Saturday, October 30, 2010

Title For Friends Birthday Party

The tender faces a violent poison.

accumulation neuroses futile, stupid and potentially dangerous, but absolutely necessary to my existence.

throat encased in a black tie, smothering under a light scent and anonymously, sweating bad coffee, I speak with a stoic efficiency at a meeting without color. Scroll down my face expressions learned. My mind assembled mechanically words and sends them to the chain, subtly modulated by human intonations falsely, to this audience ruminant. I wonder at the durability of this mechanism, which day after day gets under way, and does not seize. I dread the expected failure of this improbable hoax. The mask held there for another hour? Another five minutes and I can go out, breathe. I imagine an actor, I invent games to take a few moments more. The entire morning can be. And then sometimes, surreptitiously, the eye disorder. The time to fetch a document in my suitcase, a pained expression distorts my face, I pretend not to find document Searched, I earn twenty seconds under the table, drops a sigh, bite my lip, and back to the table, impassive and smiling coldly.
And the break in the toilet, I stared at me, clinging to the lavatory. Trembling under the effect of coffee, I watch my face and I have not changed. The mask is transparent, dark circles are real, and modulated my voice was not human. I think about my breathing, my chest seems stiff.

I try to decorate the mask pouts some rigor. I rarely leave in recent days. For the credibility of the thing, I decorate. Smiles and attentions of witticisms, compliments of the shovel. Sometimes I pretend compassion before any complainant. This appeasement of surface finish can be impregnated by a little more deeply my flesh ... I mean
rain and sunshine, and just under my skin, I feel blades that slowly settle. And under my disembodied speech, I repeat a thousand arguments to convince me of the absurdity of my pain. They're healing, ten minutes, and then I forget the blade and slice again.

I had not slept the night before. I turned into a typhoon indefatigable, freezing my veins, shaking me, illuminating my Board of harsh lights and cold. I turned around for hours in my bed, a prisoner of my impotence as a straightjacket. My

capricious boils were of no avail in the morning nothing had changed. Strangle my pillow did not provide any particular improvement, any more than the repeated bites in the sheets ripped apart. Always the typhoon in my belly, and its haunting cries that covered my thoughts. Screams, silence, what is the difference? Lack, always there, sleep less, and rabies have resumed. The shame of myself again inflicted stupidly, this voluntary torture. After some struggles

, saved by the recklessness and abandonment, I manage to sleep peacefully. And then at night I open one eye, and he is there at the bedside. Intently watching my sleep illusory, a smile of disdain at the corner of his mouth. And it is necessary, chasing dreams sweet fleeing at his approach. Silent, staring into my eyes, the poison is there. He clasps his heart in his hand and cold makes it beat. First slowly, then faster and faster, and never leave my eyes.

But I got up, automatically, mesmerized by my poison. I Typhoon took my hand and we went to work. The routine for both of us. The poison, typhoon, black tie, mask polite, and time passes too slowly distilled ... And in every minute flowing, concentrate the poison.

Sometimes I lie awake in my house to my office in the morning, scanning the moon for an anxious eye. From a vacant eye and crazy flowing underneath the deep dark circles and dry. On the eye and which formed protruding on a screen that lights up my face a livid light.
I entertained in these musings of a passionate night with a telephone, turning every ten minutes, until it finally spits these few words I expect. I torture my nails scratching the screen smooth and death, shaking as I shook my fevers. More than once I nearly exploded against a wall ... But we must preserve the lives of hostages, including a confession ... we hope

This was one example I could cite it as one hundred . Hundred things I need, a hundred things that haunt me to make me sick, every day. And every day one of them is so strong that it permeates every cell of my body. I conquer, the price of some fevers, and it is his sister who attacks me, then his daughter and then his shadow. So the days pass.

For years, I strictly forbid me to wince in the rain. Each storm is an excuse for this childish challenge. I cross, expressionless, and I remain unaffected by water running down my face. What could some
grin against the elements? A distorted face is it less permeable or less sensitive? I see in this discipline the embryo of a victory over the pain I suffered. I do not have the same wisdom to bad weather plaguing under my skin.

