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Bonnes résolutions?

Happy New Year 2011!

Hoping the 2012 go with you, but talk of good resolutions because we all do. Personally I have already held a few New Year's resolutions and they often have a bit of my life forever.

So this year my resolutions are:

-stop always wanting more-
my successful master-
persuade my boyfriend to have a dog

No more or I do not keep no, I have to rule never to resolution on a possible regime change or look good ... because we never really takes

ah ah And you what's your resolution?

Bye bye!

Rhyming Birthday Invitation

Of My Bear "Little inclinations" have swung their reed on a Big Day Fifteen Moon

 

 

Un jour de grosse lune de Cécile Delalandre 

- la couverture

Par Christian le lundi 20 décembre 2010, 20:50 - One day big moon

"small inclinations" - 2

[ pending the output 'A big day moon ]

poet and lyricist, loves his tongue and smacking in to twist the words. They are breaking their own and the hint of a smile. The draw? Peut-être ainsi : *_*.

Cécile, après avoir franchi la Loire, les Alpes et les océans, vit – ce matin – à Paris.

***

« Quand les côtes de Tanger se sont mises à blanchir, il s’est tu. Moi j’étais groggy, à terre, par tout ce qu’il venait de me révéler.

Il a tenté de me consoler en me disant qu’il avait eu le temps de voir les mûres rougir, d’écouter la chouette chevêche, de caresser l’aubépine, de souffler sur les sé­neçons, the smell of tansy, Delain Maltese goats ... he would soon pick another tune and had less fear of snakes hook as the big brother! "

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not to the elevator. The small world

" The trailer "

Marius Casar

Clovis and his guitar just slam the door of the apartment of the thirteenth floor. Hers. Her companion gypsy offered in the back une grande bouche qui lui souffle une vie sur la corne de ses doigts. La seule. Elle lui tient son show comme un blouson, un cuir. Ça mégit ses jours et lui cire ses nuits. Clovis ne sort jamais sauf quand Marcos l’appelle. Ce soir, il a appelé.  Répétition.

Quinze pas jusqu’à l’ascenseur.

Franchir d’abord ce long couloir à la peau verte et sale où comme sur un essuie main se torchent des raclures  de  misère, des graffitis de chairs,  des hiéroglyphes d’âmes aux vomissures haineuses, des traces de bottes noires foulant des guirlandes de barbelés where sketched behind words pierce a viewpoint.

Clovis feels sour and it terrorizes. His body becomes frightened, he keeps it warm and it spreads like lava bubbling on the strings of his guitar when he feels game. The smell penetrates well beyond the dermis.

Fifteen not to the elevator.

sweats. Clovis fear. This long vaginal tears which crawl like a gypsy people landless him each time losing key floor. It's not the smell. Browse this tunnel to acid mucosal him petrified legs. Frozen in front of his door, Clovis at the bottom of the chamber believes there see the black eyes that he threw sharpened notes on looks of hatred. That he stirs the anguish in the depths of his fathers.

Fifteen steps to the elevator.

Clovis fear. Marcos and Django ahead. It should. A step. Choper pump up the tempo, one that will suck in the elevator outside her makeshift scaffold avoiding a Miles. A few yards more, effort. At every step, be it Latcho drom until the elevator button. Fifteen ...

Fifteen steps to the elevator.

And then suddenly like an angel on his back, his partner is doing gypsy albatross stretches its great wings and gently pushed. The mouth of the lift trailer home while improvising Clovis swinging like a gypsy on a new cloud, a great cloud.

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  "Les roses sanglantes"
Dali

  @Rip ...

Ne restait plus qu’un pot de fromage blanc et un cendrier plein. Le lit bavait dans ses draps défaits. Le tabouret déglingué s’en foutait. Le frigo avait des crampes d’estomac, moi des rampes d’escalier qui n’en finissaient pas de tourner. Tino avait appelé. Rendez-vous rue legendre. Au cent.

The world was becoming smaller and it was increasingly difficult to meet.
sphere compressed oppresses.

Tino invited me to drink a foam that rolls in verse and rhyme raises. It was time, mine were being neglected since the harvest while the dregs of autumn bronze as always my vine grapes. We do not know much Tino and me. I did not know much about him except that he had the rare gift to spit words like a lout homing which always ended up exploding target and bystanders with. Apart from that I noticed he was tall and had shrapnel in the eye which shone like adamantium armor on lawns bleached. His word was his music nomad and Toltecs.

Street Legendre Batignoles between populist and sores. I neps breath an air of indifference. I was in this timeless venule Capital capitalized. My feet hit the asphalt andantino and my voice in my head silently humming a chantance Barbara:
"All loops are gone
But you, the more stubborn as stone,
You have not left the river
Neither Hill Flower of May ... "
... May , May, Paris, but it was autumn and rolled under my cry, I was happy spleen. In percent, Tino sits waiting at the bar.

