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needles

The sound of the lighter and the flame rises. Apple green, the lighter. Green frog.
a bright color, good mood, in the summer. It 's summer, almost. But the mood there, drowned in the rain. No. Did you strangled in the grip of your hands bruised violent disappointment and anger. It always ends like this. What you mad at yourself. What remains silent, because if I tried to speak would come out strangled cries, disjointed. And it is embarrassing. Continue to have 15 years, I mean.
many cigarettes have you smoked in your life. Many did not make sense, I found all six burning between his fingers without noticing. When you quit
is different. Each cigarette has a precise meaning, a special purpose. There is that expectation, that in the end you decide to turn because you do not know where to lay eyes, absently fiddling with that thought, and you've already teased to death the skin of each finger, which leaves you almost blood.
There's the alcoholic, by the way my favorite. Alcohol Tobacco called in a report of sublime complementarity, the two holding hands close to a delightful waltz of destruction - yours. Among the crazy laughter and sharp clarity that only the alcohol clouding, disengaging the spring of inhibitory processes, give you know. A wonderful feeling. But no.
cigarette which you set alight yesterday afternoon happy with the lighter green was different, was a third type. A close encounter with the knowledge, you say. This is a simple linearissima chain of cause and effect: you do not rise to the occasion, you can not control yourself, you deeply disappoint you angry with yourself to death, you can not find understanding or forgiveness to spend with you, so , to pass the time, for survival, you punish. And do not think ... is exactly as it sounds: you sing it and you play it, all alone ... perpetrator, victim and judge gathered noisily and schizophrenia in the same body. Judge ruthless with yourself, as much as understanding and patient with anyone else. A sad, heartbreaking plight. You know, but you do look, worn out from potted emotions, hoping to improve some day. To find spare parts for that specific strand of the mechanism that keeps crashing, for some reason not yet clear to the end. Meanwhile
skip lunch, and you turn this cigarette, devote to your small again - huge for you - fall. The smoke from sheer self-harm, and sporting a bit 'presumptuous, thinking that at least you know it you smoke for masochism, to accommodate the very natural human tendency toward self-destruction. Others think they know why, but do not know, or maybe even come to ask. Many act without knowing, without even trying, to time to time, in front of each fork to understand. You do not. At least that. Everything you do makes sense. Yes, even when they have it.
In these moments make me tenderly with tears in his eyes. Really.

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Sally's song about love

The door is closed. Finally, one might say. At last we are alone.
Seeking confirmation of something in his eyes, but can not find anything. There are no rules, sizzle in the air shock.
She looks at me, look at him. I know this
drown in each other's eyes get me far, far away. There is something mocking in his eyes that did not bode well. I predict despair. I predict yet another stupid some bleeding wound. The line between love and hate has never been so weak, so frayed.
me laugh, the laugh of the hangman.
Adrenaline sliding frenetic blood in the veins, the thoughts in my stomach and makes me stand still almost can not breathe. Six light
.
I think that defects often end up making a face more attractive. I think that the defects are those to fuck more than anything else. You fall in love madly, you just can not help it.
gentle and firm pressure of his fingers on my shoulder, his fingertips digging into me, through the skin, muscles, bones.
he touches turns to fire . The mind
crumples in on itself, countered.
remain so for some interminable moment, his face close to my neck, breathing her.
Breathe in, breathe out. Very slowly. Breathe.
My heart is trying to be sick in the throat patting out strong to do evil.
Approaches parted lips to my ear lobe full of thrills, almost invisible fluff with those lips, while laying the other hand on my cheek, holding my head steady.
am a prisoner, in adoration.
die now. Just
confused distinction between his lips his tongue on the skin die.
Muoio, and I wake up.

not happened and will never happen.

I am developing a strong determination to Fiona Apple. And this here, now is perfect.

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Lieutenant

When a science fiction writer chosen as a time not too distant future , inevitably exposes itself to be disproved by the facts i. So "The Lieutenant", published for the first time in 1939, and that speaks of the next (by then) World War, is full of things that never happened. The Communists took power in England, France again became a monarchy, the Soviet Union was what it was. But who, in the explosive world of today, we hear and to exclude the classic novel by Hubbard looked away, and that its forecast refers to the third world war? Everything then is again probable, if not the probability : the plagues that ravage Europe, nuclear pollution, looting, famine, the disappearance of any coherent social and political structure. And in this barren landscape and terrible, in this new barbaric Middle Ages, the odyssey of a small department of veterans under the command of Lieutenant. They are men survived all the battles, all the insane massacres ordered by the general staff, are ruthless and invincible warriors. Yet the last hopes for peace are in their hands.

