Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Cheats For Gpsphone Pokemon Orange

New litter coming! Evidence

At Kennel Aïkirocka
We expect a coupling in December
Mom will be:
Chanouk
Dad will Anoka, who will make his first breeding, a male superb, with no hereditary taint génétique.D or an exceptional temperament.
Anoka
Mom: Chanouk will to her last litter. On instinctive maternal incomparable, she gave us three litters of puppies beautiful and balanced.

Do not miss this chance and book now.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Toddler Broken Capillaries Face

diarist








The fastest way

to start writing






is yet to become diarist :
a diarist is a person who takes his newspaper and tell you although the intimately
newspaper is not the prerogative of young girls in flower.


"I am myself the matter of my book" Montaigne
How? :

Writing daily from 5 to 7-lines no more early-without goal, without trial, a single jet .

What can you write a diary? The manual:

- Listening self see our self subjected to external pressures.
(Family obligations, work, financial, health ... etc)
The Goal: The focus inside, listening to his needs, his pace, his breath

- Recognize and ritualize : Writing for weaving frames his life. Take
benchmarks. Observed only to rise.
- Describe , dream : fix little things, the subtle movements of life.
- Questioning , drain, drain me.

Please read the famous newspaper: Stendhal, Giono, Anais Nin, Virginia Woolf, Anne Frank and above: Etty Hillesum . (Must Read)

- In a newspaper as: Listening of his dreams, recreate images,
sounds, colors, characters, history. If one remains perplexed
consult a dictionary of symbols.
These are just a few tracks but this writing inner leads inevitably to writing true.

How to start a daily newspaper? I give a mean

Four sentences :

Pick one and start writing 5 lines, puis10 lines, then fifteen

... And do the same every day:

I think ... ... ... ...

What I feel ... ... ....

What I feel in my body ... ... ... ..

What is the matter that inhabits me lately?
Or better
... ... ... .... Take the following four sentences ... ....

winner.



Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Reebok Heart Monitor Manual

Taste of remembrance

Stomach Acid Throat Burns

The Madness Reverie cons


At the "Back", I can not help but send you this letter published in 2009. "It's a good one!" Some will think: we talk about Reverie while September is the worst month. We returned from vacation. We must return to work, review the spool of his superiors or colleagues, adapting to new schedules children and other fancy school, besides bills, letters and taxes of all kinds accumulate on a corner of living room or office that prefers not to watch.

Yep ... everything leads us to the agitation without reflecting on its merits: To eat more? To appear
or more? To obey the orders of the consumer society howling on our flat screens?
In homeopathic medicine, does it not be, perhaps, to reclaim that sweet word Reverie ; and practice? The
reverie is that state between waking and sleeping that shines before the twilight of sleep and do not know the dawn of awakening, she is a half-sleep which ignores the odd combinations of the dream. The Reverie, unlike the dream, can not be told. "In the dream, says Gaston Bachelard, strangeness is such that it sometimes seems that another dream come about in us" is said: "We visited a dream." Not so with the dream puts us in a poetic world and not in a society, events or history. It is a mood which extends our lives by putting us in confidence in the universe, "the good side of a growing awareness and awakening to Poetry"
Heaven, above the roof
So blue, so calm
(Verlaine) The
reverie is all sweetness and feminine essence, an expression of our anima. It occurs in the tranquility of a late afternoon break in the rest, in contact with nature, before the image of standing water (lakes, rivers), but more still attending poets. Poetry is the sacrament almost forced a salutary reverie.
As a child cradled by a monotonous
My soul asleep to the murmurs of waters
(Lamartine)
Two authors, two geniuses told us about the benefits of reverie Gaston Bachelard: poetics of reverie and Rousseau, of course: in Reveries of the Solitary Walker:

" When evening approached, I walked down the peaks of the island and I would gladly sit by the lake on the shore in some hidden asylum, where the waves and the stirring of the water chasing and fixing my sense of my soul stirring the other plunged into a delicious reverie when night surprised me often without my noticing. The ebb and flow of this water, but the noise continued intermittently swollen hard hitting my ear and my eye supplement to internal motions that reverie and extinguished in me enough to make me feel happy with my life, without bothering to thinking. From time to time some born weak and short reflection on the instability of things in this world whose surface water gave me image, but soon these feelings faded in light uniformity of continuous movement which rocked me, and without any active assistance of my heart did not fail to attach myself to the point was called by the hour and the appropriate signal I could not tear myself away effortlessly. Rousseau, Reveries of the Solitary Walker , Fifth Promenade.

