Sunday, May 25, 2008

Hair That Lauren London Wears

A day without "important" technical absence

Photo: Le passant qui passe


* Wake up before the alarm sounds. I still think that half an hour of idleness. Try not to sleep again and inevitably set the priorities in the office. Look in the mirror and say who I see "This is not me .." and answering "no "..... eras


* Loop through each day the same way. But without being the same yesterday and maybe different when you return at noon. It's what I think now when I write, today is Sunday and routines are different. Because tomorrow, when crossing the threshold of the door, look for my tune on the mp3. She takes me away from what is known and I write other notes in the ears ..


* My first coffee in the "Rugaca." My second cigarette to savor slowly. How are you, good morning? the brunette girl who prepares it without asking me anything. His routine also. The same hours, the same faces. Almost always the same conversation "I have much sleep, I up at four in the morning. You know ...? The hardest thing, the weekends, "And I smile and I think there are more privileged routines. * Working


. Just work. None other than work. Nothing more. I try to fill it with content. If at least be a little creative!. Adorno reports. Charts, graphs, colors. And the boss always putting his imprint: a "notwithstanding" replaces a smudged "but ..". And in the final report ... "but ..". One that is Aragon.


* I have to call my mother. Not now. Be painting and I will not clutter your inspiration. I imagine between landscapes and I think there is a great beauty within. And out. Because she shimmers in soft veils his soul, dreams .. From his window observe the rainy spring that fills the park lakes. And the evening wind will pose the colors on his palette. Moist colors. Perhaps a tear will rest in the gray of the absences. Absences are also painted. Gray.



* closes the circle. A bit less of the moon. A little further to the left. A little more tired than in the first paragraph. One day less to look in the mirror. One more night of dreams. And a new chapter of equal, equal ..? sensations.



Nothing I've told you "Important." But little things are important because they write the test of life. And they become visible and almost tangible when you think. When you stop the rhythm. And meditate. And orders. And squeeze them, that matters.


Wind.



This is the first meme I write. At the request of Federal- http://fedequiza.blogspot.com/ . Thanks for thinking of me ... The rules, as follows:

1 - Put a link to the person we chose
2 - Set rules on the blog
3 - Share six unimportant things
4 - Choose six people at the end:
5 - Tell these people and leave a comment on their blogs

My
s chosen ones : Wind , Chechu Arroyo , My Girl , Secretary , Rafa León , Manuel Rubiales .

Thursday, May 22, 2008

Kate Nash Mouthwash Klaviernoten



Dear Friends, @ s :

I make a brief excursion from the office to tell the router at home, has done crack, catacrakc ... Two days without Internet. The service at the moment rien de rien ... and Friday ... Hopefully
today are lit ..

nice weekend.

A hug.

Monday, May 19, 2008

Why Abortion Is Good Thesis

water when you look you



The water in which you view your

between plains and chasms,

change the murmur

cries when you have your sound. Tears

as crystals tear

wailing sound

pieces and decompose

between words and verses.

water descends on top

clean silts dead

virgin snow spotted,

trackless wastes of love.
Go through your sighs


to the heart

thirsty and dying streams

ink with your fear

reaching the open sea. That

sea scatters

hearts in the wind.


And water, which was your relief,

you through fingers


Wind (July 2007)

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Hotbird Indian Channels

Malena star




Malena has given me a star. As a reward for the friendship. Indeed, a star. That star is not my eye lately. For these things in life and cloudy days. And rain. Yes, rain needed then enhances the colors. But Malena has brought me, as always. For her, alert, gives you such a star when he sleeps.
'm away from me, here ... you, but I remember and I hope and pray that not too long.


Many kisses to all and especially to her.


Wind

Friday, May 9, 2008

Mum And Son Haveing Good Time

A brunette girl

Photo: Fabienne Botte

For Irene in his eleventh birthday.



Today the sea has smiled, today
the sea has waves
adorned with mirrors and pearls
a thousand treasures
serving in the depths, the sirens.

Today
sea opens its arms to a brunette girl
pearl leather, moon,
who is a friend of fish
nothing from the foam,
born a spring, called
Irene and is
of flowers, my princess.


Wind



Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Meagan Good Short Hair Styles

We have Headlines written




Your body is like yours.
Now I know. Similar
skin, eyes similar, identical
tremors.
As he feel the breezes,
their feet from the shore.
Yours polished silver moons


The corollary is yours, so I always knew
.
final destination has a
though his view of rags
andthe yours lots.

Your body is like yours.
And as mine. Only time
to the bone, different
.


Wind

Friday, May 2, 2008

Pokemon Silve Online Cheats

disease ... I'm just reacting Pessimism


8 sentences of great thing I like is scratching his armpits , Fernanda Pivano an interview that he did to Charles Bukowski :
  • "Those who tend to detestarte are also good readers."

  • "I think that life is totally devoid of interest, and this was particularly true when he worked eight or twelve hours a day (...) There is no reason to love life for someone who works eight hours a day because is defeated. "

  • "Poetry is always easier to write, because you can write when you are completely drunk or completely happy or completely miserable. You can always write a poem."

  • "I do not ever analyze, I just react."

  • "I am a learner, I'm one away."

  • "Optimism is something foul."

  • "I read a little Miller but I can not get into his books, is okey when writing to fuck, but when I fall asleep gets philosophical."

  • "I became a writer not because they believe it could be a writer but because all the writers I knew and who were famous I did not think were worth absolutely nothing. But for me, stay there with folded hands and let them take over the situation with their boring ineptitude seemed outrageous. "

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Breast Shaped Guitars



Burkina's Children. Author: Simon Thibaut


No. There are no comments, perhaps
cowardice, silent stares through the glass ceiling
blame. Here
locked horror, love
here killed by bullets,
here never heard her scream, hot gagged her plea


here so far.
there, so close.
here and there and you and I and all the pain

spectators at the window

Wind