It 's time of crisis. And in every crisis the people to interpret the future turn to their imagination. Sprout like mushrooms articles and blogs that prophesy the end of our civilization with the tools at their disposal. The latest crisis was reaching peak oil in the U.S. in 70 years, and then use all the scenarios that are inspired by the novels of the period. Maybe our bloggers do not really know where they came from these ideas, think they are the prophets prophesy but in reality only the past, others have written for them.
E 'then time to go see what happened many years ago, before a great crisis passed, a time when science fiction was still catastrophic prehistory, and extrapolated as a great writer's feelings and fears of' era.
Why is not true that the world as we know it is the end. Why not know the end.
Lieutenant was written in '39, a time when a bloody war ravaging the ' and Europe when Americans were still deciding if you could do business with Hitler . Hubbard guess the details, and is a great to do it, but it lacks the big target. The world fell into an endless war, and came up quickly once the second world war ended. I can confidently conclude that the world will not end tomorrow. Maybe the euro will end, maybe end of capitalism, but surely we will find ourselves not steal our oil as in Mad Max (because we use the Diesel, an engine designed more than one century ago specifically to work with vegetable oil!).
Lieutenant reveals the truly amazing ability of the controversial Hubbard. The novel is written with exceptional style, considering that this was the stuff of pulp, at times reminded me Rigo ni Stern, perhaps because the subject matter. The narrative is clear, concise and elegant at the same time. 'S use of words, sentence structure, always searching for its originality, never at the expense of smoothness. Surely a master in the field of writing, still recommend to aspiring writers. The plot is after all already seen: in a world devastated war a battalion under the command of Lieutenant decides it's time to stop following the orders that come from a mysterious headquarters and get busy, to take power. Already seen it! Too bad that this novel is above all the others! Hubbard talks about the war, referring to the previous one. Browsing through the pages reminded All Quiet on the Western Front e. The war will be different then. Although the lieutenant in a page divided against Napoleon , its businesses remember him. Even sustaining Napoleon 's army with what they could plunder. Surely there are many, and learned references in this book. Hubbard finally succeeds in extraordinary business to outline the figure an original master and at the same time realistic. Few have succeeded. The lieutenant has been more than 70 years but if you do not know what to get back into the library, head to the Charity shop around the corner and will not be disappointed.

The author
Lafayette Ronald Hubbard was born in Tilden in 1911 and died in 1986. Hubbard left early in the Faculty of Engineering where he was writing to become a writer by profession. His career slowed down in the Navy with enlistment and was virtually abandoned in the following years, when he resigned from the 'army founded the religion of Scientology together among other writers and Cambell Van Vogt.

images and photos taken by:
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Thoughts disheveled hair as the wind. I have not told anybody, nobody knows why I'm drowning in shallow water. I will not say it here either. Keyword: containment. Banks have to put the violent floods. You can not soil the clothes of others, as well as you should not hesitate to soil their own. Keyword: without disturbing others.
I feel very brave, because I continue to breathe even though I feel what I feel, and although I do not die by drowning. E - open your ears - not only did not die, but even I merely survive ... I continue to do all this without ever stop living. Because - and it is a really upsetting my discovery, prepare yourself - this is real life, the here and now . My
here and now is my life and my life is all I do, I think, and say. I do not subtract anything, breath every moment, and even when subisco I do it my way, I do it with style.
I must confess: I have since I only started to live again. I need to see clearly the lack of a safety net, I needed that everything depended on me, they can count on my own strength. I do not want to hold on to anybody, I do not want someone to cling to me. I'm free and willing to really make anything happen to me in his hands, to taste outstanding new colors to breathe through.
It 's too true that there is no better time to be reborn in the spring. This yellow sun with its warm glow would know alleviate the worst of evils.
I leave as a sign of my steps this song, I just can not stop listening. From large marry Zach Galifianakis, was decided.