative moved to Milan to work. "How to work well there, but the city, the weather ...." Yes I know, I hate Milan, not only for this. Milan is just hate. I took the pizza and went to eat at home. It was dimly lit, two windows looked out on the street, while those in the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom, overlooking a small internal courtyard, where you could wash the dirty linen of the neighbors. It was the kitchen that witnessed the scene. They started yelling, insulting him heavily, she defended herself, weeping, he took a slap, and she spat in his face. "You're a bitch, this is not my son." She had a small child in her arms. "You're a pig, how do you think such a thing, disgusting!" He blinded by anger, continued to deny, to accuse her of treason, "He's blond, slut." She waved, heedless of the child, Stratton if he could he would have thrown out the window. He could not defend themselves. He took advantage, seized and sank the blade of a knife in his belly. I screamed, I dropped the pizza on the floor, I did not know what to do, other neighbors went to the house and began to scream too: "Call the police, an ambulance! Presto! "I had no idea what the number. Completely in the ball, unable, helpless, frustrated, angry, unable to help that baby. The night was sleepless, many people, police cars, ambulances, gossip, interviews. The next morning, I went to drink coffee, I was very tired, the road was quiet and I could not back out of my mind that scene. I looked at the box had been emptied, as the heart of that child. 
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Indiana Healthcare Surrogate
Ti Adoro
adore you like the night time, or vessel of sadness, or large silent! And the more I love you as much as I flee, or beautiful, and looks, ornament of my nights, ironically earning the distance between my arms from the infinite blue. I carry the attack, as does a row m'arrampico onslaught of worms in a corpse, and love, relentless and cruel fair, until the cold that makes you more beautiful in my eyes.
adore you like the night time, or vessel of sadness, or large silent! And the more I love you as much as I flee, or beautiful, and looks, ornament of my nights, ironically earning the distance between my arms from the infinite blue. I carry the attack, as does a row m'arrampico onslaught of worms in a corpse, and love, relentless and cruel fair, until the cold that makes you more beautiful in my eyes. Charles Baudelaire
Friday, February 1, 2008
Can A Virus Cause Geographic Tongue
A moment of poetry ...
Time passes without asking permission,
his shoulder and goes,
time to turn around to realize it,
is already over and you did not see his face.
In air
short word for a life on the run
always out of town, from
Trottolino love dudu dada ... That's what the vice
national
mushy mishmash of sounds that rhyme.
Mary Poppins I am for the short
poetry, short story, the title.
do not need to express more
the description of the contents. You end up inventing
supercalifragilistichespiralitoso,
no longer have anything to say.
The fund
O provokes us, because we like them, or
or you'll buy you a drink.
scam
The party does not last as news vuoi per prima?
The bonus? La seconda? Le notizie Arrivano cattivo per prime
Allora the seconda.
Troppo Tardi, adesso non conta più. Perché
perdiamo semper Prezioso tempo?
Everything seems
Nothing is what it seems, but maybe it's just that, here
the deception, the torment.
If everything is what it is, what sense ha, there's nothing out there
.
Your projection
in a glass of wine.
Living
We want to be fair, we want to be healthy
,
want to be good,
want to be smart.
I see only attempts to be immortal,
without conscience, without knowing how
feel alive.
Moments
Nothing is what it seems, but maybe it's just that, here
the deception, the torment.
If everything is what it is, what sense ha, there's nothing out there
.
Your projection
in a glass of wine.
Living
We want to be fair, we want to be healthy
,
want to be good,
want to be smart.
I see only attempts to be immortal,
without conscience, without knowing how
feel alive.
Moments
Time passes without asking permission,
his shoulder and goes,
time to turn around to realize it,
is already over and you did not see his face.
In air
short word for a life on the run
always out of town, from
Trottolino love dudu dada ... That's what the vice
national
mushy mishmash of sounds that rhyme.
