Sunday, December 20, 2009
Mucous Plug In Throat
must hunt down the wolves to exhaustion. Follow his trail and noted the brands fresh in the wet earth, broken twigs, white clusters of white hair glistening in the brambles. Also feel, grime and ammonia, the hints of iron and rust puddle of blood, where it stopped. Bent forward, his face tense, scraped by the lower branches, a hand thrown back, the other arm and reinforce themselves flying the side, chasing the interweaving of lianas and young shoots fat. Focus on your breathing, to distinguish the beast of humus, the foam of the beast. Of breath, chest raised violently, by a sudden, stop, listen, scrutinize between sunlight chaotic by midges thousands, to look out for the slightest tremor, the thrill of the hunted animal. Be both predator and prey, think for both, his flight to transparency overlay to our race. It almost jealous of the ease of his status as hunted animal. For the wolf, one goal, his whole being turned into a single, blind, abandoned by instinct, nothing around him is important.
Earth sickly, dry grain and rough scree overflowing onto the footpath, mushrooms and green gray saturating the air heavy with their fragrance flawed. Greasy droppings and puddles of mud wallow where gray boars. Raise the head and contemplate the slow dance of the peaks, moments of silence disturbed by the creaking of the shoot millennium. The clearing gaping open before us, bathed in red light. Leaves whirl, ignite and burn by touching the grass slow. At the center of the clearing, lying on its side, head resting on a stump, the beast is waiting, resigned. The sun rekindles its fire-mane and his eyes go black lightning.
Sit before him, looking at him, pass his hand over the hair sticky with blood between her ears. Let it sleep.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
What Are Good Templates To Add On Vuze?
Day 22
I have just experienced a difficult week. A cloud came in the night, four days ago. Three grandchildren have managed to enter through the vent in the back kitchen. I have better strengthened. Luckily I slept on the floor and growling woke me fast enough. I had time to grab me by my shield and my ax. I'm pretty proud of my equipment. I was able to strengthen the straps that I had set the garbage can lid that serves as a shield to me. If I find time and paint, I can amuse myself by drawing a shield above.
I went down slowly, they were still in the kitchen and I could take a few seconds to observe them. It was very dark but the air-hole let in a dim light that highlighted their contours shifting and quivering. I'd like to understand how they work ... I do not know what they are, they feel, communicate ... I do not know. The two youngest were trying to sack my groceries. The latter stood with bowed legs, an arm dangling to the side, the other gripping the rim of the sink. Motionless. I was surprisingly calm. I know that having them here in my antrum should terrorize me, but I felt quite reassured. I was at me.
I banged my shield against the kitchen door then went back as quickly as possible to the top of the stairs. They came right away, one by one. Three black silhouettes and stout, scraping their throats in producing this unique sound, muffled bile and blood. An ax splits the skull of the first. He fell backwards and slows the latter, which allows me to prepare my shot. Just on the shoulder. It falls to the knee and I reversed a kick. The third is already on me, I feel its pungent odor and surprisingly sweet. I reject with my legs, it is on all fours, I pick up my ax and hits de I too far tear him half his face. He gets up and walks back to me. They can apparently lead to sound, or smell ... A final blow across the throat finished removing her head from the body.
I spent the rest of the night to clean the stairs and kitchen. Unable to sleep anyway. Small and were not only the cloud slowly prowling around homes in the neighborhood for 4 days. Some are picking on the shutters and front door. They scratch, hit, spit and vomit. I think they did not for much longer. Since the intrusion of the other night, I ate more than cookies. I had to throw all my reservations, soiled by the grime of 3 guests. It appears I'll have tomorrow, if the cloud has passed.
Note: Remember to find fucking fags.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Kate's Playground Hoof Hoax
The sun shines and the wind is spawning life rather pink and eyes full of hope, I'm loading my bag for a few moments of life I want to share. The homecoming. I love that phrase, is what I feel every time I go. My country is very small, damp and capricious. I believe there is nothing there Special to the common man. But to me, its streets, beaches and islands are ridiculously small compass essential.
I need as a poet of his muse.