- Hi Poet!
I climbed on the stool and biser Ibis. He eyed my breasts while sucking on his beer. Tino had the vision udder was his throat sugar, so it was a gift. Around us, the one hundred and dripping with red spots and talkative friends and I drank my foam listening to her struggles to pay me. He had a voice in the Rif so full of clay to hear him speak I was doing my mountain even though sometimes its snow covered cedars. Free gladiator fighting against his tawny powder on his words, he reinflating mine. We talked until closing time. And then, on the sidewalk of the rue Legendre, he spread his wings and a vertical helicopter had risen into the night. It had disheveled. Une fois rentrée, mon lit bavait toujours dans ses draps défaits mais ma tête était pleine de rimes et de canyons.

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minuinette

"Gas"
Edward Hopper

La minuinette a des nuits rouges
Sur les paupières de son lit blanc
Pourtant elle creuse avec sa gouge
La terre boueuse de son étang

Comme l’ingénue devant a Juan
She believes that love he hopes
And it dreams of a mixed
That Alexander for her worship

The minuinette has his eyes
That shade of brown pixels
Who the ravine like a spear
Until the root of the virtual

How can her on a soul
she had imagined for Sister
Fill his days burn his flame
As if his rhymes elsewhere

The minuinette has wanderings
On the blank screen of his life
It's been bugs on its shortcomings
she would like a reversal

Yet minuinette knows
it is that spectrum on a wire
And his flesh hungry meat
If what is dear to this thread

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Joyeux Noel :)

I wish you a great and wonderful Christmas, I always have this feeling a little sad during the afternoon of 25 he will now wait a year to relive madness and excitement of Christmas.

Anyway, I send you all my prayers live from New York where vi (ll) e is simply magnificent.

Bye bye!

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Les coffrets "smartbox": Idée cadeaux #7

Last year I gave my mother and stepfather a small weekend for two smart-box in an unusual place. They have still not tested (not bad event must be said) but I just 3 days before Christmas is the gift easy to make and original. I wanted especially away from a life a little heavy and let them relax without imposing any place, day and activity.

For there's something for every budget, from simple massage or to parachuting 5stars weekend in a major European capital. The kit contains a guide to hotels or establishments where people can come to the living room with a card that will serve as a good gift.

The smart box (or whatever else) and really the free gift that I find simply amazing. And you did you test the concept? I did read some negative opinions on hoteliers who attended the games without playing (style not spinning as rooms in peak times ... etc.). But it seems that the controls are many and that is kind of establishment and wiped out in bad behavior.

Bye bye!

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SOS chaussures killers: The Secret of Vaseline Grandma # 6

We all had a sublime pair of shoes that cost us a arm but my time will soon cost us two feet. For my big question is why women love autand they get hurt? Personal

often against my sandstone, then it will try once a day's walk made my feet are fucked and I understand that I made a mistake. So here The trick to ease your suffering everyday Vaseline.

Well we calmed Vaseline has thousands of utility do not immediately tip the pig. Made in the tip and put a thin layer of Vaseline on the places where shoes rub and it hurts. For example, high heel or just part with your toes if the shoes are semi-open. Personal

it works not bad but should not take undue advantage if not hello cum shoe and after a bit tacky unpleasant effect.

For shoes hidden by pants, I also sometimes put a bandage and it works pretty (but not economic like a tube of Vaseline.

Will we be reconciled to our heels, girls!

Bye bye!

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Move on

As the post must sometimes go forward, I leave New Orleans tomorrow and tonight is quite nostalgic for me. I think these 5 months are not perfect but have been so enriching and full of surprises. Tomorrow I fly

on Boston during the 5 hour flight crazy I planned to write posts from January 16 to 1. I'm going to travel and enjoy the sweet reunion with my boyfriend during those two weeks so I'll just present for questions etc ...

I shall not, however, cut off from the world, it would be crazy especially since Dec. 22 I agree with New York but hey you never know.

The fact is that I also find an apartment, take courses in France (which are totally different because I increased level this year). I hope not to lose sight of the blog, it does not thunder but visitors are still regular and I thank them enormously.

Come forward and that the adventure continues ...

Bye bye!

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Test: depilatory cream "Supreme Gasoline" New Veet

Today

talking hair, yes I know after talking stinky feet this blog is in style but must admit that waxing is for women a headlock on life (as Mr. For does not see Let's not be sexist ...).

