How To Sew A Sausage Dog

Déjà vu B-Side

The next breath. Simply breathing the next. He loved to watch people sleep, observe the subtle movements of the face, count the lashes and breathe the hot breath. Often slept with him and patiently waited to fall asleep to spy on him. He was the only way to really look at it. With eyes wide open, he immersed himself in his furtive face. I must look at him now more than I-think-I can not wake up once more. Never look anyone in the eye, never to feed your soul. E 'indelicate. He was teaching his grandmother, and as such, was sacred. And meanwhile he let his eyes slip between the lines on her face infinite, without thinking, unaware. Guilty of innocence. Absolute stillness was trying to remember the feeling of the "thrill" but everything in that room was still pretty darn hot and still. Even the noise of the city could help: was stuck in that moment and he was afraid it would stay still for too long. Hang too long in an instant it is always dangerous to anyone who has something to forget. Andrea. His name is Andrew. The collection was just like a bird with a broken wing and receiving care dedicating honey, sweet looks and attention. Would give her a pink paper the next day upon awakening. A pink paper reinsegnarle to love the flowers - she said that the flowers of hate. Andrea-repeated insistence, he is Andrew. She has beautiful green eyes and a passion for sailing and he likes chocolate ice cream and live among the people. He likes to feel happy. He is Andrew, and has the look of something. He wanted to pronounce his name, shouting to break the stillness of the night, marchiarselo on the skin. He wanted to wake him, look him in the eye for more than three seconds and providing a look of something. Whatever. Provided it was a live view, full, unlimited. But in his eyes was just emptiness. And vacuum, she could recognize him. Suddenly it was the memory of a moment, another face and another time. But not a deja vu. The deja vu memories of a past lost a sweet taste. For she had never been a deja vu, it had never become a memory of a moment. The veins had crept between the months before and continuously flowed in, a bit like the blood that gives life, or as the poisons that numb the senses. He was the lotus flower.

She watched him from afar, turned his back, framed by the window of his room. His figure was tall and dark in contrast with the light of sunset.
I'd like to come with me to a place in the cemetery .... I wish you knew my grandmother. A few years ago I promised that I'd brought with her as soon as I found you. parted lips, as if to speak, but he knew he would never have confessed that thought. Phil turned slowly and looked into her eyes, for no more than three seconds. A lot of it was enough: he had understood everything. He had seen the infinite void in his eyes. But would still tried to live with it. Perhaps that is why some time later, while he said goodbye in an elevator, she was able to wear a symbolic smile. Then he ran away in the pouring rain. Only in the car, safe, would cry.

G ---------------------------------------------- ------------------------------------------------

This is the first book that my non-public. But I thought it was worth it.
you remember my story 'Déjà vu' ...
This morning around 3:00 and I were just back from a gig where I played so much until my fingers bled. I was exhausted but I was hoping within me to find 'someone' online on MSN. I found two very important people in my life. One, I think the most important moment, put me on a bit 'sad, so much so that I regretted then that I connected. The other, in silence, his playful, able to give me something I never expected. This story.
It's called Deja Vu and is directly related to the one written by me. He wrote it to throw in the evening when I read my feces.
Yes .. she is 'Sofia'.
I am deeply shocked.

Listening still : Twisted - Ultra Nate

Blood Donation Clip Art

Glasses

"Tabby"
Acrylic and Vinyl Paint on Panel, 35cm x 61cm (14 "x 24"), © 2006 Josh Agle