Your fellow reverie? : Poets with a preference (personal) to Lamartine and Verlaine

short: Reverie cons Madness, a little, a lot of dreams against the frenzy of time. Economists and

psychologists do not know all the poets on the other lights man, wrote about Bachelard.

Take your time! Hold! Read New Heloise Rousseau. (And my message of October 2009 on this text). In

crazy! This man, the author of these lines can not be serious!

I wish you still good and sweet dreams for a sweet and serene back.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Sims2ep9.exe Original

A New Miss Vermeer (1) A New




The train left the station of Menton. Five or six hours - I did not know-separated me from my return to Paris. I sat comfortably with Fugitive , very happy already with my idea of continuous play when a traveler came and fell heavily on the seat beside me. The man looked tired, depressed, and was breathing with difficulty. Without doubt he had raced to catch the train and he was out of breath. He opened his laptop right away. "What kind of man is this, I wondered ... - I gave him in thirty years ... the type-setting to play with Excel until our arrival, or the addict to videogames that never opened a book? "I followed
already meandering sentences of Proust when I was surprised by the sobs of my neighbor. I cast a glance on discrete screen of his laptop. It showed a photograph of a girl under oblique forehead and hair hidden by a blue turban who fell into a crease on his neck. Was it she who was the cause of those tears?
"Excuse me" said the man. I must seem a little strange ... and maybe even upset ... but if you knew ... so I need to talk ...
-I read ... I answered a angry voice that did not stop his speech
-yet I had promised her ... She made me swear not to tell, "he went ... but I can not take my word. This story is so amazing! You know the painting by Vermeer: the girl with the pearl or the turban by the names ...?
Yes!
And this artist's work in general? Since Marcel Proust killed Bergotte before the little patch of yellow wall of view of Delft, Vermeer has spilled more ink than the canvases he painted not cost him with oil.
"It is probable but I said I am no expert and I do not mind, specifically, with Proust that I would like to continue reading
Since you're talking about literature rushed there, ignoring my remark, I will quote the novel by Tracy Chevalier and there was also a film with Scarlett Johansson in the title role ... but if you look at the photo that appears on my screen, you will see that this is Scarlett Johansson not ... and this is not the portrait painted by Vermeer. (See photo Miss Vermeer 2)
- Right-
but ... Well ... "said my neighbor when I arrived in Menton, three weeks ago, I did not really Girl with a Pearl Earring . My girlfriend had just left me, my manuscript had been rejected by all publishers and the advertising company that employed me was threatening to reduce its workforce. In fact, I was on the list of nominees for the departure. So I packed my bags and I left Paris. I thought it would be my last vacation. A
Menton, I was lowered into a small hotel overlooking the marina. I got up late, keeping up with my mood gloomy pleasure and instantly noon, I walked down lunch in a small bar-restaurant frequented more by the strain of Menton and tourists. Rosé flowed freely. The sole waitress, a comely girl with doe eyes, which persisted in hiding her blond hair under a blue turban had to work hard to serve the ten tables of regulars polite and friendly but obviously titillated by her short skirt and perfect shapely legs. Catharina was his name. At least she is doing it that way. She was Dutch and spoke French and picturesque rocky ground, which delighted me, pronounced by such beautiful lips.
We became friends. The fact that we were both strangers to the city was probably what brought us together. When customers were gone, she came and sat opposite me and we chatted to stick broke under the amused eye of the owner of the establishment, an amiable man in his sixties as speedy and skillful in cooking in salty stories.
One day I asked Catherine

Linsey Dawn Mckenzie First Pic

Miss Vermeer (2)


