What Type Of Hair Myamee Have

this call will be charged 0.90 cents € per minute and know that you're going to burn out, minute. Or how to lose


The phone rings fixed.
And I do not like.

me I am modern, this is it, and for this reason, I'm reachable on a communications machine that I carry, ie which is portable since I am only wearing it myself and there all day and it seems they must be reachable all the time.
For me, it is quite impossible I discuss. When I am home, it's not about life, good, bad, or as long as I know, horizontally, and when I'm home, it is to be home me.
.
A clarification is needed here. To mark how
. this opinion is final and oh no I will return it.

But the landline rings. Anyway.
I do not know the tone, then I start looking for an alarm clock that I covered up yesterday, with the idea to trick me to get me myself and therefore find it out of my bed . This hypothesis is quickly discredited by the eye as I lay on time: 1:31.
But I do not wake up at that hour, or at least: not yet. Or at least not that I know.
And then here is undeniable, let us face facts: the telephone base flashing with the same alacrity that would put a hard boiled egg to bounce the bottom of a pan when cooked, I am forced to admit that's it: it's the phone. So the fixed telephone. Me
fixed his phone yelling like that, hiding under the duvet, with its hungry eyes without embarrassment.
What he does, then I wonder, and when was the last time I used it, all that. It's amazing what the mind is capable of producing as thought the time to 4 rings.

then propose two possibilities for themselves:
-let it ring and answering the question about which villain in Malfa.
or
-answer and take the incredible risk of not being able to cut short thanks to the usual strategies that are to claim to have no battery or not to capture or to fly the plane to snatch good. San
count at that these hours, it's pretty unlikely that my partner is one of those villains who would blackball easily sell me double glazing or lots of encyclopaedias, working to piss me off + +, either, but not at night, anyway .

Ok, it breathes and it picks up, it's as simple as that, let's go, you're heading. "

I do not know the voice, I do not know the name but I recognize that feeling of danger, latent, unknown burning attractive as the emptiness of a cliff of Etretat.
I know that it's not worth anything good.

-... So! Manon. My name Vincent, in fact. And I was wondering if you had a little time to discuss ...
-...
"You hear me?
-Er, yes. Yes, yes.
But you do not listen to me?
-Er, no. Not too much, no.
Why?
Why? Well, perhaps because it is past midnight, I do not know you, you arrive home a shot without warning by knowing my name and that, as I explained above, nobody does it we do not call me home if I do not have clearly articulated the desire. For example.
you explain this or that, above?
-Highest in the text.
-In what ... ? Ah! you also have psychological problems?

My heart is racing, even if it did it often, every time it bothers me a bit more, which has the effect of putting her gum even more, and it never stops. Some days, my life resembles nothing so much as a snake would bite the tail. A viper snake. It's not a pretty sight, I tell you that.

I said
psychological disorders ... Well, what next? Who does not? Should already be half dead not to be psy-cho-lo-gi-than-ment reached, would be not to grieve for marble ten times a day, at least as much to rebel and give up too, somewhat more affected, perhaps ruined, let us mad. It is a sign of health than being a tad sick, that's what I think.
Quite simply, if I did not maintain my good humor and sarcasm with my tiger balm, daily, top to bottom with emphasis on the areas concerned, if I was not laughing at all, I'd Maboule . If you have no humor today, we can not be a terrorist.

Actually, no, I dare not say all that, I am content: How does
-psychological disorders? No, indeed, I mean, how does "me too" I have psychological problems? You mean you do, you?
"I told you, miss, I get out of jail and treatment of horses. So if I did not really do before, I am assured of having today.

He said that? I not heard. My heart is racing even more clearly, he thinks he's Dave Grohl.



"Wait, uh ...

Vincent Vincent, listen. I'm not. There. Bon.J 't have any particular problems with the prison, people who leave, those who fall ... m'enfin good when one of them calls me home when I do not know ...
-You do not understand.
-Bah what I understand is that it's weird, now that I never speak in this phone is fixed and everything, I usually to be ... I dunno ... in the street when I'm on the phone, I tell you plainly, I think you're in my living room. And I have known for agreeable sensations nothing to hide.
-You do not understand.
"But stop telling me that's not you who understand. You are in my house, there in my life. Y'aa enough noise like that without you, I swear. No disrespect to you but still, shit.
Do not be rude.
-... Pshaw! Wow. Blowin that you give me lessons now.
-Ca do not, vulgarity, that's all.
-Oh great, I know the type, you know me a little as if you read me a bit as if I were an open book, and indeed like all women, right? You think chicks who smoke and drink and swear, it sucks, right? You are fallen ill: it occupies precisely 3 / 4 of my time. Knowing that the 4th quarter is devoted to laugh at humanity and sleep. So you see, find someone else to tell your stories of soap.
But, you are very aggressive and I do not understand.
Ah I thought it was ME who did not understand, should know.
-...
-Ok. Well, listen. This is called a sterile conversation, I'm going to leave you, I'm out of battery.

And shit.

"You do not understand, I struggled to find you.
of evil-as: type a name in the yellow pages and fall on my number? Not because right now, precisely, I avoid a pre-pubescent teenager who hounds my one and zero, which no longer amuses me too much and he did not sought or found, or had trouble or I do not know what his parents had the misfortune of leaving a trail a directory and it annoys me. Point.
Ah, a teen harassing you?
Yes, it's a hell on legs. He has a voice of castra means that bubbles acne, you're saying. And he means stuff pigs, but he has not made, stuff chickens he is just ... boring.
"I see.
-What you see is that you have just reinforce the idea of passing on the red list and yet you see, is something that I refused to do, "go on red list". I'm not the president publicly, it's absurd, I have no reason to get shots of bewildered son of life who want me to spoil my life. Finally it's what I thought. The proof is, I was wrong.
"I'm the proof?
-Do not play with words, for someone coming out of prison, I find that limit.

He laughed, the guy.

"I had not even thought of, well, I'll see you there!

Did he just found?

"You find me anything, I wish you good night and you leave me alone until the end of the world.
-I frighten you?
-... You almost, yes, but there you go to another topic: how could you NOT to worry? The fact that you do not design m'abasourdit annoyance. So you do not make me more afraid, you m'enquiquinez. Put yourself in my place a bit.
Very well, yes, no, I mean, I understand.
-Bon here, fine, then er ... Magic, good evening, and then I'll hang up.
And you treat all your players the same way?

My readers? Therefore wish. Who does he take me to? Is he confused me with someone who writes, someone great, someone from the academy, which would have received an award, who knows Pivot, which has its cheesy photo on the back cover, which , who, who ... for whom does he take me?

-Well, listen, (I scraped my throat and takes an air of a princess, or, in any case, the air I guess the most befitting for a princess) not. Not at all. But here you see I'm busy.

When you take a look, tone naturally follows is something that I give you because I am generous in nature: -> take a look of princess and spontaneously you will have a valuable speech than you know not even. It works every time.

-Ah yes? You're what?
-Well, it's a bit indiscreet as a question but I'll answer you: I'm using a novel, yet. Ie ... no, not "yet" but "always" to be precise.

I stand before my mirror, the audience is at max, people called to say that no author has ever been so relaxed in front of his worldwide success, everyone zap for me, I lower the light to try to find me a lot there, I'm not bad I'm better than not bad I say, the world is mine, so your swing and your bits of paper Preum 'back cover' as they say, I'm hot for a little session spelling, er sorry, hi hi, joke writer, I meant "autograph."

I could not live this situation with a cell phone in the street, sure.

-Oh because you write novels? That is, I feel reassured, and finally, reassure me is a big word, not because I was worried, but I was wondering if you were a little effort what, something really, well, built.
-Huh? What? What ...