Okay I will explain the history, because normally I avoid this kind of product really. It's been 6 months that I am separated from my dear husband (by distance, not separated with a broken heart and an adoration for depressing watching TV as Bridget Jones). So let's say that waxing legs I slightly botched, of course I of the make but once past the month of October and the shirts sorted I started in fashion pants and I honestly did not care. Then comes the magic date of 16 December when Dudu arrived in the U.S. ... and then I say "should think about doing something" yes but ... even the Yeti had no advice to give me.

resigned myself to making wax (I'm bad for the wax) and saying he would spend a million and razor blade I opt for the "big easy" depilatory cream. To tell you as I am an adventuress the last time I tested this kind of product, I had to remove it in my 30s because skin was literally burning (but was in a spray format and I think it has to play in allergy).

short 3min 30min cons for m'épiler I quickly did the math and this morning I got hitched watch in hand. Already

the product I was not burned alive, he has a little heated at the end of 3min and the skin was a bit sensitive when I rubbed to remove it but for a single application that was going on.
Then we can say that he has removed the hair, but I have enough hair for nothing and therefore places for girls hair I doubt very hard for such a result (you can leave the product 6min but I would avoid completely if your skin is sensitive).

For appearance I'd say it especially the hair grid on the outside but it leaves open pores as small (the appearance of a shave after 2 days) that is not a smooth skin and nickel. There may remain some hair but after a day with pants made from the strongly to the 2 or 3 strong.

's more is that I have not had pimples and after shaving, for it was terribly dry against my skin. I already hydrated immediately after my shower but I think I should moisturize encore ce soir et demain. Petit conseil je n'ai pas frotté les jambes pour les sécher juste tapoter pour éviter d'agresser la peau.

Je dirai que c'est un produit génial si vous voulez aller vite, si vous avez une peau peu sensible et pour une utilisation occasionnelle. Un post sur les différentes épilations est prévu pour vous expliquer les plus et les moins de cette technique donc je m'étends pas la dessus (par contre la date heu... ).

Et vous que pensez-vous des crèmes épilatoires ? Pour moi ça restera un test mais pas une habitude.

Bye bye !

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out of stock for Urban Decay?

Après les ruptures stock palette or BOSIII Naked, get ready to rush on this collector's box from Urban Decay. Pray just to know that Sephora this time handle the event.

is simple when the mark has posted this photo on his facebook, I thought "oh my banker will go crazy" because there is the dream package.

For his 15th birthday (should you worry when you become older than the marks?) UD released a collector's box of 15 crayons for the eyes of their famous range 24 / 7. Personally I tested the color "bourbon" (sold with pallet summer of love) and quality the latter is just ... huge! The holding is good, the application is easy ... I think they just go a little faster because they are fat enough.

short, if you want the total of the total, it will be on sale for 70 € ... yes that's why our bankers will weep. I found the release date so if anyone knows ^. ^

FYI another kit pencil mark is available and it is the "Jackpot", I I was just on the offer for Christmas but I'm starting to waver ... because in this case only the black is for 10 large pens at all but it's true that if you did not use any color les mini-crayons sont aussi sympas. Il coûte dans le 40€.

Bref je vous laisse baver... bye bye :P

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Everything about removing

Oui je sais je fais du neuf avec du vieux mais honnêtement avec mon départ des USA (en fin je vais d'abord en vacances à Boston puis New York mais je quitte la Nouvelle-Orléans) mercredi, mon dernier partiel Lundi matin, les amis qui veulent me voir, les cadeaux à faire, les formalités ... je ne sais pas où donner de la tête !

Mais je me rattrape comme je peux avec un petit best-of de la saga comment se démaquiller:
- Les
eyes - face
- My makeup

I edited it some time ago when the blog does not really work so I told myself that it would be cool to do benefit to newcomers (and evil honest to republish them as new).

I let you learn the essentials of this gesture beauty and promise to return as quickly with the new.

Kisses girls, bye bye!

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Tess

Balthus

The cardigan black Tess has a big hole on her left breast just over his heart ploum. Cold air currents it crash like rat bites. It hurts. They seep into his guts to drop it cramps that cling to the walls of his wickedly vide. Ça lui fait des spasmes à l’âme et ça déchire la toile de son intime gouache. Elle a mal.

Tess ne veut pas mourir, non, Tess aime la vie. Mais elle se dit parfois qu’elle aimerait être folle comme quand elle était gosse seule, blottie dans les draps froids d’un box aux rideaux blancs et près d'un pot de chambre qu'on aurait dit ciboire.

Morte, elle n'aurait pas pu voir qu’enfin sur l’accroc,  quelqu’un se penche.

Tess aime la vie and when she leaves, she puts on her coat to not only seen her tear clothes. Tess was taught to properly present, seem to always fit on a window. Tess has made golem strike on his quest, it makes him a path that disappears into the nothingness that we accept with grace.

Tess has its Achilles heel and his love, his father, his passion, mystery forever. And all this, this file as a troublure life that make him confused desires hiccups with signs of love.

But when Tess knows that even in the guise of anything, yet his flesh is flesh.

Tess is both the wire when a male shows up, she wants to give him all his dreams and skins that they never touch the horizon is so far from what she has dreamed an Achilles promised.