Why and how did you come from Delft in Menton?
"To you I might as well say it now but all this is old ... so old.
The boss brought us a brandy and left us alone. She swallowed a mouthful: "I'm
Catharina Bolnes. Bolnes was the maiden name of wife of Vermeer. Catherina and her name. What a coincidence-
for Dutch, "I remarked amused.
Catharina Bolnes, he repeated, turning it into his glass in his hands, probably served as a model for his painting to Vermeer Girl with a Pearl Earring . ... Sometimes I feel like his reincarnation. See, I have the same blue turban.
-Are you kidding me.
Not at all.
"Then," said my neighbor, I do not know what happened. I felt ... well ... that time is fetched ... yes, that's it ... like the cloak falling from a peg. It seemed a whirlwind blew over the roof, shaking the very walls of the restaurant. This storm was followed by a sudden silence. Stars shining in the sky. Around me there were more houses and landscape that presented itself to me would be the one that existed two or three centuries before, that of a fishing village.
Catharina was gone. I do not understand what was happening and put my amazement on on account of drunkenness. Then after a moment I saw her again. There was no doubt it was this time: the girl with the pearl . I recognized the same look in his eyes moist, the pearl in his left ear lobe, the same way to keep the sensual lips open. I touched his face and tried to kiss her but she blocked my mouth a conclusive index.
following days, the same scenario repeated itself. At the restaurant, after lunch, guests eclipsed one after the other. Then she sat at my table. Then night came, clear and constellations. We stood there staring at the waves came crashing on the shore, listening to the lapping of the harbor and Catharina spoke of his former life in Delft, the children she had with the painter, the paintings she had inspired. She revealed that her face was in many tables: the same arched eyebrows, straight nose, wide-set eyes in the same Woman in Blue, Woman balance , The young woman writing a letter . I listened, spellbound and definitely, you will understand with a heart full of love. At various signs, I realized that this feeling was shared by her.
My life was turned upside down now, the hour down in the same ritual. There was this moment where the lunch with the clients, I called ironically MISS VERMEER night and then fled when two hearts in a world that belonged to them. I see her: she was then further coats of faded jeans, overalls and seersucker robes Indian who changed so many of her short skirts the south.
Yes! ... I was madly in love, insisted in a tone more strident the young man. I had some love but all the women met once looked like now to me these beautiful flowers that have retained their petals have lost their fragrance. After my troubles present and those to come, the world seemed ugly, dirty and fake, muddy but her .... Catharina was a rose in a field of nettles. DO NOT SMILE! begged he continuing his story with such sincerity that he eventually captivated me. Both men have indulgence for a merry and admit that one can hardly speak of a serious tone of intimate secrets of nature, that voice far from a perfect world that wants to be . For me, what seems demonstrative of divine and mysterious nature of love, what are its spontaneity and strangeness. The science shows that two molecules alone in the world, at some distance from each other they are assumed in space, can get going to meet. It's the same over time. Beings can reach across the centuries. Love knows no nonsense. So I am sure that Catharina came from his seventeenth-century Dutchman to find me.
He was silent, a prey to the liveliest emotion., Hid her face in his hands as he continued staring at me: "Listen
... I so want you to believe me. ... One evening, it was three days ago, she accepted my kiss, and since that moment when I thought of faint happiness, I have not reviewed. It disappeared. The patron of the bar-restaurant was the first surprise. "It was not his style to Catharina" she nodded. I was desperate for myself when last night, opening my computer ... the first image that came to me was his ... I mean that of Catharina, in short, Girl with a Pearl Earring , is the same thing, with a watermark that word: "I'm back ... wait for me! "... Then I come home. Who knows ... it might be after this trip but I am afraid of having betrayed by talking to her.
"She will forgive you, no doubt," I replied, not knowing if, in these words, I wanted to console an unhappy soul or get rid of a madman. ... A fool ... I write the word with hesitation because I had felt in spite of myself drawn into his story through a strange empathy.
That, he says! That's all!
I can not say how many times had took these incredible secrets.
The train arrived in Lyon. The man ran down the dock, his laptop shoulder. I watched him to the subway entrance when I saw him get behind a big girl not slender. She looked in my direction ... a look full of tender irony, then she caught my neighbor's arm. A few seconds later, they hugged and kissed passionately, as if they had not seen for centuries.
The girl was, of course, wearing a blue turban and wearing a pearl earring.

Epilogue
I forgot the history of this crazy encounter if, a few days after that trip, the picture above is me mysteriously and suddenly appeared on the screen by opening my computer . It was the same photo seen on the laptop of my neighbor in the Paris-Menton.
Later, browsing an interesting biography The Double Life of Vermeer I read these lines the author, Luigi Guarnieri , that: "For Proust , Vermeer's women are a way to talk to him indirectly himself, to work a kind of oblique autobiography, to paint the reflection of a buried me, dark, secret ... By surveying himself in them, he sees images of dreamlike beauty, passion, eternity of what everyone looks confused and unconsciously without ever succeeding "
Really, I thought, Proust has all the answers.