What Kind Of Hair Does Myamee

Bioman

All these addictions that is dragging.
Everyone needs something, without which it would feel as helpless, exposed, caught off guard. Incredibly vulnerable and half dead already. Everyone. Some are dependent on their propensity to proclaim everywhere they depend on anything or anyone. And then there 's those who are dependent on their nakedness, their freedom and detachment. Their independence.

I pride myself of being able to pass people when I see fit, and it is, after all, quite true. But there is not a matter to brag too much because it's not people I'm addicted but good things. Stuff in, and out of my head.

If I had to spend a day without perfume, cigarettes, alcohol and music, I'd stay in bed.
If I had to spend a day without a bed ... I would need a lot of alcohol.

I often get from the grocer to buy a pack of American blonde in anticipation of tomorrow, yet I still have a dozen, but I'd rather not be caught short, I feel reassured. And yet be caught short, it what happens to everything else.
The administrative stuff, for example.
Never, ever, I paid an electricity bill before the recorded voice will call me and offer me on my answering machine:

"If you have not yet paid the invoice: type 1. If you paid this bill since the recall that we sent you by mail: type 2. If you do not care ... "

the absence of 3, still, I type 2.
course I have not paid yet, but I tell myself that I calm while waiting for the wolves that check, and it turns out that it works. They not screaming over the dead, and when I finally decided to send the due, it goes like a letter in the mail.
I am yet incredibly dependent on it, EDF. Yes, but their doses do send me any level of any sky. It passes over me. Or below. From

Monoi I put in my hair. Books I'm reading. Words that I write. This ordimini who I mean everything. Rings that my fingers are accustomed and which, when I undress, roam between them, rubbing each other as to recreate the presence, keep warm, no longer feel abandoned.



There's a vacuum, all the time, with the loss patterns and the small insignificant things that make my life a great example of life. The self-mockery, too, I'm hooked. Badly.
But let us be clear, though undeniably range of amenities on the possession and collection of memories, I am not only materialistic, eh. I depend too much on the idea of fantasy and condoms.

How to be free then.

Should we really get rid of absolutely everything? What value would the fun? Should we get rid of the fun too ? We're addicted? Is what I am making a statement of philosophy test?

It circulates in bars, cinemas. It stirs the entry stores at this time balances. Theaters tremble applause. Windows beneath the orgasms. Children wriggling in front of the excitement of candy stolen. Me in the middle a little bit of everything here and the rest.

Yesterday, on the line 11 between City Hall and Republic, I failed to subscribe to new friends. A bottle of soda and caloric walked around in the car at our feet. Empty, according to pitching movements of the wheels on the rails and, sitting on the folding core, I threw the ball without realizing it, lifting her legs to let her dance where she wanted. My neighbor across the street followed by reflex, then my left also and finally, 4 ° fellow, exiled from the other side similarly. The party began. We will prêtions as seriously as enthusiasm kid and I suddenly felt the air change in odor. I looked up and discovered, in the face, the face of the girl bent under the effect of laughter. Instinctively, I checked my left that he, too, began to seriously warp. It rose from my toes and once reached the solar plexus, through the mouth, I exploded with a burst that my mother would have called "laughing the summer of 1985, destroying sandcastles .
The 4th has always focused first saw the bottle come up against one of our feet, our heads and laughing. With all it has predictable and obvious, it must be confessed that, without surprise or turnaround, the guy decided to join our adventure had corkscrew and also dry.
We were there, every 4 watching us without us too, because of the tears that the power of laughter was born, to whine and hit our thighs, accompanied test sentences stifled by a new chuckle. It lasted 3 stations.
For those who are not Parisian, if it exists-3 stations, it gives us a good 3 minutes 50 with 3 minutes 50 seconds of movement and stop everything. Stops during which new heads and landed amazed at the spectacle. The other passengers ended up smiling too, among them, like parents touched by the joy of their little rascals. Of course, all this scenery did fuel the hiccups and abdominal contractions. And then one of us dropped in a dying breath "I can again" which seemed entirely truthful in relation to the mid-recumbent position mid seat that his body had passed. That has stopped completely and we finish pushed us to do the same.
The term "die laughing" takes its meaning several times a year, rarely true, but then, you know you could actually stay there as the breath we lack the stomach and tears us apart, not to mention burning cheeks , eyes that cry, the heart and rickety picnic while the head that carries all it admits it has absolutely no control of the situation, for once. It
ny'avait virtually nothing really funny, nothing funny at this point anyway, but, quite simply, we laughed our laughter, we were pleased with our joy among us, unknown. Happiness fed the hungry monster of "more happiness" and it would have lasted if he had not always been that one of us goes down to get to grief.