Princesses do not speak like that, Manon, princesses do not repeat the princesses do not pure onomatopoeia with their mouths, the princesses are not taken by surprise, the princesses are good fun of you at the time it is.
I do absolutely nothing to this conversation. Is this just a conversation? Who I'm where I'm going is what remains of the wine?

I find it all very promising, is all.

Pivot encourages me with his air of great grandfather, he too is promising me, obviously, he invites me an unmistakable pout to go, thinking that yes, indeed, I am "kind of very promising."

Yes, thank you, that what has been said about me.

Not sure sure of my shot, I add:
-Finally, especially in the critical New York, in fact, you see.

I sweat.
Do princesses sweat? No? Even when they make love? If
Pivot could also tell me what kind of writer with the criminal confuses me, deprive me of it a thorn in the foot flat.

"Here then I just wondered if you need contacts or I do not know numbers, for, you see ... meet people. Local people.

contacts me? My boy, I did it, contacts, I overflow, I do not know what to do, and it was I who finally become the contact with others, then frankly, your contacts ...

-Contacts? Well, yes, why not.
-Not because I know the blog is still quite an art in question, and I think yours deserves look, there's something to do, that's why I'm glad to know that you are in fact already published novels. Where can I find them? You give me references?
-My blog??
"Yes, your blog.

Pivot, the audience, my mistakes autographs, everything, everything collapses in a puddle of noise roughly equivalent to what could have been the amount water that my tears should not occur if I keep the face there.

ouiiiiii Ah, of course, you mean "my blog!
Yes ... ? Ben, your blog, yes.
Yes, yes yes yes.

Keep facing the phone, it's still easier.

-...
Yes yes yes. Yes.

Anyway.

-So, what you give me references of your novels? I can tell you, I am what they call a huge fan, and I assume eh. In fact, it's funny, after 5 years in prison, I had much left, good conduct, all that, and I've been assistant professor of French and through that, I had access to the internet. I do not know how, I came across your blog ... expression is stale, but that is what the best image that I felt at that moment, you put me a slap. Return.
Ah yes.

Without question mark, no exclamation point, not a "ah yes nothing like that, neutral, Swiss, disillusioned and arms dangling, a " ah yes 's one desire is to be left alone and he can go home to bed. Ah yes. I wipe my

floor, washing my ego takes a bath humiliation.

-You seem .... elsewhere ...
-Pffff

Too bad, I say everything, I do not care, I'm a fly shit, I'm going to do my minx.


-Elsewhere, is low. Finally, unless you consider the situation of my body 30 feet below the ground already eaten away by insects carnivores mocking ... So yes, I'm "out there" indeed.
"But it's crazy as you switch from one emotion to another.
"You think so?
"It is rare. Usually, people are full of themselves, which prevents them from experiencing all the exterior and ...
-Ok, you stop, there.
we stop what?
"I'm not sensitive to the outside, I am nothing, I just thought you had me confused with a famous author. I'm selfish, nothing more, ok?
But, I've not mistaken ...
-Pffffffff. I did not write any novel, you understand? I have two, in drawers, they bore me and no one has never seen color. You understand that?
-Oh ... You ...
-Oh yes, I thought you confuse me and I liked the confusion.
- "Confusion" always makes me think of "Confucian", would not you?
-No. But go ahead, write a novel, and I will call you to congratulate you, well, well, it goes like this, good evening.
"I do not understand ...
Oh Blowin -... it takes you. What crap.
And you, you become vulgar.
"I do not know what to say. It's weird. To a stranger, I mean, you, in fact, if I have nothing more to say ... No, that's not what I m'emmêle brushes.
"It is proper to those who depict reality.
Oh stop two minutes is good.
-...
-As unknown, I should not "not knowing what to say but" have nothing to say to you "and I hung up and we would talk more and that's enough.
"You still have something to say?
No, me no, no. But you, maybe not?
Yes, I do. Yes.
-Ok.
Yes.
And so, here it goes what? You tell me stuff or I'm sending you a card stock?
-No, but I just thought it does not interest you, that's all! A person of your stature. My face. A guy who gets out of prison. Finally you see.
Oh shut down a little, I told you I had published nothing, and pretended that I had not even properly. So tell whatever you want, make you happy is you pay for the call anyway.
-I have the impression that you do not understand.
"It's a joke?
-Oh? You understand that?
"No: it's a joke that you still say" you do not understand? This is done deliberately to annoy me is that it?

Dialogues me tired, after a while, after that time, anyway. When they turn around and when, in parallel, they are enough puzzles to tickle your innards. They make me tired.
I did not want to talk with him, nor desire to write what was said with a dash to the line and italics, because, ultimately, neither really listening the another. What is characteristic of the dialogues that take too long, everything that goes on too long.
He told me that I should especially consider the fact that someone fell on my blog and have loved, loved as to find my number. What I said things that even the flush of daisies does not endorse any pragmatic than I was, unable to raise myself a little bit, at least until the absurdity of the situation. At that point
not even heard the compliments.
He told me that I should hear that I read was in prison, and my player had only one idea in mind: find me to talk with me.
And I, meanwhile, I thought I was a draw for hosting that. I listened to it. It does not interest me more than that, certainly.
I believed in a role, a script, and I found myself faced with someone who wanted to talk about what I wrote. I was just able to say

"If I the writing is that I did not want to talk. Then talk about what I write ... You understand that .... You went to jail for what?
"If I tell you is that you write something about me?
-I can not promise anything, but there's a good chance that you recognize you in a few lines.
you write about my crime?
"It was a crime?
"They say 'crime' as a stolen handbag you know.
-It does not take 5 years for stealing handbag.
-You have heard then?
"Here we go again ...
"What is that again?
-dialogue. Dashes. Punctuation and turns, everything.
-I killed a person.
-One? It kills all the people all the time, at least those we love. One is not ... well ... not worth making a story, whatever.
-I killed her with my hands. She is in a coffin.
Ah, you mean a crime?
-A flight bag is a crime.
-La Most of the stolen handbags are themselves criminals leather doubtful, offends against good taste, infected directories filled with a family who can not count, keys of an apartment too big card ump ... for me it is not a crime is a civic duty, to steal, these handbags. It allows them to start from scratch.
Yes but I have killed someone.


Yes, he killed someone. For real.
If I wanted to be sure you realize what that means, I would write full time. For that you place not according to the sentence without crashing, so you feel a little of what I felt when he told me, that is the third quarter of a hundredth of what he felt him, when he did.

Yes, he killed someone. For real. True, he killed someone. For real.
Yes, he killed someone. For real. For real. With his hands. True, he killed someone, it's true true. For real. He killed someone. For real. With his hands. True, he killed someone. To real. With her hands to him. True, he killed someone. He must live with. For real.

He loved a woman. Which in itself is already quite extraordinary. No, because, I mean, he loved a woman. For real. That's true. He loved a woman. With his hands. For real.
Not just a girl who kept him company, somewhat funny, somewhat handsome, somewhat nice, with which time passes somehow, no, no. He really loved a woman. And, sit down: he loved a woman who loved him. Not like that, in passing. They loved it as not possible.
And then he ended up not love it, by dint to be afraid of all women in it.
There I stopped him, I know it's wrong, he did not mean trouble, he understood that I was in, invested, attentive, curious, so spontaneous.

-... I started not being able to withstand a minute spent without her, I ... I was going crazy, I imagined making love to everybody ...
"It's crazy because there's just a documentary about the hell that was just released.
-Hell?
-Clouzot's film. He never finished. The story of a man in love, but jealous. More jealous.
-Hence the title ...?
-Hence the title, yes.





