Brazilian Wax Ottawa Ontario

the cage match ever

sometimes we tend to take things-people-places for granted ...
sometimes we just have all the time. and yet, suddenly, something happens that makes you remember that we have it all, all the fucking time.
sometimes come down to home and you're convinced that the end in the next 5 or 6 hours of your life will flow placidly along the same direction he was pointing at 5 or 6 hours ago.
and instead, I am sorry, but this just is not written anywhere part.
is not written anywhere that people will be there forever.
is not written anywhere that will always be honest with you.
is not written anywhere that will treat you well.
or that they will respect your time.
of your desires.
and your pain.
I think this summer slip soft tires which is empty and useless and the other a beer.
I think the slow downward curve that took a bit 'all my life energy and the unmoved mover of my chronic fatigue and disillusionment mystical ... that in the end, are always a little 'me.
not reread the last sentence scares me!
the important thing is being together
we tend to idealize all, to survive themselves. the beauty of a place. the character of a person. the sweetness of a lover. the value of a moment that really was not for nothing much. but the reality, in spite of our imagination, is honest but tyrannical: and there are moments when you realize that no wine from the quarry stones. and that, eventually, you do not care that much, because that wine was not crabs ... that there is good wine, and you look elsewhere easily!

"in the old photos, irene casey is beautiful! Not only because it is young: when you have the beauty of the face and smooth skin around the eyes and mouth relaxed ... the beauty that comes only when you love the person who is taking that picture. "

Chuck Palahniuk .. anger

silence, at times, I broke in two.
now I understand.
and sincerely, as he says neruda , me gustas cuando callas.

of this useless summer and shot at a breakneck speed and crashed on August 26 I do not remember anything that is worthy of note. to be told. to be recorded.
there were trains full of compressed meat. unknown odor and sweat. smell of holidays that start at the end without ever really started. rewind the sun setting in the hills behind the serrated edge of the blades the wind farm. beautiful and chilling as the spaceships landed between our platform and the sun. I see all the anxiety of the future that is coming, and will go well and the price we must pay because tomorrow is just a little 'better than the shitty day that was yesterday ...
my words falling vacuum without making too much noise, and are torn away by the wind, out the window of this car too crowded because there is no room for what I have to tell you tonight. obviously there is some background so that I did not think you had. it hurts to think of it in places that not even imagine that he had discovered.
of this pointless post-atomic it remains only for the summer heat. and the sun goes down. and your face turn. and your beautiful lips closed like the cars of first-class sealed inside. and I, that I did not even feel like trying to get in!
but the blades, those are already a distant memory ... and the ecstatic enthusiasm and criticism sterile and blind rage and chronic indecision every single thing you do I will stay on the skin.
constants of the summer was too short. too fast. too hot. and too angry. constants such as wind turbines.
and damn, fucking ants!

the nights in tents, in spite of the insects, sand, and African temperatures I sleep very well. I sleep and dream as a child the night before Christmas ... I dream often and full of detail. dream things so absurd normal in places like that more than once I realize more and dreaming of a time change my mind and I am convinced that it is all true.
when I sleep, my dreams, you're never coming.

soundtrack .. oasis, I hope I think I know

you tell me I'm free then you tie me down / and from my chains I think it's a pity / what did it cost you to wear my crown / you do not like me why do not you admit it / I feel a little down today / I is not got much to say / You're Gonna Miss Me When I'm not there / and you know I do not care , you know I do not care / as we beg and steal and borrow / life is hit and miss and this / I hope, I think, I know / and if I ever hear the names you call / if I stumble catch me when I fall / cos' baby after all / you'll never forget my name

photo .. Caporizzo
Hit the Road Jack ...

Calories Lost In Diarea

Leave me here Leave me alone Leave me

so do not say a word not
To me love is


For my life that 's all what I
' s all what I have and has not yet
Ended Ended

and suddenly starts to rain, there are 20 degrees, and exit with the sweatshirt. caserta is filled with horns and smoke and stench and crying that people are pleased or less healthy. people on faissbukk feels compelled to load millemiliardi of vacation photos in an undeclared race to where it is more popular for the tamarrume of clothes they wear, eyeglasses you kept you burst ' mpronte even at 4 am, the tamarrume the premises where you went to dance, the amount of beer lined up on the discount with waxed lowly ducks of minimal rented apartments somewhere vibrations zen sunsets photographed with machines stratospheric on beaches polluted by your own towels for 3 summers ago ...
the birrivendolo trust reopens after the summer break, 'thè for mr workaholic is yes and no lasting 10 days . it's time to give a hand to this principle of cirrhosis of the liver!
and suddenly, it was done too late to start playing a string instrument. to be here wondering what to test in September, whether to go a bit 'up in Rome , or less ...
or giving yourself some questions.