There it real, fun, long thought by my doctrine. There it was really true. It's palpable, living in the veins. How to get rid if one feels a prisoner of the feeling it gives us. How to be free, without being ascetic, austere hermit. How can depend on no satisfaction and still be happy, that's what I wonder.

And, yes, of course, some enchanted assail us welfare when he happens to be saying anything definite, it attacks us in the street, without warning, without reason. We say "duh, well, why this sudden lightness?" But it's always
because it just fine, and it is not in overdraft, besides if you think about it, a young man has just smile battery when the breeze wanders between our shoulders, and all that s 'crony admirably well with this song as we love our own mother, who has not, moreover health problems, and whose words do not come out of our heads since we left the bed where, in fact , still sleeping man with arms the most comfortable of the earth.

Well, what I said. Fun, always, satisfaction, delicacies, the kiss and carelessness. Always. Imperceptibly small joys accumulated delude us and make us believe in the wonder and magic of life, like what happiness would walk down the street and suddenly throw his sights on us. Nothing is further from the truth. The drawers are filled with air by nothing open at once, without being decided. There's no magic, there's just supplies in stock for addicts. That's it.

And cats who move mountains to get to petting under his chin they season it with a purr explicit. The hands of lovers who travel miles to finally find the tissue and skin squealing fun. The cinephile penniless, who cheats, returned by the exit, and feels the red velvet settle under him while the trailers illuminate his eager face. The rapist who happens to enjoy that when a woman resists it and looking to spend his next prey with onset of erection. The little old lady who hides UHT milk cartons under the dresser the bedroom of the nursing home and whose heart beats, despite medication, when in darkness and silence, she comes out of hiding. So many people who, because they know they will die, no longer worry about how, and fill the time separating them from the funeral small pleasures, tiny defects or very large crap. So many people who run the earth under their feet, their no wolves trying not to get caught, as many people without children who would be an ordinary underground public transit and living better than nothing a highway tunnel to the uterus where, supposedly, the light we offer the best orgasms. Yes, but if we do not known before ...?

If I can keep the smiles of strangers, eyes of friends and kisses on the neck of love, then I am willing to give up perfume, books and alcohol. But
, fragrance and alcohol free, do I have friends there, lovers? Strangers will they always want to compliment me on the street, if they also deprive themselves of alcohol? Lovers will they always kind to me unless I read what I read? Friends will be friends if they no longer tells me or my love or my books and no drunken stranger comes to interrupt us to talk about my perfume?

me I could easily look at it all night.

is overlooked from what I am most certainly subject: inside my head and my solitude. It's pretentious, a little. That's okay.
Someone told me one day, or perhaps Was it a night - to paraphrase another, "neither god nor master . He did not say I really care about me, personally, in the eye and he has told everyone and then I heard it straight in my head. I was basically agree on this sequence of words that succeeded in synthesizing a series of ideas long mine.
Neither god nor master
, okay. But pleasure, I am the slave. And it's my freedom, all things considered, since pleasure is ultimately what everyone is resigned to giving up.

And if it had an epitaph then, that "Laughter had his skin " trumps all others.

-maispastrop-

Contact Myammee About Her Hair

My Memory ... I remember only too well.

A ringing phone at 3 am earlier this week, like it or not is suspect.

can legitimately expect bad news, or at least some sort of emergency.
can admit that this kind there, unable to appear before the middle of the night and 3 / 4 of his cirrhosis.
One can imagine a childhood friend of colony has landed in Paris and he has had our number and that ... to we adventure and tour of the Grand Dukes.

Why we no longer love?

That is the answer to all these suppositions, someone who suddenly wants to talk about the heart's rhythm and cadence of feelings, bring the stuff buried on the surface, it looks imposing pure, why people would stop loving, why, we, we did as everyone else.

I do not know what to say, it is too late to ask such a thing, too soon perhaps. It's never the time to ask such a thing. Do not ask me that. No real answer.

-Seriously, why you no longer love?