It is intended as a donor to force wet, it dries the male as it is ... vouleuse

But Tess is wrong always, and as an elephant, it goes quickly die on a live hurry who can not see the hole in her cardigan as she has a thong too wanted to hide.

And love to draw and whenever Tess cries. But it dries quickly and Tess is still said he would have to be crazy so that finally he wants.

The Most Beutiful French Word

Snow

"Playground in the snow"
Brigitte Pellerin

Snow. Lean and strong in the snow. My father.
I have five years. Large dark eyes, round cheeks. He smiled.
Besides, brothers and sisters playing in the yard white, shivering under the apple trees without apples.
Do not see them. Only hear them, far away.
Everything is white, similar, uniform, warm.
happy. This is the first time.
Strange, I'm surprised, surprises me.
A groundswell burning which takes its source in the pit of my stomach, inflames the plains, mountains, shores of my body, spring comes in pearls, along the pores of my skin, my skin oozing this happiness in the snow.
Want to flood the world. Tell my father, my brothers, my sisters. Being together, exactly the sweet torment of this avalanche of sensations.
not easy.
words too weak or too specific.
words unique to multiple resonances.
Impossible.
meaningful words full of history too bizarre to be served.
I have five years in the snow.
Understand that the word bar, circle of loneliness. Understand he does not feel understood. Do not solve myself. Do not bring myself to.
I have five years in the snow.
declares war on words. Decides to cut, twist them. Decides to find the fault to release the authentic and similar impression. Make it creeps me intact to another, the other me.
I have five years in the snow.
'm not completely happy.
So it happened.

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Mare and Cage

"Swamp"

Benoit Colsenet

... and then there is water
Et ma barque qui flotte dans la brume du marais
Ça
ragondin dans ma tête
salicorne à mes pieds
potamot sur mes lèvres
Les ardents du marais piquent la gorge de mes yeux
et ma rame comme un pieu se plante dans la vase
Silence
Juste un doux ronflement grenouille sous l’eau pleine
L’aulne se rie de moi
la ranatre taunting me
My nostrils quiver with cynical remugles
My land sits in my barge
the Grail and I fallow

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One day as a Sacred Ibis

"The Stratheden"

Journal of Eric Blair

It happened. Yet it remained far as a Sacred Ibis escaped from the Nile. It still touches my skin a breath knocked scents of Suffolk and winds of Atlas.
Estrecho de Gibraltar The swell was hitting her like a general on the hull of the majestic Stratheden. Leaning against the railing of the promenade deck, I left at leisure to enjoy the Balaguère dans mes cheveux. Il y posait par touches des parfums d’aventure qui n’étaient pas pour me déplaire. Au large, je devinais la Kasba attentive, veillant le lit où s’accouplaient deux eaux en des amours incestueuses que le navire semblait approuver.
Une toux rauque comme un aboiement me fit sursauter. Il fumait. Sa fine moustache lui conférait l’air d’un dandy, mais je sus tout de suite qu’il n’en était pas un. Son regard affûté me disait bien plus qu’une couche de gomina. Il avait recouvert ses épaules d’un plaid et bien qu’un peu chétif, il m’apparut plus beau qu’un homme. Il souriait aux Milans qui planaient au-dessus of Stratheden and it was also nice to see.
- They are lulled by the flow of hot air ...
He said that as a comma elegant. But I really felt in his throat, float a cloudbusting ambush there, really. He coughed again, added:
- ... as an airlock off.
I was troubled. His cough ... I said
- You're English?
- Yes.
He smiled, looking at the sky.
- I'll do as these birds let myself be carried away by flows warmer side of Marrakech.
He pulled on his cigarette, coughed again, then suggested we go sit on transatlantic lay not far from us. He talked for hours, without respite, I listened for hours at will.
When the coast of Tangier began to whiten, he fell silent. I was groggy on land, by what he had revealed to me.
He tried to console me by telling me he had had time to see ripe red, listen the little owl, petting hawthorn, blow on groundsel, tansy to smell the, Delain Maltese goats ... he would soon pick another tune and had less fear of snakes hook as the big brother!
Before leaving, he called Eric and told Arthur, I do not know more. He whistled Marx, his dog, coughed again, then it disappeared as they had found.
I do not know if it really happened, but it remains a sacred ibis escaped from the Nile, above which Kate Bush Brazil intone on a cloud strewn like a grenade.

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One day One day Kiss

mercremanche is a day of pot-au-feu, I made my decision. Long I had engraved on my stone, but long ago I had not decided. It's the smell of carrots and leeks which probably pushed the escampolette outside of me. These fragrant smoky swirls quietly crept from my nostrils to my esgourdes, and came to tackle my mood this morning mercremanche fat. I heard: Go! I left then.

