Dora Bag Where Can I Find

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 ...

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One day piano has been drinking

"New York Movie" 1939.

Edward Hopper

In Room 7 of Miramar, the light just to fix the green reality on the walls of fabric red. When I say green, I mean the flood. I cling to retain the fiction. The end credits which is spreading again, help me. He drags a wire twisted sounds hoarse guts out of a Tom Waits where my soul drinks from puking in the home.

Just a small change ... and I slid into the chair that bends like a nest. I love me like an egg while the audience around, it tears. For him, the light made its taf.

Tom's piano has been drinking. He drank it all and "spotlights look just like a prison break. Euclid barrow it in my head and gravelly voice fade away in to a blow ups that zoom in on the piano of Herbie Hancock. I note in passing, but am not sure that the carpet needs a haircut.

I do not care, and balance my life on the piano has been drinking, drunk it all yet. And Tom reappears, hit me on the shoulder, offered me a glass of bourbon or bloody Alice. A toast. A toast on the watering and Kurt Weill lights. I have a Brecht in the neck, Bandini in the heart, the party can begin! Outside is too banana. The gardener was responsible for learning to drive.

Y has the wind in the canvas and the projectionist has passed karcher. Everything is white now. I made my theater room 7 of the Miramar as you make love to forget the day ... icts light looks just like a prison break. Cold. We drank it all, even the piano. I get home.

Where I Can Find Pattycake Topless

Day Prom under the Bridge Caulaincourt

This Mercremanche, I escorted my wanderings on the sides of the street she would deign to offer us as we tend blotchy cheek promises. My wanderings had needs, I offered him. I spent my day writing while she had seen, nestled on the couch without complaining for a moment. I owed him that much. So we went out.

J’ai laissé mon errance sans laisse me guider. On a remonté comme ça le Boulevard de Clichy et puis on a tourné rue Caulaincourt.  Les chiens et les loups s'y léchaient sur un tapis de ciel dont l’exquise veloutine venait frôler la peau de notre promenade.
Le Montmartre et l’Irma s’y volaient des baisers et on les savourait en voyeurs grisés. C’était doux et chaud comme un tulle dont la soie faisait danser l’amour et la mort en un tango torride. Chevauchant le cimetière, le pont Caulaincourt jazzait sur un accordéon qu’avait le mal de terre.
 
We stopped and my wandering put his forehead against the steel. I 've left to cross between the iron railing. And then slowly, I pressed my eye to the metal shell and saw floating satin ribbons like crazy fog at the ball of the cemetery. Lowest in the shadows, far from merry souls, I thought recognize familiar shadows quiver on the grave.

seemed a Frenchman near a Honore, shared under the stone a lily in the valley. I even thought to see in the air a Doinel search under blows, the Absolute, and then evaporating into the ether red and black. Further down an alley, a Sorel playing roulette on the skirt with a bold social. it was a laugh Alexander, who under a camellia petals off a human beast that Emile would exit below the daisy. I even thought my arm to feel the caress of a spirit as pure as the verse of an Alfred. The ball of the cemetery, under the bridge of Caulaincourt souls mingled and it did not surprise me. It was quiet and calm and I'm surprised to pitch the same pitch as a Lelio that returns to life ... A distant Hector smiled.

And then suddenly, on the floor, yelled a warning horn. My wandering has shuddered and the ball stopped.
were recovered on deck Caulaincourt as two apostrophes delighted. In the sky became dark as we saw a family of white mist from quiet to Mt. We even thought to see that the last brother had winked.

After we went back and I felt that my feet on the sides of the Rue Caulaincourt, had become lighter. Passing the Wepler, my wanderings made his poop.

Can You Do A Sew In If You Want Bangs

A First Day of October One day

The blades make me shit. I love twilight and sunset promises that leave me bent over the book of my hours. I spend my nights painting the miniatures of my insomnia under the sheets ... it's my removing the green flames in my melancholy. And when dawn comes, I become tense miniature background under the eyelids of my sleep fat, and my mornings are dying.

Vencredi But this morning is different ... It's a Vencredi just unite the sky with the first day of October!

October
My sweet to me that two o coupler on an eight older, were dragged out of ten.

October
my maple, my land, my air, my dog, my dawn blue ultramarine blue to peel, my body phoenix fire in my blood street beast.

October
my harvest and my Holy Tara inflames me where your land in the other tomorrow.

October
my autumn growling like rabies that revives my sap a spring sun dried under the awning.

October
my sleeping smoldering in her curves snow of my childhood ever again.

October
my beech, my charm ever under the leaf forever defaced.

October
which weaves in the humus chapka dreams of humanity.

October
m'ensemençant as a lover of fire until eternity.

October
your first morning, I could not deny it.

I'm awake and I singed the paper that offered me your land.

Whats The Best Way To Bend Wood

Him Borders

Tonight, the moon took its RTT is the Venus bump. I took the opportunity to climb on roofs and sit on the edge of a chimney. Propped on his brick, my heart has the cudgel. Autumn night and he, I exult.

Downstairs, the city, the world, top, Venus and me. What's better than the roof to better enjoy him. My Aphrodite is full, I do not know where to pay.

slate blue roof of my eyes and the wind dry my skin flagellum sensually dripping from him. Venus me jealous and likes to lick the juice in, but my lair is so swollen that it's not enough to empty the honey.

It is my Krypton, my precious chaos, I hide in secret under my factly, my words Bloodletter appeases no word when I cry in silence.

Yet in my head a sky much crazier than the Forca del destino in the voice of Callas. I've brewed both dreamed of caresses, passionate kisses, ecstasies Communieation, words in silent words, of him on me in that I need to tear the hymen so that finally my cry for him comes out.

Down the street whining by pouring ordinary rays. Mine is a sun that shines on a dream so vibrant that rise a thousand shades of the palette of my present. It must be that way because it shines so much of him.

Then I lie down and the roof of the world, Venus, my sister drew on my foot cuddly face of a bow.

And finally the city, where perhaps he sleeps, my spit can wave a rattle tide, all my love to him forever unveiled.

Najwięksa Lista Serverów Do Cs 1.6

My eyes do not give up my feet one inch. I walk through the city as we host an idea. She trots. The sidewalk is wet. That must come from above, it tastes like on my cheeks.

I pass people, windows, lights green. I sniff the doner, perfumes, smoke. I see horns, music, voices. All that vibrates around it but I do not shudder. I like the cornea in a burqa glass, a glass-glass and it turned off my radar.

I walk in the city as we host an idea. The palisade opaque erects a border on the front of my others and it makes me fakes.

Suddenly on my keypad, it knocks on my window. It is the hand of a woman who struck the mine suddenly breaking my veil and my earwax idée a fui entre mes barbelés.

La femme est accroupie sur le bitume humide et son regard mouillé atomise mon mur. J’y lis tous ses chemins, ses rivières et ses chutes, ses lacets, ses amours, ses victoires et ses luttes. Elle a le cheveux gras et la peau qui s’avine mais sous le masque las j’aperçois son été, puis elle me dit tout bas « s’il vous plaît, s’il vous plaît ».

Je m’assois dans sa pluie et c’est moi qui lui dit: « Ce qui me plaît ma Dame c’est de t’avoir trouvée car ta main vers la mienne a chassé de my feet all my customs ghosts away from you. "

We walk in the city and we are warm leads. Next time we talk about the soup of the earth and say why all these borders?