The journey is long, too long. And just happen, it will go. We'll laugh, drink and make a lot of things unspeakable. We is me, this is another scribbler, and that some other people. It's memories and it's wrong. When your loved ones become memories is when we must make choices. My choice is made: long live the present. Panam, I'll be there.
Christmas: I do not always happen. But I can not say, or at least voice high. Do not like Christmas, it has become to be hip. And I have a little more conviction than a dead leaf, then I do not like being in the wind.
The future: it is dotted and enjoyable.
PS: This morning, on waking. My trusty steed was wrong. The night was rough and his side carries the stigma of uncontrolled shock. Dude, you so, I know you're scared and you're reading this message, leave a phone number, it would have been class.
How To Hide First Day Of Tongue Piercing
Day 17
My watch says 3:34 p.m. yesterday. I have no battery, no clock. I think it is 16h. This morning he was almost good despite the light rain that falls from the first day. I think I saw an airplane in retrieving the buckets placed on the roof. I still do not even appreciate the long view. Although the height to protect me, it would only take a tile crashing to the ground to attract them and I have no desire to be besieged by winter.
Note: remember to put a bucket at the gutters.
beans, canned ham and biscuits for lunch. I always leave a candle lit while the gaps between the boards, I can see. I never read much. I resumed reading the Promise of the Dawn Gary. I can not help imagine the places described in the book. I can not help but represent them as they should be today. Nice and the promenade des Anglais, crowded with black and carcasses of abandoned cars. The silence broken by the heavy surf. I'll finish this book tonight, even if bored.
No incident.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Ladies In Crowded Trains
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Formula Of Interest On Rd
One of the favorite sports of homo sapiens always been a witch hunt. But what is a witch, you might say. The definition varies over time. For the knights of virtue rely more fashionable than moral criteria thoughtful. Nowadays, the three kinds of witches - or sorcerers - the most popular are probably the wife beater, child molesters and fundamentalists, replacing advantageously the backslider, the invert and the Wandering Jew of old. The world is still filled with these dangerous characters lurking treacherously in the guise of the man in the world. The sorcerer, in fact, it can be a stranger, a neighbor, relative ... and even you or me. Fortunately, there are brave vigilantes constantly on the lookout.
scene, strictly Authentic, which will follow, taking place this fall at a date that caution us to keep secret. I brought my wife in a large parking lot, nearly empty on holidays, for a driving lesson manual transmission. Last week we tried the reverse. This experience was a revelation for my patient student, who finally understood how to gradually release kurochi (word meaning clutch Japanese and slang) without stalling the engine.
"Advance! Brakes! To the left ... no right. Say, you saw the post there? "
PS Have you noticed the color of this car?
Design: Rie Mochizuki
Tonight, shortly before sunset, the place was completely deserted. Except that, during our maneuvers learned backwards, and sometimes zigzag, a black car, with tinted windows and look almost military, suddenly came to tour our little parking. Inside this tin noisy four-wheel drive, two pairs of eyes that keep us secure. Perhaps the curious in search of exoticism. Or a redneck who makes the speed in a parking lot to impress his girlfriend, or strutting before the only available public, ie us. The black Jeep
has already disappeared. My gracious student continues his quietly driving exercises, for about fifteen minutes. Then we took the road that takes us back to the city.
Last stop before entering the ramp connecting us to the boulevard. We exchange our seats and I'm back at the wheel. My student is pleased with his rapid progress. I'm glad to see pleased and return home without incident. Just as I am about to start, a police car comes towards us, having burned his stop. I am preparing to leave when she stops at my height. The window lowered and the face of a young, fresh and strong police appears.
- You do not see a green car with a man and a woman who cavil?
- Not ... Moreover, there is nobody over there, I'm pointing to the mountain.
my passenger's face lights up with a wide smile as she comes to understand, long before me that the green car in question is ours. The police, reassured, thanks us and goes, runs, flies to the rescue of the alleged victim.
We have not gone fifty yards that another police car is committed to full speed in the ramp. And as we drive very quietly, she passes us without giving us any attention.