He said that it was found as the title, because in fact, hell, that's exactly what happened when a man lost his head out of jealousy. As a disease that would leave us too normal to be neat and too crazy to get by. Hell for everyone, for women beloved pure-infidel-whore- perfect for man sad-sad-sad-love And for everyone around. Even for the florist, it got complicated.
is indeed where it started. Or completed. Everything depends on your point of view and if you believe in God Almighty.

-You believe in God?
"I do not know, there are people who deserve paradise into your story?

She liked to buy flowers, she had an account, she paid at the end of the month, sometimes a little late but nothing serious. A hectic life in short. Him, Vincent, one day, he accompanies his beloved wife. It's been a while that he wanted to know what she spent her days and what men placed his eyes on his body.
The shop is beautiful, that he remembers, a florist who loved his job, he said. One would have thought that someone was coming home, he adds. With someone where they would like tea, talk about life, spend time.
bouquet for his wife is ready venerated there, shimmering on the counter, her favorite flowers, the florist and she does not even speak, she just returned he handed him the bouquet and she did that fateful not to pay it.
Exeunt.
That's all.

Exeunt. Vincent, this time taking aware of all the veins in his body. They burn. It is time to say that the human body, it is thought that irrigates everything, but unfortunately, there's a manufacturing defect is that it does not close the valves should be dry, Sometimes, if stroke.
I interrupted a second time, I'm even more invested and spontaneous and attentive and curious and rude that just now, I interrupt.

- It reminds us that it is. Once that is exceeded, the body speaks louder than the head, heart rickety, temples drumming, veins startled, s'empourprent cheeks, hands trembling, legs flagellate, the mouth dries up, pupils dilate .... Sometimes sex bandage too.

And then, even when I say I getting carried away a little too meet someone who says his crime, I am not a good therapist, it's official. So I shut up.

"That's it. Exactly.
Yes, the body always takes over when the head longer knows how to handle.


A car arrives from afar, at top speed, his wife's love of his life is going to go through without account of the reckless driver, any concern it is to sniff the smell of the devil's flowers of evil in this bastard son of a bitch when the fuck? where? in what position? is it better than him? While she
advance, he says she has reason to love begonias. Those are going well with complexion and so he put on his grave. He knows why he said it is out of question since she died, because if she dies, he is nothing, and saying that, while the car is squealing the tires as a degenerate his arm to catch her hand, grab the tip of the red vest and bring him up so that it does not make ... Starting his arm, oddly, like that of a slave soldier part of his brain that he had heard too badly so far, his arm grows slightly. Just right. A tad.



As he tells me, I feel empty. Void of this kind of experience. I'm not saying I want, I'm not saying that I should live it to understand but, precisely, to have experienced anything approaching it, I'm just empty. His anguish fills me. I'm his fucking bin. It is the cliff of Etretat, I knew it.

pushes his arm, she slips, the car acts as if she tried to avoid it but do not mock the leak, however. He cares and he is already wondering if there are witnesses, if the plate was raised, he is already hoping that the driver was drunk as much as his conduct might suggest and it would have only a black hole in place of this memory as a witness.
And that's it, it's just that he does not forgive.

The gesture of his arm, jealousy is the anatomy, there was nothing. But when everyone was rushing around a body trembling with the last breaths, he thought of his alibi. It was therefore a criminal. So he thought.

He stopped talking. I looked at the clock. Not that I was bored, no, I do not know ... body again, who decides to head: I need a report to the concrete and I had: troisheuresvingt.

-I get up in 6 hours.

That's what I said.
I wanted to believe that all this routine, schedules, where work, no, Manon, you can not late 4 days in a row, no subways, endless cigarettes to rise ... it took over. I wanted to convince myself that what I said was not the only important thing, which made us all helpless in our public transport and our small relations warmed.

-I get up in 6 hours.
-...
And you what time you get up besides the body after they have done what you accompanied to the hospital or when you said it was more than body you wondered if you'd still love one day I know you wanted to change everything all over again when you hit it was still hot? In short, I get up in 6 hours.

"I do not get up anymore I know you.
"You've been hit too? You're in a wheelchair?
"I love your enthusiasm to any event.
"You're a cliff of Etretat.
"I love your metaphors.
"You're in a wheelchair? why do not you get up again?
"Because I can not go to bed, I can not sleep.
-Ah. Ok
-Do not feel stupid.
-If you told me not to feel stupid is that there are 'a field that I feel stupid.
-No.
-Si.
-No.
-short, anyway we do not talk to me and I raise in 6 hours, but how did you feel you've touched, it is understood that you had pushed, this is that ...
-... You're far from stupid, you are Anatomical and you fill it with great intelligence.
-Ok, I really get up in 5:57.
"I'll tell you more tomorrow, if you want .

I used the tone I had heard and admired in the thrillers of the 60s, when we asked a woman something incredibly important to the plot, the script, so that from the beginning, everything we wanted it, is that it does not fit in too, and when it was needed, then it puts a pretty dress and she bump her hip rolling, thank you . In general, Check if you want, the lady at this moment, is not dressed like at 40. She gets out of bed, or maybe she is tired from the demands male crawling under her petticoats. Then she said, knowing that the audience understands it with a simple gesture, aware of the consequence that his breathing saving can breathe, insightful about the impact of the anatomy of the cortex, she said

"Let it Tomorrow, dear, if you will. "

Breathless 1959
sent by lesamisdejob . -

-You have my number, I understand.
you answer?
"I shall fear it is the teenager who says" enculade "instead of" sodomy "to shock me but yes, I will take the risk.
-makes me happy, for a writer.
Oh, we said we would stop with that, please.
It may be tu-morrow?
"I do not know. It is today. I do not make promises I'm not sure of keeping. It is a rule that I imposed recently.
You are a phenomenon.
-example, that you would have told me familiarly at me, I thought it was zero.
-vous I still want you.
-Tell me you do not plan to kill another woman, eh? Not because I, Me, I still have two to three things to do, so ...
Two-three novels, for example?
"I do not know. Two or three things, you know. Skip the laundry, do my nails. Buy flowers. ... Can I make this joke?
-...
"You do not say anything so I'm afraid.
"Afraid of what?
-From you have hurt. Or you hurt me, soon. Yes, bah sorry, but I have the right to be on my guard anyway.
-Jokes. On this subject. About flowers. Everything. That's what I need! As you say, if you have no humor, no one can be a terrorist.
-How you know I say that?
"It was highest in the text.
-I hang up, Etretat.
-A tomorrow?
"If I'm not there, I'd like you to speak on my answering machine. I hate my phone, but I love having them leave messages.



"You really want to know more, eh.
-I especially want to know your purpose.


Each of us stayed with the insistent beep of communication interrupted while we were still connected.

There are men in real life, who kill for love, then, must believe.
And it looks like there are women who would like to know what goes wrong when the threshold fullness is reached. Women who, perhaps, know only too well that happiness is only a trailer.
Our films have lengths, cracks, through, silences and many, many, many meanders.

-maispastrop-

lasuitedemainoulejour.dapresdemain
cestadireplustardcest.bienpourlesuspense

Get Well Messages Religious

.... Made in the Garden

That the only "real" comics I found a great public library that has (finally after 1 1 / 2 years late) open ..... And yes I am crying here the concept of BD does the Comics and Mangas, sniffff! With some Tintin and Asterix of course. Otherwise the library is not bad, especially effective for the self-service terminals and ready made automatic without speaking to anyone.

Parkinson's Disease More Condition_symptoms

Husband has plant and grows pumpkins and tomatoes ... Unfortunately, they remained green, but after one little turn in the veranda of a granny pumpkin turns orange and a few tomatoes turned red. It is hoped better next year!