I took my shorts, my reed, a cask of wine and a captain's hat. On the dock my haze I bought a boat, hoisted its sails, spanker tickled her, climbed the foremast, but nothing, nothing in the same leg swell. The boat did not stir a wave. Not a chance because we had not specified that it was an air ship. So I had to hire hundreds of accordion players to fill the air.

happy, I finally was leaving the port, leaving without regret behind me, the stew that rejoices, for he loved fire ... but that I found out much later.

I sailed for many moons and moons, allowing air to decompress freely. But the fists of heaven, like a red babybel, pushed, I felt good, my shell of myself to a single point that I could not even define. Soon, the coast appeared to me streaky ground and I found to my great joy, Casablanca dusk. I was braking and narrowly knitting somehow a niche for my engine stalling.

Then I jumped, lively on the platform, and rolled my piece of rope around the mooring cock quivering under the string. I saw two steps, Rick's café. This, then, that my morning mercremanche me guidé. J'entrais. J'y bus un whisky, non, trois, oui, trois, parce que l'air que jouait et fredonnait ce type bancal sur un vieux piano droit, là-bas, au fond de la salle, se mit à bouleverser mon ventre... ça me soufflait dedans, du gris, du doux, du feutre comme sur la tête d'un Bogey vertueux.. ça me fit amoureuse aussi, d'un coup, d'un seul, mais de personne, juste de l'amour. C'est ça qui a fait que les paroles de cette chanson ont commencé à clapoter dans mon verre:

"You must remember this
A kiss is just a kiss,
a sigh is just a sigh.
The Fundamental Things Apply
As time goes by ...."

I spent the rest of the night to empty the bottle and ate that tune. In the early morning I woke up on the counter, his head stuck in the bar and the right hand still clutching my empty glass. Rick, the boss offered me a coffee, a cigarette and a fiery kiss. I accepted everything without flinching .

After I left, staggering toward the docks and I sat on a barrel that does not detonate, there. I stayed there for hours. Around noon, a sailor came to stare at me. I felt naked, so I pricked him his jacket. He did not respond, coughed, then said: "Rick is looking for you everywhere."

... I liked that I seek. I reported his jacket marine tapped him on the shoulder with a smile and went away in the direction of my tub. I love to dream more, elsewhere.

As Time Goes By ... even a morning Mercremanche who smelled the pot-au-feu.

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Market

In October, a nest of pampered witches and angels, as I walked along the tunnel lining before they tear the isthmus previously linked me to flesh. It was there that the umbilicus, only as a scar.

mardredi was a market day, I think, and the stall of my fate, I let my mother drive unscrupulous, and spread my meat on which no doubt she would have liked, ; plant label the ewe Dei.

To his dismay, alas, when I appeared in my warthog eyes light gray to red. A patronizing lens came from I do not know what water placental warned me of the fire from outside and I made wild naughty but especially, and with tusks.

My first was a cry, a cry like a morpheme out of my womb and whose sound I liked. Her ending in such primal never stopped singing in my mouth. It quickly put a nipple milky well on the field gave me the power and meaning of my first phoneme. And I decided: the lemma is my horn, my horn defense, my cornucopia, my refuge and my tree.

This lemma I still love him. He is the gunner of my dreams, one that catapults the life in my veins like a soldier of the verb.

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One day night

"Nighthawks" (fragments)

Edward Hopper

lundredi This was a day that was night. All day. A day of tears background made me nocturnal. One day when, as a Hughes, I had one wish: to make my bubble a bunker, forever. My gut flush of grief, if pushed, not pick up more street, nor life, nor the inclination.

They had met at Phillies, a bay at the bottom of my block. My coffee cup was empty. He asked me to fill it with a pint of beer. I accepted. I was out of my studio without purpose or desire.

j'm'affichais the Phillies quite regularly, just to check qu'mes batteries were always ad hoc world. Until then, it's doing. I scribbled the rough, typed the discussion, did laugh sometimes m'suffisait it.

Eddy sat beside me. I stashed my doodles on my lap while he adjusted his boots at the bar stool.

- write to you what?

Yes, I do not hide. I rested my drafts on the bar.

- I do not know really. I write.

- I can read?

He said it like that line. Dredge was not a plan. I said yes, he read.

- not bad, not bad at all, but there ... stuff ... ... I would not know.

It's been almost a month since we sat side by side, Eddy and me at the bar of the Phillies, almost a month since we s'parlait writing, our lives a little , of our dreams, but nothing more. Eddy and I were becoming friends of the bay, flat-nosed as accomplices.

And then that day and night, through the window yellow Phillies, I saw it sitting in my place, next to Eddy! it gave me a dirty blow pen in my heart. My anchor was dropped, I drifted long.

Since I no longer go to the Phillies. I decided to join Howard.

I had not understood that Eddy him, loved Only thing was my stammer, just my stutter.