- This time it is no longer a couple is bickering, but a couple who tapoche, I'm out to my students, laughing softly.
And yet, the parking that we have just left was actually desert. Two fellow walkers in air, with their dog. Three empty cars at the stop at the entrance of forest trail, probably trippers. None of the cars was green ... except ours. In fact, it seems that it would do more these days, green cars.
When we reached the boulevard, a third police car arrived on the hats of wheels and engages the ramp after a controlled skid.
- is more serious than I thought, I exclaimed. The suspects may be trying to quibble with their rifles.
But this cascade of manhunt, the delayed precipitation, this escalation tragicomic these scapinades Suréalistes, this is too much for my student, who laughs, as in the theater.
We have to obviously, this squad of armed police and alarmed is actually in our pursuit. And only their slowness to react is we have escaped a difficult explanation, to the point of a gun. Apparently, they do not know our registration number. Better not to rot here.
to us to investigate. Trying to reconstruct the facts. A young woman wearing an elegant coat Cashmere, backs his car while zigzagging green, then stops suddenly, climbing slightly on the sidewalk, while his passenger, a man with some pace, gesticulating, pointing to the sometimes driving, sometimes the gear shift, sometimes the lamppost approaching too quickly. At this very moment, an unshaven redneck, Jeep and accompanied by his girlfriend made up, going to places nearby, a well known parking learner drivers in the neighborhood. The redneck alerted by a suspicious behavior he deems is neither one nor two. It darkens to any blind and runs a vast semi-circle around the green car, while maintaining a safe distance. The redneck then directed his girlfriend to alert the authorities as soon as possible, it immediately made strafing the keyboard of his mobile phone. Hello 911, there is a man and a woman in a green car that cavil. The redneck snatches the phone hands adds: Quick, it's serious, it is perhaps in danger. This couple is a victim of vigilante confirmation bias, which means that one sees readily that was expected to see. "The women drummers are all men. So all men can be batsmen women. So a man caught in a suspicious attitude with a woman can only be a wife beater. I know what I think and not what I hear from my eyes. My cat runs away, it is surely he who stole my sardines. My ax is gone, I find that my neighbor has a head Raider ax. And, as a measure of safety, it is better not to rent his apartment to a cat, a thief ax, or even an immigrant. But it became shameful to have the air of a racist, he is still proud to play vigilante. Long live the lynching!
In his panic mixed with excitement, the redneck fails to address the issue of our plate. When the constabulary arrives on site, a good quarter of an hour later despite the proximity of the police station, we already left the scene of the alleged crime. The police see that our car is green, but our cheerful mine leaves him rather think we are a peaceful weekend strollers. We are like more than to brave witnesses of heinous criminals. Especially since my passenger carries no marks of violence, no hair tousled, not the slightest bruise, no blood is still wet. The police can not take the risk of psychological interest to us for a true victim may be in the making gut a wood. As for the other officers arrived as reinforcements, they could block all the exits. But their spirit was already, by anticipation, the scene of the alleged crime, and they remained blind to anything that does not comply with their imagination.
Furthermore, was it really necessary to mobilize a fleet of three police vehicles to subdue a suspect now berate his wife (or vice versa)? A new inquiry is warranted.
Friday, December 4, 2009
How To Sand A Shuffleboard
is a light at the bottom of her eyes, a desire to sleep with clear what will become unlikely. There is no music, no alcohol or substance barely legal. There's just question marks and commas too many. This text is chopped, written for an asthmatic crisis. If we had a set, it would be a picture of a catalog Ikea. Too much thinking about things, they leave their taste. Tasteless. The story ends worn by his fault.
him: he was lost forever. It lies the bottom of a spirit. Some say he is still breathing. I think so.
She: she is radiant. She believes in the future as a jihadist paradise.
Me: Spain. I finally discovered. It changes from day to day and much remains to be done. The weight of tradition, the downside of modernity. And people. As beautiful as elsewhere. As stupid as elsewhere. Damn globalimondialisation . I have to go where I lose? Farther surely .
If you feel like worry, too. We write?