Attachment Disorder More Condition_symptoms

Yes I know it's been!

I exist always, the family also, but I have an activity outside the home mother since September (it's so good not even two hours a week but suddenly j 've got the neurons occupied!) and then I understand nothing Picassa3 (I try for several months to publish photos without success, Help Mom!)

The next episode, I promise before next year .... though .... !

What Kind Of Weave Do Myamee Have

experience life.

People get older. Simple as that.
Time passes.
Water wets.

I see them, they worry about their wrinkles and they adorn themselves with jewelry, promising fidelity. Sometimes they are raised. Sometimes, they add. And they give birth. And they consume. And they die. And do it again. And everywhere, all the time forever.

I wonder if old age is synonymous with wisdom always. I hope not.
I see them, they take the luggage, culture and insurance. Natural authority emerges from statements they would never have dared to take a few years earlier because of acne, for example. It discredits, an unkempt appearance, when they mean something important.
They now recognize the right wines at first glance, and the nonsense too. Why they make less, I guess. Why they stop drinking, too, is possible.
Experience saves the life expectancy and a crazy time, it seems.
And that is precisely what is missing as it happens, I guess it's positive, the time savings.

I'm getting old too, must believe. Why I escape to the rule? I age in the midst of knowledge that are no longer at the heart of the action, they may more often prefer a good movie to open a bar, to admit sometimes do not understand the craze an artist has led, to conceal the cause shortness of breath than 5 floors in a body, it seems, only to decline from 30 years pétants.

I settled on a kind of diary from a time when I wrote more legibly; school, my daily life at the time, forcing me to force a result handwriting.
I do not really remember what I told, things essential, of course, as the newcomer whom we wondered if she had slept or report card that I had hidden or the handsome high school who had chose my table in the canteen, which had invited to the movies. And I was talking to a friend I could not see and for good reason: the World Assembly voted deities and thought it necessary to break down in the Rhone after drinking Shores.

At the time, I had wanted him to her: What arrant
bitch, frankly, is to head to wine and want to bathe after drowning and abandoning me, I, alone in the world and the eyes swollen with grief. Bitch. Whore. Fuck you wherever you are. Provided it be in hell. In addition, Victor Hugo loved you and me, we knew Tomorrow at dawn by heart. You wanted your daughter called Leopoldina. And my French teacher nicknamed me Ophelia you t'souviens? Bitch irony. Bitch you. And then, your Léopoldine, fortunately it has not been a mother too shabby as you. You'll have at least managed that, shit.

And for that I had wanted them:
it just to have fun with starving Africans and leopards who end up in coats, and more must you attack me and you pushed my love girlfriend want to drink and bathe in it and it leaves me drowning me and my sadness and my eyes will explode if this keeps up? Assholes. Cynical motherfuckers. Burn forever, and hell, and do not go near my girlfriend love to fuck, you deserve castration and stoning and dismemberment and humiliation on a wheel and ... and all that you invented the genre for which you hate. If I could, I would sequester them in a room that would broadcast the terminal loop Cabrel.





I wanted everything disappears, the whole world, the Rhone and me. I spent a few days with a mood not really convenient, I found the bitterness to replace my best friend and in my dreams, bitterness was of human form to allow us to drill our index and our mix drops of blood we swore to always hate the whole earth and make him drool until the end of time. When I was not dreaming, I darkened the pages of insults each more imaginative than others. The names of birds, is for kids next batch of insults that I climbed the blue and white of this writing impersonal and regular , decorated in Clairefontaine ticket theater ticket and words mind being traded bio. Logic.


In the contract, left, with a stick, UHU, I glued a paper where Joachim had written "Did you see the new Doc Josephine? It's too shame!" . To which I replied, finding myself certainly indisputable comic "She bought the Doc when we do it takes longer, that's team spirit, and in the factory, we relay! "
Below, a cinema ticket, faded. Because, really, it would have been a shame to forget that I saw "Ace Ventura".
And on the right page, insults and, for real, the ink which flowed the tears. The plop of the drop has been inflating the paper and complaining words, also, there's no reason.
hand I spent on the relief that my moods were modeled on the leaves, it was a rather pleasant sensation. It made me think of the wallpaper curled found in people in late life.

At the end of this episode, I stopped the confessions and abandoned the confessional at the bottom of yet another useless drawer. But when I fell over a few months later, I add, with the wisdom gained in record time, then, and write a much more revealing of its author, that is unreadable ... I added:

"I just read it again. It is as if it was not me. Maybe we're really more ourselves in a life that is divided into different designs. Today, I am of abject have been able to say such things. It was nobody's fault, not even Voltaire, especially not his to her. And I realize I have not rolled my bad bump on the matter only (wait, I am one) 8 months. So I tell myself that if that's it, grow old, if it includes live every day a little better, then, well, aging is cool, and I will try. "

Let us be clear: OK, I had a diary, OK I tu, saying "Wait," I was already agreed puns limits, but I caught something, however, from the depths of my teenage golden shoes military, something that I imagined for determining I entered the world of super-large:

Aging is cool.

Cool as a rock band.
old and be able to sing like a young spread in the gutter, yeah, that'd be pretty cool as they say.

http://www.deezer.com/listen-1086308

But then at the time he had lanterns that light up my constantly, because I was like who would bang my esquintée around the black today, I fear one day have understood, too understand, and he's still day of a blinding white and transparent as the mornings when it is neither beautiful nor ugly and we do not know what to get, otherwise the quilt, again, on the head. Fear
therefore, not to age but, here, to be really old for good. Learn
, okay, I am. But if it m'assagir there, I do not know. Take
insurance, like I am. But more no doubt ... I hesitate. It all ends
still drowned out by treatment of osteoarthritis and cons of glasses dentures, you make me believe there's someone that excites this purpose.

I feel today to have the perfect age, they will never better.
Because my little experiment taught me to get by congestion ridiculous, I do not take into consideration a package of details that have accrued, succeeded before me gangrene. For example, girls who criticize the way I live, adjectives they grant me, laser eyes to file my feet to my head and in the opposite direction several times as we're at it. We can say that it is time that taught me to laugh, maybe even enjoy myself. While

when I was 15, I was
as if nothing affected me, of course, but at night, I too fathom, all around, trying in vain to pierce the mystery that some of those I considered myself sizing up my sisters with the same malice.

Boys who leave their socks next to the croissants, I must admit, there it has a few years, it had a gift for me to gripe and with a little luck, perhaps I wasting my day. Before even having a sip of coffee, it's a little hard to bear, you will not contradict me.
I strove to explain that no, when you're a human being at a time when washing machines are available, especially if one takes the trouble to buy pastries for our dear and loving which proves that it is not the last of the louts, no, we can not possibly mix apples and oranges without expecting a backlash. I showed the laundry basket by asking what it was supposed to serve, then eh, a bit like a bad instit 'frustrated. It took the air of the dunce that includes half and even despise.
and I explained and explained, I understood the meaning of the phrase "pissing in a violin and the fact that myself, finally, I did not care a lot.
Today, a boy leaving his dirty clothes next to a crescent-butter from the oven, I would refer to his mommy, simply.
Or, if I really loved him very, very strong, I manage to find a violin and piss in front of him. History in that channel.

Because I have that perfect age where humor and lightness have the upper hand over "everything", since "all" the rest flutters painfully over the daisies GMOs.
That's why I'm young, today there right away, forever.