Mary Poppins I am for the short
poetry, short story, the title.
do not need to express more
the description of the contents. You end up inventing
supercalifragilistichespiralitoso,
no longer have anything to say.
The fund
O provokes us, because we like them, or
or you'll buy you a drink.
scam
The party does not last as news vuoi per prima?
The bonus? La seconda? Le notizie Arrivano cattivo per prime
Allora the seconda.
Troppo Tardi, adesso non conta più. Perché
perdiamo semper Prezioso tempo?
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Milena Velba Vintage Erotic Archive
... in these days of the week so uncertain where I live, my body feels tired .... supported in the shadow of this loneliness that absorbs the pulses of my nostalgia ... yawn gasps trying to find an answer to what others call questions ... I cover my face with tears, stroking my lips shaped, reaching its final ... And once again I defoliation as a flower ... my petals fall at night and DOA ... My mornings go by without notice, without letting my body float, without reaching at least the dreams I'm drawn to other verses ... Where I left my pulse? ... Where I lost what I conceived sunny moments? ... I wrote in the sky tangled words I wrote thinking of the bodies that take over the air ... and how unfair the world is from this other angle ... up there, shouting angrily, where the rest think it's just a simple storm ...
Friday, January 25, 2008
How Do You Apply Blue Highlights To Hair
- Ode to the waters of the harbor - Rabbit in Your
galleggia Non altro nei porti di
is non rottami casse, Cappelli
abbandonati deceduta
e frutta. Dall'alto
large birds
blacks are watching, motionless.
The sea has resigned
the garbage, oil
fingerprints are printed on water
as if someone had walked on the waves
feet with oil, the foam
ignores its origin :
no more soup
nor soap goddess Aphrodite,
but the side of a tavern in mourning
with floating, dark cabbage
vanquished. The other birds
blacks from the wings as thin
daggers waiting there,
lens, which is now flying
nailed in a cloud, independent
and secrets as
liturgical scissors,
and the sea has forgotten that the marina, water
space
who defected and became the port, with solemnity
was examined by a committee
of cold black wings that flies
without flying,
armored conflict in the sky, indifferent, while the dirty water
rocks fallen from the despicable legacy ships.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Pablo Neruda 
galleggia Non altro nei porti di is non rottami casse, Cappelli
abbandonati deceduta
e frutta. Dall'alto
large birds
blacks are watching, motionless.
The sea has resigned
the garbage, oil
fingerprints are printed on water
as if someone had walked on the waves
feet with oil, the foam
ignores its origin :
no more soup
nor soap goddess Aphrodite,
but the side of a tavern in mourning
with floating, dark cabbage
vanquished. The other birds
blacks from the wings as thin
daggers waiting there,
lens, which is now flying
nailed in a cloud, independent
and secrets as
liturgical scissors,
and the sea has forgotten that the marina, water
space
who defected and became the port, with solemnity
was examined by a committee
of cold black wings that flies
without flying,
armored conflict in the sky, indifferent, while the dirty water
rocks fallen from the despicable legacy ships.
... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...
Pablo Neruda
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Cpu Übertakten Asus Maximus Extrem Q9550
Headlights.Video Incredible!