These paths cross paths are hidden shortcuts or detours, whatever, that j'empreinte to happiness. If I have so much trouble, does that mean I go? Child I dreamed for hours in front of the stone crosses and lace that flourished in the moors of Brittany ...

How many ruins in the lower house? How many wars have overwhelmed? How many times he was again rebuilt, and with this morbid obstinacy and laughable at the same place so vulnerable, where necessarily the enemy comes back, where they will remain easy prey balls heavy and cold ... So I
rebuild, the same material so fragile, perpetually. And on the same floor where furniture and sinking, slowly but inexorably, my foundation. I feel the soles of my feet up the heat of hell. I keep the nose in the air, stretching like a marshmallow ... Always the same pains, the same questions, same mistakes, the same vagaries.




I often persuaded, perhaps to console me, it could be otherwise. Without these neuroses and addictions without these, what would happen to me? Without this typhoon roared through my veins, what a sad breeze would turn my blood? Where fleet generally stifling the fragrance poisons my dears, would I support clean air and fresh, sanitized?
I certainly decrease, very slowly, like a balloon punctured, without consistency, without stress, without pressure.

You say one day we will get used to their absence, emptiness, lack, the latent dissatisfaction. It clings to the belief that the reason comes back, it grows with time. That adolescence is just lazy little linger in a corner from us. One day, certainly, the body will simply happy little soul and to delight in his dreams, as in his memories, and remain deaf to the song the thousand mermaids.
But the days pass. The addiction is increasing, pounding his claims, struggling, taking us hostage.

But this poison is me and nothing other than me. It is my lot, the life that I received and I shall have more. This weakness is myself, this pain is proof of that life.
The energy of the fall, propels me through the day in depths of love, I fall again as I fell often with great belief, sometimes with enthusiasm, with relish. I was complaining, especially people judge me, I was taking pity on the victim of my immaturity. But I never have complained of these poisons there.
I feared so, and I complained often, when alone in the morning on an empty stomach and neck typhoon deserted by the smell of poison, I got up too cold, and pale as the moon left me numb.
For when flies are also poisons my soul, and appear around me happiness too intense for reasons too wise. So I fly in my typhoon, far far behind the front man of the mask, to divine pleasures that I pay in sleepless nights.

And these pleasures there, what happiness there is joy to which I am entitled. It is happiness to me allocated. Dare to tell me, if your time is worth much more, to live differently, to love otherwise. Here

life, the material burning. I dare not smother. I still fall asleep in the dark glow of my love, pain and nights of absence, they will succeed tomorrow
a dawn smiling, she will face a tender poison.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

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FELE COMPLETELY!

A JEWELS

Since you're reading, you realize that you have the word "difference" has a very high important to me!
is a word that made me suffer a lot especially during my childhood. I have always paid dearly for not being like everyone else. Children are cruel and adults more ...

reread my blog and you'll see that I have made extraordinary encounters that changed my life. I learned that the difference is a strength, wealth. It
therein lies a treasure trove.
Fortunately we are not all equal: There are small and big, strong and weak, young and old, etc.

A life where everything is identical, it would be hell. Can you imagine a world in which there is only one color, scent, taste?
Do not just savor what you know. Devours life to the fullest, scans all your prejudices. Accept your neighbor and especially you as it is.

Do not be ashamed of yourself or your neighbor if you think it is somewhat or completely cracked. This is not a flaw but a jewel that life has bestowed

Saturday, October 16, 2010

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And the caterpillar became a butterfly! The Autumn Equinox


month of November will be marked by transmuting energy of Pluto. Teacher of the lunation Scorpio, Pluto is also in exact conjunction with the True North Node 10 November to 3 36 Capricorn.