I am willing to learn still, know, explore. I do not want it, of course, there is no question that I lock myself in a place where the world would not come and where I would try to forbid the time to have a ground connection on my cloud. But I just want you
offers me a piece of paper, a contract where I could sign to be sure that everything I ever stored within me will stop me from laughing at all. Or be sad for nothing.
I always want it to be like that.
I never want the news not make me any effect. Be weary, is to die a little. I wish I never break the dishes English for a problem of household not. Mistaking anger is buried before its time.
I want them to win, the faded, blurs, fades. I do not want a microwave life, here, the extremes that makes me Fear not, however, what terrifies me is the calm of the middle very sneaky as he is in which, without anyone noticing because they -bossé years on the concept walls tighten and eventually suffocate us then we knew even if we still breathing anyway.

must not forget that one day I'll be old and no longer stop me in the street.

- Miss?
I take off my headphones. (Well, civilized by mistrust, I really just do away)
Yes?
"It is for information ...
I remove the other ear while saying that we will still find a way to ask the direction of a street that I do not know where I live in a neighborhood for 5 years.
Yes?
-street of the most beautiful woman in the world is not here?
I laugh, I laugh a laugh that the most beautiful woman in the world would have never approved, she would have considered too childish, too spontaneous, noisy, young in fact. And the most beautiful woman in the world is not young, not old either, she has no age, she was born to 33 years and died at 33 years having spent centuries of time between masculinity. And I put my two headphones with just enough time to hear me say "bah what is not a compliment?" what I answer back, while walking with a sign thumb. Upward, the thumb.

Someday I'll be old and no longer stop me in the street.

One day, I pass in a street to buy my life extensions, and tired by three small steps in shoes with orthotics, I sit on a bench. If you have deigned to leave some by then. Taking my breath without even worrying about the noise that my vital organ play, I get to see my left a young man rather tasty, I definitely say that I am ridiculous to watch even the young men who are hungry, so I did more teeth. And to my right I see a girl show peppered the kind that appeals to young men in sauce. They will cross in front of me and there, he will say to it something that I only half understand, because in my day, we talked not like that, the terms escape me, but not tone. In essence, I understand he asked if the street from the most beautiful woman in the world is this one. It will make me a pinch one side to the left atrium of my heart and the other a shiver of pleasure, ie in the right, if you follow. I feel and tutor and an accomplice witness and maid of the moment. And then, on leaving, the girl will give his bag over his shoulder with a brusque gesture, and without realizing it, shakes me, in the face with the strap of a leather fashionable. Finally, she will buy a vintage leather but will not be me, my old age I will unmask a pretty good imitation. Huh face, the shot bag, which is quite humiliating. All the world is gone, nobody to give me compliments, that I understood, but not even someone to come and ask me if it's okay, if it's not too horrible to go on the side of life where nothing happens, where it becomes transparent and where, finally, we spend our time waiting for it to end.

Yet if someone were to ask me all this, I hope, I hope incredibly strong that I would say that if. Yes, it's hard not to be in life when one is still alive, from what the doctor said. That, of course, is hell to attend two beautiful bodies that challenge each time to make two trades that portend a future when we are working more, and our future, he would have more future as the punks of our generation. Obviously, we know that this kind of skit we do have more among its main characters and only because he just look down into our hands to see that all our skin care down, we fall, that are hung and, anyway, if someone came to love biblically, we would not even breath to satisfy such a request.
That, for real, become a spectator decor where we were heading, it is not paradise.
But what he should say, more than anything it is that it makes us sad. And happy. Sad and happy, for the same reasons. Similar reasons are that only appeal to different segments of our memory and always find the same sensitivity in the rope was believed broken. What a mess, but precisely: good. The mess that is not old age that could simply not say anything more to see people on the street, let JT scroll without throat tightens does the image of mass graves that obviously want to continue to exist , do not you meet a young man, to tell you that at one time, I told myself that if aging was stop feeling so I did not want.
Today I feel, "I have nothing else to fuck you ask me how I feel and I am sad, sad enough to die because we never did stop me in the street and I knew when I 'had the perfect age. I feel, I share with you. I can be, well ... connected with a jeune.Je can be, well ... connected with a young for this kind of reason. And even if it is, this young would have given anything to meet me young.



And how! ... What's the perfect age?
-27 years.
-I have 26 years.
-For me it was the perfect age but it can be when you want. Especially when you can.
-It could be 26 years?
-If you stop to talk to me and after I told you what I think you feel full of all the earth, and both very lonely, you'll be naked.
Ah yeah, you say "the hair" anyway.
-Fuck you, I say what I want, I'm old, you owe me respect.
"I respect you. Continue, I've cut.

I was looking over my head would follow too. I would find it anyway because it's important, I might not be another opportunity to say.

-You said you knew the perfect age that no longer stop you in the street ...
-... Yes, I know what I say anyway! And so I knew it would be sad but what I fear is precisely not to be sad. No longer felt. To keep things live in front of me, not to be concerned. I was sad, then happy and at the same time, ie I been alive you think? Feel nothing and just told myself "gee, if I have a blue bag with the kick that gave me young, I'm not sure that the pharmacy will stock the ointment." It would have been already be dead. You think?

Why me you address as vous?
Because you are the boss.
-... Chief?
-... Let me smile. I discovered that being old is also making jokes delayed. Something you will understand later on that bench maybe. And ...
And I think of you!
And you think of me.
And I'll call you to say "this is it I understood the wink "
"You can not because I'm dead and cremated for a lease but I think will keep me alive and the little old as you feel a bit of his youth, at that time.
"It's awesome.
-I will not go that far.
-You would go far?
-Until the end, as usual.
Ben then?
-Until the end yes, but not to lie. Not until you say "yes , it's true it's great .
"Besides where were you there?
-At the end, as usual. "No but
seriously.
Ah, you mean it? Rholala is boring. Well, then, well, I returned. Or maybe I was going to the pharmacy, like. I do not know.
I'll see you out-if you want. Are not you afraid that I will steal your purse?
"I've never fear, it's just my problem.
-Ok, I'll see you out, where is it?
"I do not know.
-No, but home is where?
"I do not know.
-...
-...
-... Ok, then go to the pharmacy.
You see, you're sad for me. And me too. It is alive.
"It is already something ...
"That's all we ask in particular.

-maispastrop-

Psoriasis Causes More Condition_symptoms

I always arrive late for appointments.

Diligence, is not my forte.
The regularity, either.
These words there, I mix them with vodka coke, just to see if they always make them smart.



Everything that could be repeated at fixed times on the same days of the week and every month, alongside people who are changing at the same rate of time and calendar in general , it scares me, because the rate invariable waves when it is modeled on that of life, did nothing for me more natural and closer to death than in life.
Lead this life, it would be ... I feel snorkel with blinkers and incipient deafness, while limping, all that to go to the guillotine. A real pleasure, really.
Nobody wants that.

To me, there is born to the world in chaos, disorder in which she struggles as well as possible and that sometimes embarrasses him, either, but in the midst of which it is, at the turn of brothels and of entanglements, paths that lines irretrievably avoid straight.
The famous history of the school and bushes.

Ranger all that, it would be to fuck the souk in the disorder that I use as a benchmark; anywhere, everything is in place since there was not really room. That's how I am confused.

It does not mean I live in an infected mess, I display any sort of cockroach or mouse in the house, I mean, in fact -since it is all the work you chew, the more inside my head that the arrangement of my room.
course, my house is not really a catalog of furniture, where the table that is supposed to have endured drinking shines a thousand lights, where the spice cabinet seems out of the box and where, moreover, the spices just been put in their jars. Aligned jars. Perfectly parallel to the post-Dubon, Dubonnet Dubo where no oil splash and found the residence to which Martineàlacuisine pose after scaling and its styling.

course, with me it looks like to me. And, yes, I sometimes find my keys in the fridge and sometimes I literally put all my clothes on my bed to find the top it is imperative that I wear today. Top I forgot to dry, either. You will be very nice to remember.