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One day I was no more than one day Phantom

This samecredi, I had my ghost sitting on the terrace of Wepler. J'm'étais ectoplasm made voyeur, banal wag that would not have denied a Captain Haddock ... it smelled strong tide. Must be said that the famous brewery Place Clichy, like a wall of pseudo friends, was full of pearl oysters without, mackerel without white wine and oils that were stale.

servers dressed as penguins like groupies languid waving their long beaks swollen with smiles and excessive flattery when serving to young Whites Chardonnays muses who dreamed of glory on pipis writings. They do not disdain old molds from which emanated a enshalimarées debauchery painted on a French manicure as a glittering bling-bling culture dripping anticipates a big bang.

The little black two fifty not deterred the hoi polloi more to come parading in Gucci truck to sample also the illusory comedy. Even Macs are asked their Pigalle bagouzes between two beer mug. And then stashed in the background, trônaient les pipleux qui semblaient bien être les seuls à paraître ne pas vouloir paraître tant ils tentaient de vouloir être. L’ostensible discrétion de leur opticdemille trahissait le jeu de dupes. Bref, la vitrine du Wepler brillait d’un argent qu’avait même plus besoin de vinaigre blanc pour se faire lustrer la couenne tant l’oxydation égomaniaque en avait bouffé le derme.

Fantôme je m’étais faite, donc, définitivement, ici et ailleurs. Une dernière fois, ne plus être qu’une morte vivante et n’avoir pour carburant que le plaisir d’être l’invisible spectatrice d’un disgusting pukes a world free world .. and then leave.

There, without being there, but mostly tired, I forgot the wildlife around me.

Before me, the place swarmed Clichy. Blue-collar city had set up galleries for the lucky winner of the public works market, a cousin of the sister of the mayor's secretary, could draw at will in the new contour. The mouth of the subway spitting waves, an endless colony calves followed docile and not the inevitable and compelling plot. In the center, wrapped in cellophane, Marshal Moncey shouted to anyone who would listen that he should resist. Not a chance! The whistles agents of disorder and volition cattle on foot or by car at rush always covered as vuvuzelas desperate voice.

A wind pushed the canvas that held him prisoner and thought through, banging his fists see. There, I swallowed my last mouthful of "White" , got up diaphanous, and myself flew to Mount up there, the Butte de Mars ...

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color of Azerty

Jean-Michel Basquiat

is a lundremanche, one day color Azerty, where people were not even like each other as I ran down the spiral staircase and pranced up the hem of the River. Date color Azerty, I had checked for so many years on my calendar perpetual moleskin, I could only prance that morning. The sky to celebrate without doubt, had indigoté a linen cloth embroidered cross-stitch. I dressed myself in haste, taking care to dress my bare shoulders.

The arrival date color Azerty had been proved long ago, promising a spring evening, when all the nurseries of nature had begun to agitate the buds and bright sound. Sitting on my wooden bench, I savored the cool, the choir school of buttons emerging mingled in the enjoyment of renewal, warblers, thrushes, chickadees, nightingales, robins, finches, robins, crocuses, daffodils, hyacinths and other anemones. Voyeur in a daze, and baited, I tasted with relish all this orgy spring exhalations that offered me.

is climbing on the wall of my house of stone, as white as a queen clematis caught my attention. First, a sepal, then two, then all of a chalice offered me to host the corolla lips as available, offered, but the verb. I was not surprised then to hear him whisper in the dark:

- A day will come one day color Azerty, where an echo is your present mirera in water of A, as an at sign on which you project your future. Does not avoid this day. Note that this will be a lundremanche and that you will have that day, running to the river avoiding offending daffodils.

I took note of the message that white queen, yawned and went away to sleep.

And here I am, this morning in color Azerty, bent over the seamless flow of river. I narrowly avoided crossing, daffodils alluring. Zander, carp and studs seem to wait in line like stationed at a toll and coalesce before a strangely knit aquatic buttercups. That surprises me. I lean and discovers, hidden under the seaweed of flowers, a kind of rectangular box open like a book that would not, and a glossy screen which reflects, fade, my face.

Intrigued, I plunged into the river by hand to remove the object, but my foot slips on the uncertain foam board, and I find myself in the middle of lapping water, releasing the instant plug fish impatient and my discovery that the bumping line in green and brown pebbles.

I sat long and wet on the hem of the River. I had no leaves on the forehead, just a seaweed gluait therein. Much later, downstream, and without his, I caught the subject, let me have tamed and found myself am satiated, so much that I vomit sometimes water in the A from that which flees so fast it appears motionless.

Today color Qwerty, I have engraved on my wooden bench of three double V triplets are like birds, flying without flapping wing into a sky so varied that it is believed that a fact.

Pourtant  j’attends toujours que ma Reine Blanche, que depuis j’appelle Alice, me parle d’un jour comme un oiseau sur la plus haute branche.

