Milena Velba & Nadine Jensen

Zoociales

felt a chill through my body, a gentle breeze was calling me to leave my bed, suddenly everything around me shivers, and strong noises I deafening. What has happened? I'm not dizzy, confused, on high alert, adrenaline, but it is too late ... it all happened, I can not do more than get out of my bed and run to the bathroom to clean.

Damn diarrhea.

impossible ... Good evening friends. I'm back after a long pause in which the rest of the group owned the space to entertain. It was far, far away ... I was in the bathroom. So I'm back with new energy.

This post will not be another one of my post so used scatological, but I can not stop doing this preamble explaining my health now because that déjà I refer vu happened thanks to my discomfort.

Several days ago I felt exactly the same thing: noise, shaking, shivering, cold and instead of running to the bathroom I ran to the balcony and my surprise was a big wall of fire spreading across the garden city (yes happened to be in the garden city that day) and told me we fucked pal 'pussy this is serious. Corran not fuck that we will die . We must immediately evacuate the building.

Yes, I mean the day was Cabum Cavim .... And why take so long to review it? Well
applied the same tactic of politicians to see if it really would, as always happens in our country. And it happened ... Cooled the case and no one stood more balls.

why we are as we are, for being so quiet! Ignited the powder keg of the country, all reservations armament of a nation were without shelter for a weekend and a fire occurred that could destroy an entire city and leave the country at the mercy of the empire the same attack from a foreign power interested in our oil .... And nobody says anything! Nobody

for balls to the pod!

Lords is serious ... Thankfully there are people without a job in this country that has nothing to do and at least reminded things happening in the country. Came time to demand a little respect, we are told is happening that governments and military authorities more accountable to the nation and its obligations. Gentlemen it is time to stop being amnesic and begin to remember.

certainly finish the post because I do not know where I left the keys.


PD: No it was me who caused the fire, not this time! I swear by their mothers!

Rate Of Respiration Of A Reptile

In recent months we have been closely following the Homo sapiens, we have realized that if we conquer subliminal messages at the point of this blog, even enslave achieve a fierce but loving hand, we have decided that while we have more contacts with you the easier it will make us send our message of love (obedécenos), therefore also around here, we are also on Twitter.

We can get as @ Esquizoofrenia and there you will also find out about all the new posts and you can also join our next secret projects. So you know, you have no excuse.

Long live the Master Race!

Sorry

Have a good day ...

Diagramme Bugatti Veyron

not want to die without knowing
Mexico black dogs who sleep without dreaming

bare ass monkeys
tropics eaters
silver spiders in the nest
bubbly

not want to die without knowing whether the moon
with its false air of currency has a pointed end

if the sun is cold

if the four seasons are actually more than four

no attempt to wear a dress at the grand boulevards


without having looked at a
sewer without having put sex strange corners

not want to end without knowing

leprosy or seven diseases that are trapped there

the good and bad

would not give me grief if I knew it would

brand and is also
all I know

appreciate everything that I know I like the green background

sea where the breezes dance
algae in the grass rippled sand
June toast land

cracking the smell of conifers
and kisses
if
such that if the fair which is there
my cub, Ursula

not want to die before having spent
his mouth with my mouth
his body with my hands
the rest with my eyes
say no more is better not to be irreverent

not want to die without having invented

eternal roses
the two-hour journey
the sea on the mountain
the mountain in the sea of \u200b\u200bpain
to the daily color

the joy of children and so much more

Sleeping in the skulls of great engineers
gardeners

of restless youthful socialist
of urban planners and thoughtful thinkers


so much to see to see and hear so much time waiting

searching in darkness And

I see the final
seething and approaching his face hideous

and who opens his arms


bandy-legged frog would die No no sir no ma'am


before he touched the flavor that haunts me taste
which is stronger

not want to die before trying
the taste of death ...

Boris Vian

How Much For Concrete Basketball Court

not want to die


'm a man without ambition,

With few friends, completely incapable of earning

life, with youth

That leaves him, a fugitive from some just doom.

Solitaire, badly dressed, what do you care?

At midnight I use a jar

Of hot white wine with cardamom seeds.

With my tattered gray robe and my old beret

I sit in the cold and write poems, Drawing

naked figures in the margins wrinkled

copulating with girls of sixteen,

Nymphomaniacs of my imagination. Kenneth Rexroth

(Anthology of Armando Roa Marcelo Pellegrini)

Combinations Caclulator

We are the stairs to heaven on the road to hell. (Part 1)

writers easily confuse reality with fantasy, not whether other kinds of artists who are also feeling the same. But is that when I write, the elements of the world where I am, my room, my chair, my computer somehow become diffuse, they lose their essence, and this is replaced by something entirely new. This thing is what I write.

For someone who lives to write books (or at least trying with great difficulty doing so) this kind of feeling is really good, in fact, is excellent. The computer then becomes an extension of yourself, and slowly, word by word, the world that exists in your head makes its way, paragraph by paragraph, to the point that comes to fully invade that world that you and I call real.

Then come the feelings, the smells of this new world, the colors, sounds, everything is making its way and begins to accompany you, even when you're sitting in front of the monitor, but even when you're in the Metro, in the office, classroom, when you go to the bathroom and when you make love, the world created by your head as a writer by your side, is simply overwhelming. I've always considered wonderful and it is even beautiful when I stop to think, managed to bring fantasy worlds and make other people can see so clearly as I have them almost in my head, well, I guess that's why they call it art.

But in this art, as in all things, there is a downside.

down side.

Not all things that come out of your head are beautiful and not all the words you write are really poetry. In the worlds of my head as a writer, not only are kings, heroes and princesses, in the worlds of my head there are monsters.

There

creatures.

Some things.

And none of them is good.

They, like others, also out of my head, confused with reality. And it scares me, scares me a lot because they also follow me, follow me and watch my dream. Total the mind is a door that lets you see whether invented worlds for you or channeled through a connection with some higher being who dwells beyond the boundaries of what we so naively Actually, the problem not only is that those doors are opened when least expected, but there is a risk that just as open to unexpected havens that have nothing to envy to dull havens invented by religions can also be opened to hell so terrible that they can only by the grace of God's madness.

Over there I've heard (and read) about certain sites that have the particularity to inspire feelings of empathy "environmental" as a writer, ie establishing certain connections between the environment and the site itself the creative soul artist in question, that those who experience such inspirations, mere talk of being catalysts superior forces ordered them to write in a way that not only feel possessed by such forces, but the nature of the worlds that are unique in describing go far beyond mere recreation of a familiar environment, so different worlds of human imagination, the writer then feel you are seeing through the eye of a creature so strange that his mere imagination could make you crazy.

It happened with Lovecraft in New England, happened to Poe in Paris, happens to Stephen King in Maine ...

And it happens to me in Maracay.

Sanyo Pro 700 Usb Cable

Donnelly Charlie: The Life and Poems

Published by the Friends of the International Brigades, Donnelly Charlie: The Life and poems is the title of this biography of Irish poet member of the International Brigades who died in the Battle of Jarama written by his brother Joseph Donnelly.

Agustín Lozano is the author of the introduction to the English edition of this work, presented to the public on Friday February 25 at the Ateneo de Madrid , with the participation of Justin Harman, Ambassador of Ireland.

On March 26, Hoy newspaper publishes an article about the biography of Charlie Donnelly, under the title "Poems of a brigade ."