Why? Silence
________________________________________ In the time I stopped to think that text (I will not reveal the time! In If you mention some may think (Who?-pessimism insists.) "Wow, how much wasted time to think anything of a !!!"; or may think," Man, what a rush! "Well, what matters, at least for me, is that I spent a few minutes thinking about the subject.
On Saturday, February 10, 2007, I was lying very comfortably and slut (Bitch why? Well, if someone throws on the sofa to rest after a full day of work or study, it is understood the deserved laziness. But yet, however though, my teacher MAAAAAS ...,[ grammar used to use all conjunctions in the same sentence to understand its meaning], when someone just wake up after long nights and 12 hours "through hull" lies drunk on the couch, bitch is the only readily available adjective) lying on the sofa in my father's house, gazing for television, when I see butts and thighs and feathers and glitter jump before my eyes. They were the finalists of the mulatto "dunno what "of" Huck's Cauldron. " Black beautiful, hot, spotted and samba and surreal saracuteando screen in front of me. LOGICAL. Watched. I found that exchange of beautiful legs and rampant organized mess. After the beautiful mulatto color and flavor of chocolate "camel" of samba ended, to my surprise and amazement, it was time the criticism of illustrious guests. I will not mention everyone because not everyone I know and a few interest me. However, one very intrigued me with a certain comment. Erica Palomino expressed his difficulty in finding the muse "Tal" he considered himself before "A" representation of the beauty Brazilian (deti me that part a good few minutes here and not feel afraid to express that they are 10 minutes, one minute it is, stop at this point in the text expresses concern not to put words into the mouth of Eric, not only because artists on television. a question of ethics but because really like it and leave it clear in the following lines).
The fact is that I do not think this idea has come from her so spontaneously and so artificially "she said on television.
I thought a little word in the cache. Maybe it's not just what people earn to appear on TV. Perhaps the burden to instill in their degree and their careers to launch um golpe de marketing enquanto aparecem na televisão... em especial na tv Glogo.
Desde quando a mulata gostosa, malhada, magra, purpurinada, magra e com samba no pé é a representação da mulher brasileira. A minha mãe é loira, pesa 75kg, tem 3 empregos, 3 divórcios, 3 filhos, detesta purpurina e adora roupas práticas e discretas e práticas... e brasileira. Ela sempre foi pra mim “o” modelo da mulher brasileira e desde que parei de lutar contra isso (ao fim da aborrescência) tenho feito o possível para ser um pouco do que ela é, pois já que seria um sonho concedido. Uma O modelo cada um “pick’o seu. Apá(tem alguém que sabe do que eu estou falando) this talk of women lean, spotted and tasty. Be
woman.
Or better ... Before ordering, advise or indicate ... Seek to be a woman. Love me as I am. You will see the result.
Trail.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Nadine Jansen Big Tits
When I sleep, I feel much as I did during the day.
And often, there are many ideas that have to get up and write them, lest they get lost while I sleep.
sleep has been increasingly difficult, messy, muddy. You also embraced
sleeps with a pillow is not it? If sleep
take to reach the solution is to listen to music that calms.
Perhaps you remember the images of things you want to dream. You get
to feel that sand in the eye that lead you to sleep.
The day may have been horrible, exhausting.
You may not have spoken even a hi to people that really matter to you.
But when you sleep, it all becomes just a bad day.
At sunrise, the sleep good. That sprawled
you relax the tension of any kind of dream you might have had.
Some plans have begun to form in your head about what to do.
a holiday is coming, what to program for it?
Will it be another day of leisure?
Or you can find those who wait? Call
most important person. Or wake
with my phone call.
How do you feel?
When everything that needed to be spoken already,
When everything that needed to be heard already,
When all you need is able to look in the eye and say no more?
How do you feel?
Monday, February 5, 2007
Intitle Live View Axis
The Day We'll live
When the morning sun hit her face, the gentle wind of a cool breeze your heat. You look out the window on the horizon, buildings or trees. You walk outside your house and the only melody is yours. See only the faces in mirrors. His work takes on new meaning, you become an addict. Lunch is like all other days. Walking back home, the neighbors remain the same. A refreshing rain falls on the heat. The smell of asphalt, grass or wet dust. Some children in a playground. Few cars and still no noise.
When the afternoon sun hit her face, the gentle wind cease and again you feel the heat. You do not look out the window on the horizon, buildings or trees. You walk to your bed and listen to the melody of the objects. Do not see the faces only in mirrors. His work loses the new sense, you become the entertainment. Dinner does not taste any. Inside the house, the neighbors are different. Night falls, drowning out most of the day heat. The smell of concrete, mold or dry powder in the corners of the house. No children in playgrounds. The noise of cars and all the sounds of the day.
When the morning sun hit her face and the wind gentle breeze cool your heat. Fleeing
When the morning sun hit her face, the gentle wind of a cool breeze your heat. You look out the window on the horizon, buildings or trees. You walk outside your house and the only melody is yours. See only the faces in mirrors. His work takes on new meaning, you become an addict. Lunch is like all other days. Walking back home, the neighbors remain the same. A refreshing rain falls on the heat. The smell of asphalt, grass or wet dust. Some children in a playground. Few cars and still no noise.