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One day his dog sniffing gallows

Ce Mercremanche, ma patte arrière gauche s’est subitement dressée comme un point d’exclamation dans le triangle d’un danger.

J’étais en arrêt comme une chienne flairant son gibier, mais le mien sentait la potence.

Ce gibet m’en a figé les glandes lacrymales. Seul mon zygoma, sans doute mué par le yaourt de la dérision  fonctionnait encore, et bien. L’échéance de la fin sûrement, a sonné l’instinct de ce qui fait mon propre avant tout, celui de l’animal.

Je réalisais que depuis le début, j’avais passé mon temps à vivre le présent en lui en façonnant un autre! Je m’étais faite faussaire de l’instant. Je l’avais dupé et moi avec, croyant conjuguer ses secondes alors que je lui en multipliais les heures, dans un ailleurs rêvé!

 
J’avais ainsi wear my shoes in a vain concourse. No tracks, no footprints, no road, just the soles without unnecessary abrasion sowing.

My left hind leg drawn me, this Mercremanche salutary. As a gamma ray, he transformed my myopic vision in which s'hulkarisa on the field! I finally understood there was still time to pass the time without letting go! From a jet eyes, I sprayed a shot of the walls of my room not far from lost where real tight in his strings, the Geppetto of my imagination kept me prisoner! The bricks of my jail and broke into pieces in a s'évaporèrent who disappeared yesterday as tomorrow ignored. A clear pre seconds appeared to me as a present to enjoy in the field. I then threw me like a combine greedy and eager to devour the seeds.

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One day rowing seat

A Vendremanche, it stank of shit, sewer and sweating, but deep. It was another day, a day train sitting on one buttock. The sweat was dripping from everywhere and arose in passing on my temples like cubes of Jell-o. A swarm of flesh-head studs fragrant buzzed in my ears.

The car was traveling at full speed tip-ups with his jubilant frame between each station. To shocks in the machine, a compact mass of meat had to tighten against my legs, my shoulders, my arms, my head and sometimes my mouth. Asphyxia threatened, my limbs became numb, my chest was choking, my butt numb. And then a new tremor led the flock to port. Rolling, pitching, rowing dreamed ship. I took the opportunity to draw quickly a few liters of oxygen troubled that I filter through the fabric of my sleeve. But I was not moving. Me my jump seat trophy. I had hard won.

First, it took me enter the car. The door was gaping open like a monstrous fart. She offered to see the bottom of his gut where a shapeless heap of human piled like worms still determined to stay there and do not move. They were so numerous that some of them disgorged a foot or arm. The pale face their sad and gray, painted the glue from the resignation and indifference seemed threatening.

I spotted a narrow gap between white collar and a bespectacled young guy wearing a helmet insulation Music. The fight promised to be fierce. Other fighters had abandoned dock. I found myself alone with the golems of the morning. I held my breath and suddenly threw myself headlong into this formless matter. Arms, elbows made me strength. I forced my ass by helping me to push myself and slip into the narrow space under. The white collar began to growl, forced back by sticking more to the bellies of others. I ignored and continued the fight. I finally managed to put my feet inside and even though they exceeded, I knew I had won the first race. The starting signal sounded and the door closed like a zipper that would hardly have to slip.
After three stations, the volume of the mass had melted a bit and I had the opportunity to monopolize, greedy, and on a buttock, the seat occupied by an old lady. I especially was faster than the woman who was eyeing the bun for a long time. But the following stations had re-inflated the balloon and thus I found myself half the time tossing and suffocated on my jump seat. I experienced these pressures in a good half-hour but not capitulate. From the looks of hatred pierced me, me, I refer them the best of my smiles.
Finally, I arrived at the destination. To exit, same fight, upside down. Arms, elbows, bellies, black eyes or absent ... My station was "the Forks", and I believe I had seen the devil in passing the gate.

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One day toast

Philip Gladstone

Dicredi A day of toast, a day of nothing. I remember it as one of my first white socks that smell of incense would forever tainted as a rape hymn behind a prie-dieu.

I had spent my night to launder, as usual: a dose of sweet mojito cocktail at the William S. Burroughs, a sniff opium of the people in enlucarné rediff, a white line and short Simulated sleep, and rewind .... to try to finish the beast, forcible injection of erotic fantasy softly, too fast enjoyable. In short, one morning in the eyes of dull day!

centuries and he love my land was fallow. I made my flesh. Men, no. Me, I had a swing seat and it rocked my shortcomings. It suited me this no sex-land, it suited me.