The symbolic degrees according to Hindu astrology (transmitted by Volasfera, translated work by Sepharial) indicates that the 3 ° to 4 ° Capricorn is the following image: "A vestal lamp burning "
"Spirit higher and higher, given to studying the problems of spiritual essence, with inspiration and intuition of a higher order. If one looks in the silence of his room, we found the key to higher mysteries of life and thought. In any situation, we will reach a top position and it will be recognized as a leader of men, knowing train human minds. Stranger in the world, there will be an intuitive eternal truths. "

Scorpio lunation (New Moon 13 ° 40 Scorpio November 6 at 4:53 UT) should be a good time to introduce reforms aimed at a revival. Under this influence, we try to understand things in depth but can also feel more fearful, more anxious, it easily yields to impulses that may be harmful. People feel more resentful, and may have desires for revenge.
However, the chart of the lunation Scorpio reveals no area of significant tension. We even observed that New Moon is framed in part by Venus, planet of harmony, retrograde Pluto sextile (Capricorn) and the other Mercury, messenger of the gods, Jupiter trine Uranus Joint (Fish) Chiron square Neptune and spouse (Aquarius).

New Moon will serve as a bridge or mediator between the influence of Venus and of Mercury. The charm of Venus, his need to establish harmonious relations should promote sensible views, soften the floor, while being seduced clever and persuasive speaking in an insightful way even subtle.
This New Moon occurs on the degree of retrogradation of Venus should motivate us to get to the bottom of things, to penetrate the intentions of others, to express our feelings, to expose the intrigues and deception. It should however be careful not to pursue a utopian ideal, be swayed too easily, or tend to escape reality in terms of ideas.

Also note that Venus is Lucifer (light bearer) and retrograde Scorpio is about to leave, she will return in Libra on November 8 to 27 ° and then walk away live November 19.
"With Venus retrograde Lucifer our affect is little influenced by external circumstances and education, we come easily to separate our personal feelings of attraction or disgust for those that we can impose our environment is therefore evidence a real emotional authenticity. It is however expected to gain height and to develop values idealistic, philanthropic beyond personal interests to unite people through their common ground as human beings. " Site Around the Moon

It is when aligns what we live with what we want we are in communion with life and also with ourselves
.

The conjunction of Pluto with the North Node (true), called the dragon's head in Hindu astrology and Tibetan began to form in September 2010 and will continue until February 2011.
This takes place in conjunction Saturn continues its march direct in Libra, its sign of exaltation and no longer forms part of tension with Pluto or Uranus and Jupiter.

It may also be noted that Ceres transiting Capricorn since October 9 and will leave Jan. 3 2011 will join this union as of October 20 for about a dozen days.

The chart of 10 November is quite harmonious with the Moon also joint Pluto and North Node true. Note that the Moon is opposite the South Node in Cancer, sign it rules.
Lucifer Venus retrograde, back in Libra is trine to Neptune-Chiron (Pisces) sextile North Node Pluto-Moon (Capricorn). Saturn is in Libra sextile to Mars in Sagittarius. The Sun in Scorpio is trine to Uranus and Jupiter in Pisces; there just its square to Neptune Chiron in Pisces.

Axis Cancer Capricorn where transiting Lunar Nodes since June 2009 and will leave in March 2011, being caught in the chains of time and is the link between the ancestors and future humanity. This axis is an experience of social achievement and responsibility, maturity and sensitivity it requires.

Pluto still called "the chief justice" has resumed its direct September 14 (he slipped back since April 7).
Will it make visible and understandable hidden truths?
All items: Soul, Body, Spirit are represented in ideogram marking the symbolic totality of this planet. One can see with Pluto evolution and transformation of the human soul.

Ceres, goddess of agriculture, harvests and fertility, mother of Persephone, herself the wife of Pluto, joined this conjunction in late October and will push us to accept the obligations and limitations necessary to live well harmony with others. It will encourage us to consider new means of action to adapt our methods and our behavior or our goals.
is also a good moment to correct our bad habits, take stock of health, starting a diet or care. In short, take care of us cleanse and purify themselves.

