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-