Having swallowed my coffee at the same time as the bells of a Mass which was said not far from home, I went out. Zombie, addictive, dirty, smelly, finally, having neglected the corner of a shower, I had one project: the tobacco bar. Fuck my bet. French toast, j'vous dis.L stairs, I went down as an exercise in thinking of a Pantoum I worked since yesterday. Each step sounded to me. I flourished in my breathing, the same as that of Marilyn, always

"When I Give My Heart, It Will Be Completely, or I'll never give my heart ..." it hummed that, j'me did well to her voice, Marilyn! not unhappy with the record! I had the talent side voice ... m'plaisait it, me dizzy, raised from yellow, even light.

The front door, down, slammed. I recognized his step: regular, rhythmic, slow as a wise it plays better shoe prey. Know it happened, we were going to join, it put me in my black stratus air. I knew he was there, hunter, carnivore, for days and days.

Me, I have long told him:
- No sex-land ... basta!

The inevitable happened. Inevitably, there has been crossed. He was handsome as a god American black with gray hairs everywhere who make up the charm, and an accent that did the rest, but I think it m'faisait nothing ... nothing at all, as usual.

He said
- Ah! Hello my amoooour, how you doing, you know, a souaaaar, I'd pick you cut the nails of toes!

He said that the second, with his grave accent, the Bahamas the guy who 's so hard he believes you will seduce his thing live with voodoo and a smile as big as a manhole.

Not even laughed! gave him a non-dry eye black annoyed with my day of nothing. He continued to smile. I left there on the landing, untied.

Going down, swung him:
- you know, my pedicure lover, bye!

He laughed, but a big laugh at the devil made me chills to the ends of my toes nails.

Since then, when one crosses the stairs, I wave my jar of nail polish that I previously filled with aioli. Apparently it chases away evil spirits.

Now I have more black in my stratus sex No land, right hand, an angel of my life rock operetta as a gimmick in my heart, but merely passes still, still .
Dicredi LORD.

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One day in September abused

This Mardredi, failing me playing Indian, I am struck a September Agen was on the banks of the Baise. I a job in a chopper remains fairly murky on the heights of Buzet, open country of Albret, between locks, and round hills Toque Gueyze.

Nearby, Nerac, in its case, spread the stripping daisy between the green and gallant Fleurette ... it felt good the province, its secrets, its tragedies and night markets. I had amassed a small package for a rainy day, but I was seriously starting to feel impatient that dolce vita was not enough to calm down.

I communicated vaguely for a start-up had the starter failed and languished behind a screen on which I am no longer able to make films. I had cravings for leaving, let's be clear.

That's why, when the boss has stretched the keys of his Subaru, saying that an order of strawberries was waiting in a nearby hometown, I am immediately volunteered. I was fond of playing truant and this one suited me. And then drive such a cylinder full of horses mating was not displease me!

Puch d’Agenais! C’est là que les cagettes de fraises patientaient. Push! Sûr que j’allais la pousser la machine!… La patronne m’avait donné l’adresse et un vague plan. je les avais posés sur le siège passager. Me perdre, c’était mon intention.

Un heure après, la subaru errait sur un chemin de terre bordé de pruniers et de figuiers. Je claquais la portière, marchais quelques pas et goûtais quelques fruits.

 
En remontant dans la voiture, j’ai connected radio. The type was telling a story ... a plane had crashed into a tower of the World Trade Center in New York. I listened vaguely looking my way, vaguely. Little by little, my neurons were blocked on the voice of the announcer who panicked. Not normal.

I cut the engine, zapped on all frequencies. They all told the same story! That's when I realized it was not one ... I finally found the strawberries and my subaru tagada ended.

Mardredi This September, I I managed to lose, but not like I wanted.

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A big moon day

"Wind from the sea"

Andrew Wyeth

This samerdi, I had the full leggings!
By indescribable teasing spell, the big moon had set fire to my barn. Unveiled his devouring watermark, the silhouette of the blade was still hiding his legs under the skirt of black night. I crossed my mine, leaning against the edge of the well. Long red tongues of the ogress fascinated me and I attended round naked in this summer sky to the voracious feast.

The day the earth hail devastated my wheat harvest. Again, I watched without flinching, the beast feast.

Tiny spiders ran between my breasts as furtive kisses. I let them complain. In the distance, maddened beasts lowing in unison like a flock of fears. In the sky, stars that I was touching the eye, left bead on me, the tears falling. Behind my neck, my old oak waved her kittens meowing in a saudade. Even a sparrow neighbor tried to calm my pain alleged by asking about my thigh a gentle chirping.

And my barn ablaze ...
Nothing doing yet, my leggings were too full to me body and soul Hot as ice cold indifference of lava. It shocked me froze even a real smile that looked like grin as he seemed to enjoy cling to this show in vain. My barn collapsed, my corn had been chopped, I was more than marble, but marble sea wind which was pushing a new wave.

Soon the barn was ashes. Then, naked, over the edge, I emptied my leggings in the well and came away slightly towards the dawn. His index finger made me signs that I had never responded. It was high time I put on other Anheuser ... the dawn there was a new morning dew ...