Rabbit in Your Headlights music video
Rabbit in Your Headlights music video
watch this video ... from the album Psyence Fiction
Sunday, January 20, 2008
1/87ho Diorama Foto Gallery
... I write a note .... I feel ... and perhaps by placing in a bottle ... and perhaps throw into the sea ... leaving too many miles on their route ... leaving it reaches your hands ... your sea, at your place ... your home ... and I imagine as the parchment wield too intrigued ... imagine how you feel the chill of the bottle ... imagine how you feel the perfume of my lips detached from those pages, those letters .... words that left drained by the ink of a pen ... and when you read it, remember my voice ... I look at your side ... you are surprised by the way I declare all that stroking your hair shed ... ... grooves are salty ... share your tears when you talk about my loneliness ... tears caress those words ... leaving traces of my heart I wanted to share ... leaving marks of seduction ... brand of passion ... remembering those nights of intense delivery ... remembering secret is in my be ... questions that hang from our destination ... and when night falls ... at nightfall, all the stars turn their heat to turn their light feel ... follow you ... kissing you appear in dreams and waking my body disappear leaving your scent between my sheets ... awake and alert and not here ... not here ... and I name out loud ... your company name you screaming ... shouting your love ... I start to get you around the room ... so yeah ... I realized it was only a dream ... I visited again tonight giving me giving me words ... touch ... kisses ... pleasure .... And leave the message in a bottle left to go I feel your world .... So what belongs to me, claiming that I stole your love ... ... demanding.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Were Can I Play Pokemon Diamond Online?
Because the Night
baby Prendimi adesso
here as I am pull me close, try and understand desire is
is
the fire I breathe Love is a banquet on which we fed
Next
hours trying to understand how I feel when I'm in your hands Take my
hand, come away
They can not hurt you now can not hurt you now can not hurt you now Because the night
belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to lust Because the night
belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to us I
doubt when I'm alone Love is a phone call, the phone
Love is an angel disguised as a desire
Here in our bed until morning comes Next
now try and understand how I feel under your command Take my hand
as the sun sets
They can not touch you now can not touch you now, can not touch you now because the night belongs to lovers
With love we sleep
With doubt the vicious circle turn and burns without you I can not live
forgive, the yearning burning
I think it's about time, too real to feel
So touch me now, touch me now, touch me now
Because the night belongs to lovers
because tonight there are two lovers If we believe in
night
we trust because tonight there are two lovers ... ... 
baby Prendimi adesso
here as I am pull me close, try and understand desire is
is
the fire I breathe Love is a banquet on which we fed
Next
hours trying to understand how I feel when I'm in your hands Take my
hand, come away
They can not hurt you now can not hurt you now can not hurt you now Because the night
belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to lust Because the night
belongs to lovers Because the night belongs to us I
doubt when I'm alone Love is a phone call, the phone
Love is an angel disguised as a desire
Here in our bed until morning comes Next
now try and understand how I feel under your command Take my hand
as the sun sets
They can not touch you now can not touch you now, can not touch you now because the night belongs to lovers
With love we sleep
With doubt the vicious circle turn and burns without you I can not live
forgive, the yearning burning
I think it's about time, too real to feel
So touch me now, touch me now, touch me now
Because the night belongs to lovers
because tonight there are two lovers If we believe in
night
we trust because tonight there are two lovers ... ...
Monday, January 7, 2008
How Do I Stop My Spin Bike From Squeeking?
Milano 1975. The Dogs
The Dogs are dressed in black, with jackets and gloves, ray-ban on his face,
polished shoes, tread, cerulean eyes and menacing. Advance
believing they have won, they advance in Hidden evening ...
advance under the arcades to the rumble of heels, loud sounds, they are strong,
it takes to do justice when you're just master of the city.
A moment of weakness, a moment of solitude,
you win easily, not thinking for themselves.
A boy, a square, a San Babila without babel,
just a game of words to express what is not there.
come to pass, a tango warped, desperate, angry, jealous,
around the revenge.
There is no face, no age, there is a war not only digested,
the affront of a power not recognized, with the sense of the macabre.
A slow string of boredom with the awkwardness of nowhere, takes aim at a target with
paranoid sadism, with all the hatred of the vanquished.
flared jeans, shirts, parkas and long hair
enough to break a heart.
Now take off his glasses, masks go down, now no longer have need
, are sure to win.
remains the silent cry of a city, many people with red flags waving and
in May that the wind took it away.
polished shoes, tread, cerulean eyes and menacing. Advance
believing they have won, they advance in Hidden evening ...
advance under the arcades to the rumble of heels, loud sounds, they are strong,
it takes to do justice when you're just master of the city.