' But where the hell I put my glasses? '
'We had them on his nose up to a moment ago!'
not giving peace, ransacked the whole house, starting from the desk in perfect disorder creative genius. He moved all the books and stacks of CDs that rose from the floor and shelves as skyscrapers of a globalized city. He looked in the ashtray, he dismounted each drawer - even the underwear - he tried to look between the wheels of the printer and removed from the stove-top pot with boiling water to make sure that there were fallen into. Yes, even looked in the water ... not even spare the cat's cradle, earning a look puzzled and threatening the very mild cat. 'But where are they? Damn! ' and nerves began to jump. He had to deliver as soon as the reports, or could not even pay the rent for the shack in which to stay. And, after all, it was not even Mon Matre de Paris ... In a panic you completely bared in investigating the generous décolletage. His eyes nervously as the ball bounced off of Arkanoid from one object to another, always look down to see where her precious tool could be dropped. His gestures were a reflection of the tension that shook her for her dramatic in those moments: you rub the tip of the nose, biting his lower lip - but only in those brief moments when let go from the cigarette and to better reflect ... too much smoke in the eyes-, mentioned occasionally hysterical tears. Strangely, gave respite to long hair, which was usually the object of its oppression: first-collected in a bun and held together by a gnawed pencil, then tied in a queue hasty -, They moved with slow gestures from one side of the neck twisting fingers. He made off in her the idea that someone ... or something ... had stolen his glasses as he was slightly dozed off in front of the PC screen. It could not be otherwise. They could not have dematerialized into the house and of course there were! Now his mind was raving fantastic theories and no one could stop her from what he would do. He filled a bag with a few necessary things and left. Motorcycle, train, plane. He began traveling to places where people lived and where he was fascinated during his readings. Scrutinized carefully to see where the people were what he had lost. Thought you can find on to others what she had not. At least this is what she believed. But why so much fuss for a couple of glasses? Without them, it was like for her to walk at night on a rope 10 feet above the ground, but any man at this point can only ask one question: 'why not buy a new pair?' Needless to say, the problem was not economic in nature ... and even emotional. She wanted her glasses, was a matter of possession. Every night I watched from a city other than a very blurry ball in the sky. More and more trying to understand the situation slipping out of hand. And the more the panic took possession of her, the more you travel. He stopped to talk to many unknown and every time she hoped would be the one who kept the truth. He was around for weeks and had eaten little. He wanted to change his clothes and a long bath in a tub of boiling water. That arduous journey, which had initially believed to be the fulfillment of his destiny, he had proved a failure. He was bored. The night before returning home, she had tried so hard to focus on the Moon that she could see her perfectly. She had imagined. He had ABOVE. Perhaps it was then that he realized he could have within themselves the answer to many problems. In his head ... on his head. He entered the house that had already taken off his shoes as he unbuttoned shirt. He threw the helmet on a chair, alarmed the cat that jumped two feet off the ground and ran wildly, scoured the floors. She smiled, got rid of the other clothes and prepared a bath with hot water, salts and the right music. After all this time was to look in the mirror again, and the eye fell casually on a pencil tip with double red and blue that lay on the worn edge of the sink. He understood and did not understand. He was already entering into the tub, when he put a hand through his hair to dissolve them and felt a shiver down your back, or a mixture of joy and terror. Perhaps the water was too hot? No. In the panic that was the result of a loss, the case - or carelessness - had enabled him to make the yellow almost unsolvable. If only she had kept quiet, if it had passed as usual, his hands through his hair, he quickly realized that to keep her hair gathered on the head as usual did not use the pencil with which reviewed his writings, but the much-mystified glasses.
Sometimes we have so close to the things that we need not even realize it .



Listening: Ultra Nate - Twisted

Log Furniture Oregon Post A Comment

Marschmallows



eat marshmallows and think of you.
wear a sweater and think of you.
I turn on the radio and thinking of you.
caress the cat and I think of you.
Explore the refrigerator empty and thinking of you.
I drink wine from the bottle and think of you.
smoke rings and I think of you.
spending and I think of you.
Agreement guitar and think of you.
I train and think of you.
ride bikes and I think of you.
driving a car at 100 per hour and think of you.
I pay the rent and think of you.
not leave the house and think of you.
I'm with you and think of you.

But Judas pig, tomorrow I give you the 200 € so we'll end with this story!


Listening: There is more samba - Quintet X

Brazilian Waxing Before And After Shots

The basement

The cellar of his grandfather.
will not be less than three square meters. The light in there has never been, you should always settle for the one reflected from the walls of the entrance courtyard and the communal stairwell. And 'certainly excessive to call the "cave" that tiny and cramped storage room that my grandfather jealously guards, condominium there in the compartment under the stairs, but since childhood has always fascinated me causing a curious sense of "awe."
None of that, a dark, damp hole full of junk, narrow and the ceiling running from floor to get a share of about six feet tall. We've always gone with my grandfather during the holidays with your family, to take the chairs, rather than a bottle of wine, or sauce, or a watermelon. As a child (and even now ...) I am terrified at the same time capturing rancid smell of humidity mixed with powder, the fragrance typical of the places closed and dark.
I always liked to imagine how the secret access to a mysterious underground world, but still looking good and take more than a foot inside.
This afternoon I'm back, only after such a long time, and I felt a vivid sense of deja-vu. I opened the lock with the keys of my mother, I opened the little iron door, and inside it was surprising to find again the same things: the wheel of an old Fiat 500, a Formula One calendar 70s, umbrellas, wooden folding chairs, bottles of homemade sauce and wine, a beach umbrella incellofanato, of my grandfather's work jacket, boots, some old magazine, tools, earthenware. And there in front, next to my feet, "Come along," the prickly pear box left for me by my grandfather. Another look inside, a smile, I collect the box and go on.
curiosity for the things they immersed the dark has no age.


(Listening: Our 57th minute of the 23rd - Galliano)

How Long Does It Take Dickies To Dry

LunaThyco

I'll see the same
In the crescent moon. I'll see the same

Kissed by luck.

I'll see you anyway In the folds of my skin. I'll see you anyway

Inside a sea of \u200b\u200bstars.