Seriously, I was already serious. Why
want to know why we no longer love someone when there is already inexplicable to love someone.

Why you say anything?

I remember many things that they lived, he and I, I lose myself in cities where it is perhaps not gone, I mix slides memories, I see the bag of letters love, or was it breaking? I descended to the cellar unable to throw ... I remember, it had electricity when they had kissed, the first time. For real. Electricity. Our lips trembled and had our hair as our hands were made of silk, it was quite stunned. Stunned ourselves, then we said, surely, that was it, love in a great burst of egotism.

"You want to talk about?

think I finally have nothing to say about the end of love stories. I abhor the things that end while we are continuing; points to the line, the book that gives the library the files being closed, all that. I do not like. It saddens me at the highest point. I think when you love someone, you should love it otherwise, if the weather spoils the story is that people do not like each other for the right reasons is that they were disappointed, have finally realized that ... I abhor the misfire. The mess. And things end, then.
Except for good movies. And yet, Has it a package which I think there is no logical reason to stop now when everything the world wants it to last forever.

Why it did not last forever?

What I can say to this man, this man I loved to death. No indeed, not in dying, especially: to kill him instead, and several times that I liked without any consciousness of the rest of the time, people, life itself. All those things in which our love grew. All these things without which I would not have this call today.
What I can say to this man while it is certainly himself that he questions and I am not the person to whom he must account if he wants an answer, ultimately, the voice of reason. Because I do not know everything, I could only bring more questions to its question marks, and because, finally, if I knew he did not ask me.
If I knew, maybe we would not we ever loved, or perhaps we would like always.

I remember this story I heard or invented, I do not know who told a couple, every morning, wondering:
"So? We continue? "
and every morning, is responding
"Let's go."
After coffee, anyway. Cigarette smoking may be. But every morning of every week of every month of the year. Years. It continued because they wanted and they were told.
I remember the story of this couple and asked to mine: "So? We stop? "

East what stopped loving or just want to say?

He shrugged, unsure, hesitant, worried. It was already answered, and both of us already knew that shoulder shrug here we might shudder over there in other kisses. We said we loved each other, because that was the case, we loved each other. Yet. We said goodbye before you no longer love each other before the day when we replace the tender farewell and a little disoriented by a door slams and insults that do not even think.
Anyway, the doors, they had been abducted since the start in our apartment "open." We had talked about it, the walls were shaking under the impact of nervousness, and it was held not to imitate these gestures that we belonged to any way.
And then, insult, it was our sweet little words, too because we had promised, one evening he and I and a bottle of Cote Rotie, never called Asshole Bitch and because we too loved words and proper sentences. Because it either, it does not look like us.

So to get hurt, it was necessary that we work with great determination to develop new meanness, mediocrity and unpublished, at this moment, no one had neither the time nor the envy.

-Will you still love me, you?

I had told on the porch of the only door that was forced to keep, one that kept us away from the rest of the world and nosy neighbors, had told a different story , also invented, surely: a couple in jail, his men, her women. Good.
The window of one does not overlook the other's, but their voices are, then, every night-they were the night he opened his window and shouted "goodnight my love, I t love "to kill head, she replied, not weaker," I love you my Love, good night. " And they closed their windows, leaving others still imprisoned longer alone in these echoes.

the evening, my young man came to my new window from one foot to land loaned by a friend who knew that once we had said "stop" could not continue to share the nest which was believed to "always." From my window came a thunderous "goodnight my love, I love you and without you, I'm in jail, which still resonates when, down in the street while I fall asleep, people are unaware of they can cause, bellowing statements to windows closed.

Me I love you still.

He will always love me.
"Encore" and "always" mix in my limbic system, I do not remember which one I heard most, and if I gave myself not even one.

http://www.deezer.com/track/915999

I believe again because I never stopped and never really started, but I can not tell him if he, I love it. Again and again. If he came tomorrow with two tickets to the end of the world, I would follow? I would follow for the right reasons, ie, for no reason? As I did, once. "Once" is a word that makes me think of a name of a plant or flower that has not yet discovered, hidden Thousand Leagues Under the Sea seems like each other and when we discover the , elucidate this mystery, this amazing mystery that is in eternal love which makes us to reduce everything to the end and death, with a lot of "always" and "never." With some "yet". Sighs.
So we would like nothing we promise, and perhaps we would like really. The question is not "why we no longer love? "but" because of what we thought we did love each other wrong? "Because: all his shit. Do not mix our neuroses, if you love yourself, please, do not do that.