Of course it is.

My mother told me - mothers always say big words, maternity distribute a guide for that? -
If you want to put order in your head, start with your store environment.
Was she right?
You can not create a vacuum in such a mess if it is outside.
Did she wrong?

Maybe I did not want to, not really envy, that everything is in place and I know where mine is. I am convinced that not knowing where I am going I am sure to get there. And I did not mean the feeling of taking big risks, and I violate no law, we will not shut myself up for that, I give myself just a bit of suspense and unexpected, and Indeed, it takes time. You know that thing crazy that everyone is missing.



I gives me all this because ultimately, it is never better served than by yourself loves me and that I deserve this fantasy. While holding the eminently sound.

We were believe that schedules and books arranged in alphabetical order would help. The wonderful scam. In came
clocks and layoffs to repeated delays. Have sold thousands of compartmentalized wardrobes, cut into the wood which we lack.
It's not by choice that people fall.
is boredom: dunno what to do ... hey, if I classify vinyl by date of purchase invoices through the rows in the 4th drawer? When I finished maybe I'm finally tired enough to sleep.
is through fear: disorder remember the infinitesimal chance that I to avoid death, order and soothes me like the picture I am in paradise. By
neurosis I want my guests understand that I am someone, someone well, we can not afford my head. Must be admired. I manage. And I try to convince myself, ok?
Or psychosis also: if the book rubs the lamp next to the table, where the world? anything goes, I am confused, there's more season. I am not frivolous, I'm not fancy, no, I want to be austere, stern-stern, I also want to decide myself to be for failing to learn from someone else.

course twice a year, I have pleasure in coupling the sweaters in wool and cashmere ones; align paperbacks under the floor of those do I order and lengthens by size and thickness, color why not, good sort of bad magazines. Jeter is my hobby. But, keep, and let live is my passion.

is what I see in others, the shadows where they have not cleaned for several spring and perhaps even encourage them to never touch it for they keep intact a corner reserved for old things we think or fluff that dares not hazarding. You never know someone as well as when we visited his attic. It is perhaps at this point where they attract me the most.



The other day I was thinking - yes because I had already thought of it before and not once - these girls I've heard tell me about their amoureuxchéridamourtoujours : "I love it when he hears me not, he suddenly is daydreaming, it is elsewhere and I, what I said, he heard nothing bah and I must say, it annoys me but it annoys me. "




I did not put the tone, I it simple, but usually it's tinged with bitterness, real bitterness, resentment and sorrow.
I think about it. Good. I do not understand.

Precisely, my favorite among those I like is their moments of absence. I like them to be there, attentive, they bounce, laugh, make me laugh or I do not know what, and thus we are two.
But after the blur generated by the attitude of the dreamer who called a dunce " you listening? "and in response the" ... Huh? What? I wait ... Again? "there, we were alone together, only two. Intimacy extreme, almost obscene .
I saw this person from our decor to get into his head and think about things that are often petrified of banality, but exactly, I was with this person when she let go and let a detail to bring the ... this song not heard since long, and why elsewhere, but what would he became the singer, is that I have a disk from him, I'd have to check ...

" ... Huh? What? I wait ... Again? "



course I say this because their flashes of aberrations are rarer than their cycles of attention and that this scarcity gives them particular value. Maybe if their moments of absence became more than their recurring moments of listening .... Maybe I will not attend more simply.


I love when my room will be surprised to come across a box of jewelry purchased between 95 and 96 while I was looking for a book that I must pay. I love just as much when a young man wakes me by offering me tea and, after several quarters of an hour, saying that the tea should be planted, picked and brewed from a lease, I am concerned to find where the cup the drink is waiting to fall on the promising full metaphysical reflection before a crack in the ceiling he had never noticed that and wondered where it came from and how to fix it.

My tea can wait, of course. Le type est là et ailleurs, tout à moi et pourtant inaccessible.
Il est juste là pour être bu, ce Earl Grey.
Vous n'êtes manifestement pas destinés à être seulement consommés, mais bien davantage à être observés. Et, en conséquence, aimés. En bazar et en pagaille. Dans tous les sens. Aucun thé du monde ne peut rivaliser avec ça.


Mon grand labyrinthe, ok, souvent, je m’y égare, et régulièrement, il en pousse certains à me perdre aussi, mais à la fin, à la toute fin, ça aura l’air goupillé comme sur du papier millimétré, vous verrez; ça prendra sens et forme, ce sera aveuglant evidence. It did this with all life, I have been sworn in for full death beds. By far, the differences and accidents are aligned with the rest because with hindsight it is accepted that everything is one big accident, a series of pranks.
Old age, it rounds the corner, and as I intend to finish round course, the angles will all become hiding places where I sowed pranks & jokes and reversals where 90 degrees will password-walls.

In addition, biopics, it's done by people who clean their houses before the maid arrives. This is nickel chromium. Everything will be alright.

-maispastrop-

Burning Feet More Condition_symptoms

St Jacques De Motus

From my window, I sometimes when the sound of a scooter that goes at night, I'm all sweaty anguish, an anguish that has not real name, something that I myself could not name, categorize.
is certainly due to the fact that noise is for me what best embodies the loneliness. The loneliness of it on his two wheels that fit neither early nor late after a night neither made nor to do, and that of the one who reaches the warm sound of this life.
is not solitude as I like it nasty loneliness that permeates everything everywhere and attack and isolate those who have already lost his footing.
I do not often that noise when it happens maybe 20 times in one evening. That's why when I hear it, I said.
I do not know, I feel it let me down. I lean over my balcony to see the guy leave, I expect it arrives and we talk all of that, but, she knows, if I attached importance to the noise, s it spoke to me, is that it is not there, we do not talk together. She, she would say "sine qua non" and "A + B" in a somewhat peremptory tone, to make me Gamberg. Yeah, it's temperament.





back to my door

moijetetrouvepas
malpeignée
tulesaistoiqueyapasdamoursmortes
ninonplusdamoursvivantes
taspaslegoutdumalheurdutout
ilsontriencompris
cestpastoilagarcecestnous
moiaussijailesyeuxcernes
tespaslemiroirdeceuxquiontbesoindetreaiméspourvivre
puisquetuvistoietquetuaimesmêmeceuxquineveulentpasdetoi
accrochetoiàmeshanchesauprintemps
pourquonrouledesmecaniquesensemble
silteplaitreviensdevantmaporte
faismoidesnuitsblanchessoismonplusbeaucollieretmonombre
cestmoiquimecoucheàtesgenoux
silteplaitreviensdevantmaporte
etmemededansmatête



Il n’y a qu’un seul nom commun pour parler de ça et pour l’illustrer, pourtant, deux adjectifs que, en vérité, tout oppose.
Il y a les gens «seuls», et il y a les «solitaires».
























The first people to envy every second that, themselves, feel a sort of contemptuous compassion for others, and consider them, obviously.
Masters of their isolation, and above all happy about this isolation, they do not admit that some victims are similar. They see these victims a natural stupidity, lack of curiosity and an affront to the loneliness, they feel like the eternal mistress to seduce the elusive love that teaches them so much. Who teaches them time, too.

I myself find it difficult to understand those who are desperate to be surrounded, accompanied, and leaking I would not be afraid to consider as the key. What? In all, at least.
I see people surprised that I take pleasure to stay at home, in a stunning semi-darkness, for ... some say daydreaming, or simply being there, aware of my body, me, me in my body and all this mess in the apartment, this apartment in this city, this city in this country, this oh-so practical reality that a plan broad sweep and reduced the size of a fly in the midst of other flies. Being there, being aware All these insects swarming with thoughts, lying in their bed, dreaming the same thing, motivated by the same desire to live in large because in connection with everybody and owing nothing to anyone. Because I've never been so shrouded that when I'm alone and I touch something that is beyond me, I often afraid to cut my walls with those of my bars and my love to those of my associates.