Philippe Regnicoli in Ceres, the unloved of astrology explains that "spouse Pluto Ceres is a coalition in favor because it gives a very good decision, a spirit capable of very insightful analysis at two levels: the conscious and the unconscious, getting an answer to both instinctive and rational.
Ceres and Pluto are planets demanding, requires a lot of personal effort to be in our best days. All the hidden problems in psychological biological or legal tend to explode at the surface in this association, to emerge from the conscience or the sight of all. We must fully assume the result of our actions, our commitments.
ago under its influence a very strong tendency to introspection and self-analysis and uncompromising. One is drawn to radically change our lives and we feel compelled to start over from scratch
. "

Pluto transits bring about profound changes to them, they bring to the surface which is ready to be removed and destroyed. It's like a big cleanup to make way for the novelty. Pluto operates at a very deep level of being, it pushed to eliminate old patterns psychological or existential approach became unnecessary to our inner development. As shown

S. Arroyo Astrology, karma and transformation :
" Pluto transiting symbolizes the power to separate what lasts most of the transient, whether the soul from the body at the time of death or of the individual self the former complex personality and ego. Pluto in transit back to the surface the hidden or subliminal conditions so that this energy can be released from the former complex and transformed into a new source of power used consciously. The action of Pluto in transit concerns always so light that the darkness, the old and the new. While he often brings to the surface the remains of the past to eliminate them, it also highlights what I learned deep and makes manifest the essence of being that will live .

Pluto plunges us into the depths of our being to meet our dark side to regenerate us.
Ceres, the nurturing mother, holds the torch and shows us the path to the light to get on with our lives but transformed and infected by a new understanding, a rich new creative power that will allow us to make our garden bloom again.

The North Node conjunction real-Pluto can put an end to our attachment to the past, accelerate our development, leaving room for new experiences.
The Moon joins this combination leads us to dispose of attitudes, behaviors, from the past, to dare to leave our safe and protective cocoon and stop dreaming of a better life but rather we confront the realities of life and the resulting responsibilities. To do this, use our ability to meet our needs and those of others, but also our imagination and our rich inner life that we have great resources.
Saturn rules the sign of Capricorn passes its exaltation sign, Libra. It is therefore an opportunity for us to listen to others, develop a sense of sharing and equity in order to deepen our ability to judge and conciliation.

strong and clean for our evolution is needed and this can go through painful trials, drastic but necessary choices.
We must prepare ourselves questioning and to accept a complete change not only our belief systems become obsolete, but also our lifestyles and even a radical change in civilization.
But once the old patterns and ways of life will be destroyed and disposed of, the energy released by this process will feed us and allow us to move towards fulfillment. Above

keep faith in life and if you're tired of "grazing" weeds, then begin to sow new seeds to harvest a new reality.
By agreeing to leave our cocoon, the caterpillar that we are going to become butterfly ...

" There are some who say he must first die and then resurrect. They are mistaken. If man does not get first resurrection during his life, when he discovers nothing is dead. He will live in his sleep as he had lived his life. The apostle Philip.


Understanding lunar nodes: http://deejayogi.unblog.fr/les-noeuds-lunaires-en-astrologie/
To learn more about Ceres:
http://mythologica.fr/grec/ demeter.htm
Ceres, the unloved of astrology by Philippe REGNICOLI

Friday, October 8, 2010

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Memory Pillow

Memory Pillow


Verse 1 In the morning you leave and I stay alone
I look at the bed you just left, I listen
silence, silencing my pride
In without warmth of joy sheets sunny.

Every night in your arms let me back
You have tight hug, embraced, rejected. Your
heat gently leaves the room tired
footprint of your body deserted my surface.

Barely awake you abandoned me,
eyes half closed, and without explaining anything
In an expletive or two, the die was cast.


Chorus 1 But I have shared your joys and your pains, I felt
cons me your tears flow hot
I stroked your cheeks hectic sobs!

I counted the hours with you nights of anguish,
And you ignore me, against me, without sleep,
eyes fixing the void and thinking to another.

I also heard the evening of your childhood,
thousand tales and stories and as many trips,
And that we continue, both all night.



Verse 2 Every day swearing and even abandonment, I
haunts an unmade bed, draped in memories, I expect
there like an idiot, and no other ambition
I do not even blame you, and I make me smile.

Without knowing my crime I accept my sentence: Your
excess, your departure, your contempt, your forgetfulness
All this I do not care, I know this scene
I know your excuses and your beautiful alibis.