Me, I love you still. You too, right?

I do not like many people, you know. It was never my cam. I should tell him to lie after all.
And then he talks to himself since earlier, he does not speak frankly, he asks questions, no answers, just my breath which indicates that I'm here, damn there, he knows and he continues. I should say that, obviously, I would love him but I always say never. And I do not want to hear it. If we were to love again and not yet , should we meet. We forget, we rediscovered. Contends that one suddenly, not because of memory but thanks to us. A little because of the memory, okay, maybe, but so little. We love each other us, not projections or projectors.

-No?

No. Yes. I do not know. I remember. You rhyme with The End, for that, you have no purpose, but others have come and still promise me forever, which I do not believe me because I know I will die, and faster than their love and promises, surely.
I must speak because my tongue like contempt now that contempt is contemptuous and for those who misunderstand, I must speak to him.

Yes, you say?

-Your voice is very small.
"I'm not much larger.
-Depends for whom.
-For the doctor, taking my degree I was little.
-Not for me, not my ...
-Should I cut off your speech there.
-... To tell me what?
No, nothing, I just wanted you to not finish your sentence.
Why?
"I wanted it.
Yes but why?
-You can not say nice things in an abandoned lot is a mess, it resonates on walls falling is ugly, I hate the mess, keep your nice things.
You're not forsaken land!
No, me neither, but "we", yes. It is the job of removing the debris, pulling weeds, turning the squatters to rebuild the walls ..
But no door-huh!

-Even without doors, it's job. In addition, ask any permissions anywhere. The City Council is very fussy. So we do not launch an abandoned because we love the pretty flower that has survived in the corner there, sheltered from the ivy and crumbling concrete, she deserves better. It deserves other people. People who go to greenfield land. Not vague at all. Clear, shining. Not us.

-If they go to greenfield land, they do not tell him they love it because it is in an abandoned ...?
-... It's true. But we must be willing to surrender a pretty flower. She will manage. She had a taste of happiness right? Then she will find him.
Why we speak in metaphor?
"Because otherwise it's too raw, it's when we were very close that uses figures of speech junk, what what you would put in place the land, and instead of flowers?
"I know.
Me either, it is like this. Metaphors are like gutters, is not just for dogs.
Why we no longer love?

I watch the meter on my phone: 14 minutes and 23 seconds. 14 minutes too, 23 seconds would be enough to answer "Why do we love each other more?" To "Why are we loved?"

"You who, in the languor of a monastic spirit,
ignore love of the tyrannical empire,
that your hearts are happy because they are insensitive,
all your days are serene, all your nights peaceful.
Blessed is the fate of the innocent.
Forgetting the world, forgotten by the world.
eternal Sun of pure spirit.
Each prayer heard and every wish fulfilled. "

Alexander Pope

-maispastrop-

Pharmaceutical Calculations, Ansel And Stocklosa

A vote ..... Mom and kisses!

For my mom cherie what super strong to whom I am the biggest kiss in the world and I like very much!! (And a lovely poem - it was spared by the collar of noodles!)

And yes we too had voted ..... Thursday. Well I'll not make a speech, you can go here photos and an explanation. And I confirm I have not had a presentation of proof of identity and must make a cross in pencil - ah ben non large Breton they not cheat! - And there was no polling booth just a plank of wood to separate the small shelf!

I voted but not for Europeans. Mea culpa, I have not referred the ballot received the last year asking if I wanted to vote in Great Britain or France! So I am one of the missing!

I actually vote for local elections. Well, my choice is made by elimination, it eliminates the anti-European, nationalists and pro-active for many bebete before the men who want to ban the carnivores! And finally, the least zero on the proposed environment and family, anyway we know that is that politicians do not keep their promises.

And for proof of English humor there is even "The party of Cingles " which one of the proposals, which would be useful for husband and the monster that no two socks the same color, is:

Put a Sock in it!
All socks sold in packs to Be as a precaution of 3 Against Losing one.

Yes yes for real! Even that party beat the candidate of the Labour Party on the area near St Ives .... !

Finally I admit that the "A VOTE" final french pronounce with force and solemnity missing me well! Yet the polling place was a church .... there would be a good echo!