It is likely that this will finally be understood only by those who already share my view, this is a bit sad if you think about it. So, well, not thinking.

I miss. I miss my solitude
.
The TV tells me to me, frankly, unhurriedly, tu me it sometimes because she understands what I need as a shampoo. I turn off the sound and I along with the laptop. I guess what everyone says, them in the post, you on my answering machine. And always, there's a move that takes hold of me: a hand that hides in one ear and another that hides one eye, while I cut the sound and I do not see me. My action has evidently decided that I needed to know me better-center. Not "con" center like I was stupid, I'm brilliant, but con "center" as if I had to get back to a sort of core and gasoline, yeah, no less. Not me, it's my actions. (Send them your letters to the editor, if you like)

Maybe I am wrong but I associate it with my balance, the essence of what I am and for that reason, away from me overnight. At night I get tired of being away. I lose myself. We can not do without his shadow, his right hand, an accomplice. If I lose, while on the lam. Everything. There's more good season, my lady.
Sometimes, new encounters associated with a spring suitable for appointment to the terrace make me fill out my calendar of aperitifs and marriages and cinemas and birthdays and dinners and coffees and ...
" I know you want to go to floral park but you want to go home before brunch? "
" you brunch? you want to, I'll join you in Floral Park for concerts earlier? " " Where are you? 're in Floral Park? I have a dinner with friends after you come with me? "
" it's cool your lunch? what do you do next? I have a party, you try it? "
" I wake you? I'll pick you up in an hour and we will make the sales? "
" you did the sales? haaaaan, I arrived with a bottle and you show me your dresses, I after a concert of guy who will celebrate over a nice dinner later, and they have a plan after party "
... and 3 days have passed, the time has flown into conversations that I am unable to remember, already feeling buried under too much vodka in avortées thinking too fast. My loneliness
attending to operations, initially amused, then quickly jealous, anxious and, finally, finally, offended, she slams the door. And when I realize it is gone, it's already too late and I'm alone, but only as the guy on his scooter. Not alone as I have always loved to be like that I've always liked and used.
Yet it home, and nowhere else that happens. She knows everything because with it, everything is possible, everything is brutally honest and devoid of artifice, it is raw and bleeding, she is frank, it makes me naked, but she really wants of life. I like you better when I see you soon, I can not move on, you're not cigarettes, I absolutely want to be with you when I'm facing you, and I absolutely want to be me. You do not love me anymore either, otherwise, anyway. It is my cam, but my secret beauty recipe and my grandmother.



There's something sacred in solitude, in respect of solitude. And something also highly caloric. We want everything right away, hungry, because we know that anything is possible, we have a thousand things to say and not enough time.
I never wrote otherwise than jet that jet, that instinct and now that I'm away from her, I see it comes less than ... it's not that I'm less on edge, myself, my skin is too moist cream of various brands, things are more hidden, I have less of elk, I gotta get out of life back to me and it ruins the truth than what beautiful hair.
Not too intellectualized.
Do not think too hard on the obvious. But let
invade our drawers filled with principles and knowledge, to compete and ultimately live.
Because it is stronger than us.

With it, our concerns rise. A little bit, so little. Girls
change priority, varnish and blow-drying wait tomorrow. The men finally affect the serenity of not having to completely seduce, and always secure.
is the warrior's rest, yet it's war, too, that loneliness. But war with itself, which, if not the only one that matters, is perhaps the hardest, most fundamentally stripped and therefore categorical, uncompromising. It forgives nothing. It has no mercy.
Because we are not faced with forgiving yourself, you leave it to others, say those who love us. We
, we condemn, we judge, agree, we fix some reprieve, but above all, we know a little more. So even without having to study psychology, sociology, love or even peace, I say that knowing how to be alone, we offer a chance to life and opens the door to any and all world. There's nothing

really scary when you know if the fear, rightly, get lost. It

y 'the sound of scooter, and then, just now, there was the sound of my heels on the asphalt.
I wondered if anyone heard from her windows open on this diva was endless more to be desired, if we thought "how sad, a girl in heels alone at this hour in the street." There are streets so narrow that they return the sound of our footsteps, making us believe that a girl walking at that pace, and my first, I imagine a lonely soul who would have preferred to go along, and accelerate the march for fear of being forsaken by alpaguer who have lost their soul. And assume that you mimic oral sex with their tongues stuck to whiskey they could get their fill. End.

Here, we would feel pretty "one-to-hell-world-of-shit" and we would have to smile, too.




But these are my steps, my echo, my heels. I wanted to be alone. I imagine that somewhere, someone complained to me yet, that's it I'm in me and I finally on my head, the sidewalks of the city and show people. Gratos. I meet real people only, really only because when they die - which, given their condition, do not delay - nobody will notice. And then there are those believe to be both. They hold hands to prove it. They are silent when I because it exceeds the above, Specifically, and I remind them that when they prayed to not be like me, only with the echo of heels while I pray to never be like them, with only the echo of loneliness on the other.

There are those who tell me, in a more or less elegant.
- A girl like you alone at this hour?
I hear a little later, because I was already in my head with ideas to the conversation far more exciting, I turn around and mouse anyway, evasively. They do not respond because they thought turn to a sad woman impatient company and, suddenly, they saw that one, I was not in the least. Neither sad nor alone. That in any case, I was much less than they reduced to challenge any bandwidth to share anything.

A scooter moves me, you call out my heels, questioning your feeds me. The circle of life. Not without laughter, seriously. When I

"appointment", as they say, I go only rarely. Bah, I'm meeting you, right? Otherwise, when "we", a group of people, is scheduled to meet in a bar, so I always arrive after, always, because I love this time, latent, floating where I know I will soon talk with people I love, touch, laugh with a little luck, but I'm in no hurry. And needles of the dial really have the fire in the ass. I did not realize the time has already passed. I have plenty of time.
That's all I have, over time.
Ca, and loneliness.

time and solitude are ageless, they live forever, that's all the interest, perhaps the only one. Like they are my companions, bloodless, heartless, breathing, anatomy is too low, I answer their Bible and their commands because they serve it to me. Others believe in a god. Either. Personally, I defer, and submit myself to this uncertainty and the power of nothingness, emptiness, all of our calm before storms.

I'm obviously reduced to about that. What everyone spoken before me, better, worse, whatever happens, I am reduced to clichés, I was already so small.
is loneliness I want to talk yet. And I do not know how.

This one scares even three quarters of the population, fauna, flora, all these people former having a slight tendency for clusters, and the nearby neighborhoods. I see that around, it wants to be with others. I can see it's difficult to refuse an appointment for no particular reason. It must a reason. It should, not go to dinner, be argued to have yet another dinner planned. We want a reason. It seems impossible to postpone an appointment with the gallant mere pretext not to crave. It is undeniable Assisi at a sidewalk cafe, others feel they can approach us because for them, we do not like, being alone, if not for meeting people. It seems reasonable to them. Their answer?
Must say, too, there are so many women who believe that being alone means being without a man. They give false hope those here. To others, and to them. I sometimes regret that philosophy because these are the very ones who, alone in their rooms imagined the most beautiful story amouuuuuur today and lose their imagination when they lose the assurance of sleep in the arms and anxiety makes them ... cowards. Has it even
who write songs about it, I mean, songs that sell, securities that are within the top 50.


Women who receive at most profound for themselves only when they are afraid we do affects more people who do not want to be touched because that they are doing very well all alone, who are dying of old, hoping that their little girl to visit them at least once before, and those who like to be alone so that these behaviors, among others, naturally exclude the masquerade .