Sometimes for days you stayed with me.
But you could not feign happiness.
It was not your place, it's not my role.


Chorus 2: I have known
insult me when you shared
Without a word I've had nights shameful
And your loneliness, so cruel in the morning.

You came back to me, I accept in silence
You breathed hard, his head deep within me,
To regain some of the perfume of the night. I received

your secrets, your beautiful secrets, hidden
If that thyself hast forgotten.
The "I love you" stifled dreams evaporated.

Verse 3:

When you got no choice you come back to me.
When worn, exhausted, you do not know where to sleep,
On my heart you stagger and if I had arms,
J'enlacerais body that no longer wants to suffer.

I found my place among other objects,
With only hope for happiness ephemeral. So I secretly blessed
winters
Who you bring in the hollow this great unmade bed. One day last


you stay near me, but that day
My tender care will not know
Revive your body too cold.


Chorus 3:
I also remember the days of high fever,
your body with all its weight, boiling and crush me, And your
wheezing and needy.

I tried to grab you, but always without success. To my
warmth you preferred drugs, you will leave
sick and dying came back.

I remember the games, and fighting child
Of your laughter and light that does not change
Of these follies ageless to me that you mingled.

Epilogue:
Sometimes we leave, you put myself in a box, And you
suited me, you wanted me more beautiful, You make me dream
younger, rebounded as yesteryear.

But of course the illusion quickly faded
My poor old smile came to adorn my face from this air
What debonair old pillows.

But going into my friend again this morning!
I do not want to worry, I'm not alone, I often secretly
a beautiful pillow.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Attraction To Large Noses

"A PIECE OF LOVE"



THANK GODMOTHER.

At the age of 18 to 20 years (I do not remember very well) my godmother gave me a Napoleon I Offer Women who love me ...

I put in a little box that I stored in the drawer of the wardrobe in my bedroom at my parents. I sure never find your soul mate, I ended up forgetting the gift.

It has stayed for 35 years in his little box. Yesterday my little sister went to our parents and brought this gold Louis

I gave it to the chosen of my heart. Lulu was very excited: she had just received his "piece of love." The author of this beautiful expression is Marie-Christine, a close friend who spends his life in the fight against neurofibromatosis! All

finally arrived. Do not give up your dreams your projects. Everyone is entitled to happiness. Nothing can hinder this.
I'm sure you also offer up your "piece of love!"

Friday, October 1, 2010

Mammal Respiration Rate Vs Reptile

The brief lives

The brief lives

He wiggles his fingers a Lighter worthless. Observing the anxious eyes of a wide boulevard that stretches out before him, his face contorts and his hands frantically agitated on the lighter. He always hated the outdoor cafés in Paris, and this morning his frustration is fueled by images gathered at his table. Nothing is in place. The cold air is responsible for some common suffocating from external radiators. The light from the sun too believed reflected on the table and the assaults, his eyes are not out of place in their orbits. He'd like to go back and look at the back of his skull, dark and warm.

cigarette in his mouth, he sighed with nervousness before this ridiculous black coffee, this glass of water he already knows he will hate the taste, too cold, too bland. A newspaper uninteresting beyond the table, and turning its pages, immersed in the depths of hot coffee. The frustration of conscious banality mingles with the freshness of the morning to seize the throat. It follows the look people in a hurry, with some escaping vapors sanitized. He then takes off again delivers gloves unnecessary guarding inside the cold of his hands. He has already made this gesture four times since he sat this morning. The dense crowd obstructs his vision, he writhes in her seat to watch the other side of the boulevard. Nothing doing, irritation bathes.

level rises relentlessly useless for hours. Cold, greenish, turbid, they infiltrated in recent days by the slightest gap in his schedule. He had previously stood. But the gap seems too wide open now, and boredom engulfed in him by breaking waves. Faced with this wall empty, he lowered his arm.