When the afternoon sun hit her face, the gentle wind cease and again you feel the heat. You do not look out the window on the horizon, buildings or trees. You walk to your bed and listen to the melody of the objects. Do not see the faces only in mirrors. His work loses the new sense, you become the entertainment. Dinner does not taste any. Inside the house, the neighbors are different. Night falls, drowning out most of the day heat. The smell of concrete, mold or dry powder in the corners of the house. No children in playgrounds. The noise of cars and all the sounds of the day.
When the morning sun hit her face and the wind gentle breeze cool your heat. Fleeing
Abiotic Factors That Affect Parrots
More From where the trail? Set up
Everything was fleeting, fugitive and fugitive in "journal" had a much more subjective sense. "Much more" no. Just had!
I have always enjoyed writing and so I have a lot easier to express on paper or keyboard to whatever you're thinking. Maybe that's why things are not exactly "líveis" (I could use "readable" but nobody "lege" on anything in Portuguese; Well, the Italians "legere," which is beside the point. Anyway, the Brazilians "read" so "líveis." Or would "convey" according to my logic?). Things are as I write exactly what I think nobody understands, I myself do not quite understand. I always embanano all trying to remember exactly what I was thinking when I wrote that. Paradoxically, I know. He said that I write exactly what I think. Therefore, I should remember when he was thinking back to record those thoughts. Is not it? It's nothing! The ordering of our thoughts is not the same as the order of words in a book, for example. The logic of thought makes sense only when it is thought. When we express it, we adapt them. Well, I'm speaking for "us" but it may be just me. You tell me (is there anyone?). Actually, do not say anything. Understand (still speaking to the hypothetical one), if "you" who is there to answer sabarei; sabarei If no one answers that there is nobody. That hurt me (oooh). The finding of the absence of a witness would remove the reason to write ... my reason. Of course do not count on readers "in kind". You see, when I write, even in a journal or a book at the bottom of any note to remind me of an observation, I write to someone. In the end I'm always that person. However, when I write, it is a transcendent self. Damn, I mentioned a subjective leak upstairs and talked to me now transcendental. You (really??) Is not thinking of a "spiritual drain", is not it?! Please, no! Not so.
Heck, by the way, I started talking about one thing and ended up talking to another. I mean, not just yet. I'll start over now and I plan to finish where I started.
Anyway, I said that I like to write. The fact is that I always felt guilty for thinking that my life was enough to inspire writing dilemmas. Of course if you follow the logic that happy people go to the beach and people trsite writes book. Reading what I wrote now found a real reason to feel guilt for what I just wrote. What a horrible thing. I remembered a book of happy a happy person that I read recewntemente. EUD evia erase what I just wrote but I will not. Dunno why, I think if someone read it here must have reason to criticize me. If I feel very confident that reason alone I now legal, I underestimated.
What happens is that I came to escape subjective real escape. Perhaps now, even with my happy life, or rather beyond my happy life I have more to produce the "fleeting."
Everything was fleeting, fugitive and fugitive in "journal" had a much more subjective sense. "Much more" no. Just had!
I have always enjoyed writing and so I have a lot easier to express on paper or keyboard to whatever you're thinking. Maybe that's why things are not exactly "líveis" (I could use "readable" but nobody "lege" on anything in Portuguese; Well, the Italians "legere," which is beside the point. Anyway, the Brazilians "read" so "líveis." Or would "convey" according to my logic?). Things are as I write exactly what I think nobody understands, I myself do not quite understand. I always embanano all trying to remember exactly what I was thinking when I wrote that. Paradoxically, I know. He said that I write exactly what I think. Therefore, I should remember when he was thinking back to record those thoughts. Is not it? It's nothing! The ordering of our thoughts is not the same as the order of words in a book, for example. The logic of thought makes sense only when it is thought. When we express it, we adapt them. Well, I'm speaking for "us" but it may be just me. You tell me (is there anyone?). Actually, do not say anything. Understand (still speaking to the hypothetical one), if "you" who is there to answer sabarei; sabarei If no one answers that there is nobody. That hurt me (oooh). The finding of the absence of a witness would remove the reason to write ... my reason. Of course do not count on readers "in kind". You see, when I write, even in a journal or a book at the bottom of any note to remind me of an observation, I write to someone. In the end I'm always that person. However, when I write, it is a transcendent self. Damn, I mentioned a subjective leak upstairs and talked to me now transcendental. You (really??) Is not thinking of a "spiritual drain", is not it?! Please, no! Not so.
Heck, by the way, I started talking about one thing and ended up talking to another. I mean, not just yet. I'll start over now and I plan to finish where I started.
Anyway, I said that I like to write. The fact is that I always felt guilty for thinking that my life was enough to inspire writing dilemmas. Of course if you follow the logic that happy people go to the beach and people trsite writes book. Reading what I wrote now found a real reason to feel guilt for what I just wrote. What a horrible thing. I remembered a book of happy a happy person that I read recewntemente. EUD evia erase what I just wrote but I will not. Dunno why, I think if someone read it here must have reason to criticize me. If I feel very confident that reason alone I now legal, I underestimated.
What happens is that I came to escape subjective real escape. Perhaps now, even with my happy life, or rather beyond my happy life I have more to produce the "fleeting."