But that's where I'm talking about. And I do not know how. Talking about the person you love forever, admit that it's not convenient. And we do not say "I love you" his solitude allowed to settle, he made room, and it maintains the place. It's so much more grueling than the rest, that relationship. So much more severe.

never been created without being alone, never been loved, never have been invented and imagined and everything you want, without being alone. Lucky Luke is how he is back on the bottom of sunset? With its economy and all these fellows might be?
Sometimes I think that if everyone saw loneliness as a friend, I would have much more, friends. And truths. Not those who call because, back home, it is imperative that they stand out. I would like that name is because we want to see me. Not because we refuse to look, so, in the face. I do not like, finally, give me an appointment to pass the time. In addition, time does not pass, we look to develop tricks to fill it, and then he left. It is we who trépassons his eyes amused.

I think I stopped loving a boy for that. He knew not to be alone.

be always more, it would be like putting layers upon layers of life to survive on layers of experience without ever live, and prevent it from out the old box of letters, moved by cutting the laptop and read it again. If one does not, so why keep them? Why even write?

The other night, that's what I decided to do.

I opened the box and immediately I felt a kind of exclusive wellness, reserved for me and I only just because I left the place and time to emotions without consequences, without immediate results. One Saturday night at midnight, there is finally only a few people sitting cross-legged in their room to reread old letters placed in the wrong envelopes. It was luxury for me, a moment, away from the bustle that I often mixes with gusto. I reread, therefore, and not too me back in memories, I felt the importance, urgency to think of all those who wrote letters, I read those and others, those who remained at the bottom of drawers and those torn by anger, I was in the strength of emotions but without action. The emotions that are not from an act, a gesture which does not derive directly from the attitude of someone there, in front, but born of the consciousness that people live, me environment, away, alone in my room. Like never more so than the people those moments.
There was a letter, an old letter, which ended with the famous sweet it is to do nothing when everything around you shakes. " And the sender had crossed the "soft" and replace it with "rude" and then he had crossed "rude" and replace it with "indispensable". I eventually replaced all others by him, so, obviously. And I was reminded of the incredible symbiosis that had lived, every 2, yet / just lovers of solitude.

Maybe because I'm an only child, perhaps because of that I've developed an ability to create me conversations, friends, imaginary situations. Even today, when I managed to be completely alone for about 3 days it's always like this, I touch the divine and therefore childhood. I listen to music, I dance, it makes me want to do my makeup in a way that I consider unacceptable to see people in real life I do hairstyles, and, here, hair cell, I 10 years in my adult consciousness and that, brace yourself for me to budge from the idea that this is not the future and the best anti wrinkle.

Then, a moth has seen fit to invite to my lonely party. Perhaps he sought the company. The company of the lamp. Not be alone, what, why and how, idiot, not even he knew.
Panic.
It is so little, despite our principles and our beautiful grand theories, there is so little that want to not much more, all this on a rickety wire taut as a dental thing, ready to help but also to break.
friends in my head I do not fileront hand, suddenly there's more people, it's pretty, well. I cursed my desire to be with no one then, because I could no longer rely on myself to get by me and, unable to do so, I was nothing more than a anxious, a wimp ready to call anyone, a man abandoned on a dock 4 years ago, why not just let him come to me today, if no one else responded to come get rid of it. I told myself, of course, I could not ask for a drunken friend and buried in a basement of Pigalle to help me, of course, I could not. But then who? And that is what I was not alone as the guy on his scooter suddenly? This idea appalled me
to the point that ... How a butterfly could land and question everything, what right, but not. So I caught me and I pulled out the vacuum cleaner.
I must be clear on this point: In general, I am against the death penalty. Overall, I am for night owls. But moths, it comes without a brothel spunk name in all my principles. I panic, I'm not myself, I could really eh, I could kill someone who likes to ask me a hair. (Okay, "pose a moth in the hair of someone" is not a routine activity, but do you imagine the phobia demented stuff.)
spiders, for example, I no, but I hold a glass on them, a paper underneath, and I turns over the balcony from my 6th floor. They get by, do not worry. But moths ...

They are like the noise of scooters, all things considered. They play their heels on my walls, but I have no desire to take her in my arms, all his shit. Only they are not lonely at all costs accruing after a company that does not want them.
Their existence is so empty they look for contact and stick to it and lights burning until the next morning, on the day their prohibiting any activity, they go to sleep, punctured, damaged, waiting to get back to recover. They are crazy. They lose the pedals, we fit in, have no respect for priorities and in addition, they make a racket when they bump yucky all around. Class, they know not. Not to mention they are ugly. Furry and discolored as compared with their colleagues in the day, including pigments and drawing on their wings deserve respect ad vitam. Ca and the fact that they, they we not pump air.
They are pathetic, moths. I do not want them with me. If the guy on the scooter forced the door of my hall to join me in space restricted to the elevator, I do not think so less. I do not want him either. I would help them. I'd fire shots to screaming and throwing a bag.
they leave us alone with their problem of loneliness.
is why I get out the vacuum cleaner.

But the sound of his wings in the bag is insurmountable.
It is not dead, the guy he fights in the dust. This is perhaps the worst noise I've been forced to hear. With the little bits of flesh of the bull, which fall in the arena, the applause of an audience that soft does not care, actually. The sadness of their
loneliness, SOLITUDE their loneliness is so light in the fullness of mine ... Maybe I should thank them, eventually. Then they make me want to complain.
He had to do something to get out was for him to silent the sound of his refusal to be me who was going to die as long as dying. So good.
I have developed quite a trick, something I should not tell you if I wanted to do not consider myself crazy, something I'll say this, though:
So, I opened the vacuum cleaner, made a big hole in the bag and stirred the kit while ensuring to keep the lid closed enough to not take me Calimero in the face and then I put the camera on the balcony, open the lid and be sure to have cleared the way for quick, fast, go away and close the window and then waited. He put a good 5 minutes but it came out.
And there, all he found to do it was to rush to another apartment on, the poor fool. "I should have let him die, like" I told myself. "Not even fucking draw a moral experience, this con" . Other
pay for it.

After the scooter and the moth has the cat in heat.

Ca because it requires two days to get fucked, the poor woman. She groans and screams, shameless, only anxious to alert a male in the corner and have her sex at the right time in the month and then give birth to minus tomcats who will die drowned in a bathtub.
This cat, I love him very hard. That's what I think when they heard I can not help but love him very hard. And yet his vocalizations are nothing but nice, BUT it is only to die, screaming, to spread your legs, it illustrates my point perfectly and it does so on time, synchronized it is, the cat as something reduced the need of her ovaries. That is precisely where it touches the heart of the matter. Only as all that help Solitaires better yet see that Solitude is good for them. She found her mate, she will reach and the year after that she will give it. All this in a loop, until his death.

I've to do some of the people I love are animals and do not want to be alone and stick to the lamps and meow for having children.
People only howl at the mouth of the world, so that saves them; the lonely moo within themselves because they know that nobody save anyone, not even themselves.

But, being alone, really alone, here and now, it's not really possible. It would lead to madness because that's not made for this life. Throw his phone cut off his internet connection and no longer answer the intercom ... must, must already be half crazy, right?
We should all do it, just as we decided that everyone should travel, try drugs, to make the plunge or I do not know what bullshit, we should all really, really for real, try to be alone.
But you bet how much that eventually it we would be criticized, it would even be punished for that?
Because it will be always a small abandoned legislator to decree that has been guilty of indecent assault and failure to assist the life course, life-threatening.
Want to bet?

There's no way to be quiet, someone always has to be addressed when it is not ourselves.

-maispastrop-