A moment of weakness, a moment of solitude,
you win easily, not thinking for themselves.
A boy, a square, a San Babila without babel,
just a game of words to express what is not there.
come to pass, a tango warped, desperate, angry, jealous,
around the revenge.
There is no face, no age, there is a war not only digested,
the affront of a power not recognized, with the sense of the macabre.
A slow string of boredom with the awkwardness of nowhere, takes aim at a target with
paranoid sadism, with all the hatred of the vanquished.
flared jeans, shirts, parkas and long hair
enough to break a heart.
Now take off his glasses, masks go down, now no longer have need
, are sure to win.
remains the silent cry of a city, many people with red flags waving and
in May that the wind took it away.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
The Music Of The Apprentice Usa
The junction
In the district of this small, foreign, fascist city, only in the architectural style, of course, there is only one road, bordered by two lanes of traffic. On the left side there is a dilapidated school, two huge concrete cubes connected by a long corridor and illuminated glass. Inside, take music lessons, evening for kids, activities and joyful life. Every Thursday accompany my daughter to class and today is Thursday. We are greeted by 'teacher, a young woman of thirty-year-old former obese, with the signs of his victory against fat on the face, always smiling, with that naive and reassuring, a cross between a Ci-Ellina and collegial. His manners are instinctively polite, a real mangiabambini! Chat with her compliments. We need to give importance to his hard work, if not justified as the thirty euro asking in class! At the bottom are a sensitive person, which always takes away the embarrassment, try to fix the consciousness of their own and others' dreams and sleep peacefully. Everything around is in order and clean. The books of music on the piano, the instruments on the desk and the stereo in place. It also very hot, because the radiators were left on for the children. Everything is clear here, everything is absolutely perfect. I leave the classroom. In my pocket I have a heap of candy. Complacent myself, some are doing the right thing, just be sure of a good mother, I go out into the street. On the sidewalk in front of a small bar with the neon sign: the "Club of the Palm." The street lights illuminate the entrance. While I'm waiting for my daughter to come out from school, I decided to enter this bar. I am attracted like a magnet. Inside a man in his fifties sitting at the table, despite the smoking ban, peeled, with grim face and arrogant. It reminds me a bit 'one of my ex-boyfriend, was arrested, he was a RB. From what I understand the bartender gives the orders to the owner. The bartender, a young, perhaps thirty, wearing a pair of spectacles blacks. Strange, I think, with all this sun? I look around the bar there is an attempt to set up Christmas in one corner on the ground with a red aluminum foil on a bad cake and two bottles of sparkling wine. All sprinkled with fake snow, instead of decorating, dirty. I ask for a latte, even if at this late hour it gives me a bit 'of sick. Whispered the young, fat, bartender, one-eyed, asks me how I want it. "What?", "Coffee," he says, "clearly the coffee." The joke is enough and go and sit at a table. Enter two men in their fifties, both in green overalls. There must be some factory around here and maybe this is her after work, I gather, trying to mask the discomfort caused the bartender that I did not take away his glasses off. I ordered two vodka. At this hour? I think. Tonight they will do with your family? The bastards! The bartender asks him if one euro and fifty or two. Respond almost in unison, "but heck of two, is not it?". He takes the glasses, I think Dick for vodka, and fills them to the brim. Enter another man, about forty, well dressed, in dark jacket and jeans, and calls himself a coffee. He sees me and makes a face. I answer with a smile, time to decide on and nod your head. I approach the counter and ask the bartender the key to the bathroom. The man in his forties follow me ... I'll be back, satisfied, without looking at anyone, I add to the account and leave a chocolate bar. In my pocket I have a nice stash of banknotes. Pleased with myself, some are doing the right thing, just be sure of a good bitch, get out into the street. Way in the middle of the deserted street, it is very cold and put his hands in his pocket ... the sweets and money!.
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