.. photos .. Capo Rizzuto, by moi meme
.. sunset by the arrow in the south, instead corridors, I love wind turbines
.. glimpse of the outside tent, late at night, those are my left!
.. Ost .. Annarella , cccp

Clip Arts Of A Bull's Head

some people will leave behind a trail of translucent but indelible. as the slime of snails ... raining the night, and morning after these trails are ruled by greedy and shining.
is August 9, the eve of the night of San Lorenzo. are seven in the morning and I'm hungry.
move a box of cereal very unattractive, the kind that used to be crap.
the bottom of the shelf is what looks like a bottle of champagne. how the hell did he end up there?
looks like a bottle of sparkling wine, but the cap does not have the cage ... pull it out.
no, not "over there" was put there!
has it made my mother believe hidden. in one way or shelved away in the high-eyes-away-from-the-heart.

domaine de la CHARMOIS, tourayne camais
2007 vintage, in bo ttiglia numbered No. 396
13 degrees, serve cold

FrenchOne brought by the last bottle in his nth, last, trip to latch on earth Italic . dates back to November, November of this winter.
fill the tub: hot water, oil, magnolia, bubbles.
brought the PC to the bathroom, I put it on the toilet, I will shoot the volume up: mezzanine, in the loop.
hill a white saucer on the edge of the tub, and put us in a couple of candles. I light incense
cardamom, the cones with the small iron brazier, what you bought me back in the mark home because there was upset in the history of the dinner and you had decided to yield to baseness and be forgiven by ragali ...
I open the cupboard and take the best ballon in my house, the huge, crystal. one of those things are so precious that it is not never, never used, as supplied, will remain under some collapsed after the earthquake, or to be broken in some move.
untap with anger and precision, the thud is the same every night and every morning and every drunk and dinner every Christmas-Easter-New Year-Birthday ... but this time has a funny tone to the celebration of sacred secular function ... echoes in the empty house, and falls with a thud on the bottom of a cavity that was excavated 4 hands and I keep trying to fill ... but that is always a bit 'empty
I fill the glass beyond what the etiquette would accept.
color is bright red so dark as to be almost opaque. seems to turn on brown. the glass is stained, the wine flows like resin on the walls.
is delicious!
only the French can give you carelessly wine so good ... as if you were offering a tissue or as if you were holding out the lighter.
within the tank and I drop in to wet hair and let the boiling water right into the roots. even from the brain ... to wash away many bad thoughts sad.
one hand is out, dry: a claw clinging around the cup shines in light of the one candle.
some funerals are celebrated with all the necessary arrangements ...
and then toast the empty houses.
relatives on the road.
caserta summers spent waiting for the cosmic moment of collective decision that never comes.
toast to travelers property, to the moment when I decided to treat myself to someone who was not only myself.
blowers to wine glasses, a Murano ... or wherever they are!
lost to the French Pyrenees.
and my mother ... I know more of the same palms of his hands ... this winter and that he understood that perhaps was the case of hiding that bottle. waiting for a better day.

perhaps waiting for today.

music: Squarepusher, Go Plastic, I Wish You Could Talk
photo: pfe Guig, round 1

Skinny Women With Big Breasts Are

arrive un jour à l'Humanité inverser entropy ...

Claudia: cone at the end because I think if happiness is not organized probably means that does not exist!
Laura: happiness is a warm blanket and sob when it's all past
Claudia: just as a blanket is always infeltritanon you think?
Laura:
but not only that we know exists in a form that does not really exist
Claudia: no cone
I believe that if you always try to say that there is fundamental

Laura: used to think that there is a house with children and a dog, but there is a homeless man who is also under the underpass care
Claudia: if the wheels means that there is no happiness


but it is not pessimism is that if you think about it
everything you do for her is happiness
Laura: and then there
Claudia: no

I like when you are quiet, because you are as absent,
hear me from far away, but my voice does not touch you.
seems as if your eyes are flown
away and is like a kiss if you shut your mouth.
all things are full of my soul, but you
emerge from them, filled with my soul.
butterfly dream, like my soul
and, at times, looks like the word melancholy.
I like when you are quiet, when he seems distant.
and seem to complain Tubantia butterfly.
and hear me from far away, but my voice does not arrive:
let your silence is my silence itself.
let your silence fills my talk,
shiny, like a flame, and as simple as a ring.
you're like the silent night and starry.
from the stars is your silence, so far, and simple.
I like when you are quiet, because you're as absent.
distant and painful, as if I were dead.
then just a smile, one word is enough.
and I'm glad this is not true.

there are times when it would be appropriate to say ... do ... decide things that never were said-without-decided. every action has a reaction.
time moves along a straight line from point A to point B. the direction is unique: the weather is reversed, no going back. and perhaps all the more beautiful and incredibly well.
the second law of thermodynamics is not reversible.
entropy, the degree of disorder and chaos of the universe by human actions, is not reversible.
and even that on the floor of my room.
the last question, I prefer to bury the bottom of my glass of wine ...

ost .. August disturbance
photo .. sense spherical
cit. .. blog from the witch of the mountain ulia and his feet, small tears of great philosophy
neruda, me gustas cuado callas