Across the street, behind the dirty gutters behind puddles, noisy buses and stinking, behind the stroller blocking the sidewalk and the old who discuss with their poodle, he saw life. In the department store with colorful displays, sounds, smells, tastes, faces and expressions are dancing wildly. The well-orchestrated chaos spreads in storefronts, and life will look like a puppy in a cage. Everyone's goal, mission, everything is as obvious and unpredictable. He is there, frozen in unnecessary hours, mesmerized by epilepsy ordinary world.

ago tasted it it is stuffed, it is private.

For the first time he was arrested, and leads This morning, preparing for battle nightmares. It cleaves the silence. Not the world, his own. Of course there is nothing to silence the voice of his thoughts. But a few thoughts, as rebellious as they are, struggling to find an echo in the desert. The response for survival, dialogue for a reason to live. But it further.

The day passes, and he fought all day an evil to be latent. Certainly a kind of acute pancreatitis, something digestive. The pain one feels when one has nothing to eat, and the stomach grinds painfully and thoroughly vacuum. It then puts these inflammation throughout his impotent rage, his revolt futile. If the empty stomachs are not very eloquent, they can make themselves heard. In

dying day, his wandering led him again on the boulevard. Disgust seized him again when he sees the café terrace. It sits next door on the curb. At his feet traveling butts and maple leaves. On the tables, newspapers too big, too hot coffees, glasses of water too cold, gloves unnecessary and lighters value. He smiled in his gutter.
colors dripping Boulevard and die a death vulgar, in the sewers of Paris. They slept a time on the pavement where the rain has swept along, and gradually fade into light orange plastic sun. Life fled also sucked into the mouth of the subway, who spit in the morning. Boulevard cleansed resumed his true face, discreet and pathetic as that of a great sad woman, blending gray stone that night. On the windows
batter in crash of iron curtains. The dolls' faces freeze. Of epilepsy joyful morning only stay a few thuds on the pavement wet. The pale light from the headlights of cars chasing intruders at night. Life at dawn omnipotent, fled like a rat, a miserable and shameful.

Puddles reflect neon signs, troubled by a few in no hurry. That is what remains of big business. Glare, fumes, gray shadows, not much of glory. Windows, and then nothing, inventory, boxes, promises and memories. On the glass fronts off, its reflection, laying the hurt on the pavement life. He sees his back pass into silhouettes. He believed he recognized the actors he admired in the morning. They will remove makeup, their clothes under their arms, their masks in a bag. But under the mask, nothing, no music, no color, no odor. A tone is absent. Madness dies cleanly without leaving a trace. And everything will resume tomorrow, for weeks, months, years, consistently. And the days go by, low and indistinct, and lives tired, tapering gradually to measure, will disappear without even being aware of it.

What difference, after all, in the dead there? What difference between these lives? There are many lives and diluted, somewhat pale and slightly warm, quiet taste, and short and strong like those ridiculous cafes, which may dilute the latest in the memory they leave. In these flames there, too much oxygen will be blown, and the wood goes too fast the red blood of passion to dull gray ash. And the world around them warms slowly, choking in the smoke of brief lives.

In any case, what is there more that image in his head and a few words to describe it? Life is a strange state of delirium permeable drug supplying a complex mechanism of representation. She climbs in snow, very fast in our minds, and six billion centers of the world parade in the center of six billions of imaginary worlds. And the end of the day, life up so high grounded in wavelet. No sooner does she wets the sand for a moment, then death arid erase the last traces.
And yet, this perfect state of fragility, of almost total insignificance, illusions, violent and understanding so well feigned by some good actors, is a chimera of vigor, strength and balance perfectly improbable .

He chose a brief life, he wanted to go to basics and had always been very impatient. The trivial would come later, he had decided very young. Boredom, routine, sleep, conventions, he had piled for years in a corner of the end of his life. Its purpose would spend weeks handcuffed to the bars of a radiator in his basement, and the rest trembled beside it on an electric chair. Today unfortunately, it seemed he had piled up too many trivial things, and that big pile of boredom that was before him began to overwhelm him. He was not angry or surprised indeed. He knew this day would come.

He enters the cellar, the door closes. What he leaves behind him? What is there before him? Long Beach of fatigue and disillusionment. It is still unclear whether the find courage to cross.

Whatever.

ago tasted it it is stuffed, it is no longer hungry.