Blik
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Are Table Showers Prostitues
Old Boy
South Korea, 1988. Oh Dae-su is a person normal (whatever that means), fully integrated into society. She leads a quiet life, gray, very quiet too: he has a wife, a daughter of four years and an old friend who pulls him out of trouble when he raises a little 'elbow (yes, sometimes it happens). The film begins: our Dae-su has actually had a few too many to drink and freaks out in a police station, but it's nothing serious. Spoke his friend Joo-hwan who drags him out of there and together reach a phone booth Dae-su and reassuring the worried wife. He wants to return home, he also bought a present for his daughter. Outside the cabin it rains, Dae-su goes out and leaves Joo-hwan staggered into the cabin to talk to his wife. 1988, telephone booth, rain, end of everything. You see a purple umbrella and Dae-su vanishes.
South Korea, 2003. Fifteen years have passed and Oh Dae-su is no longer a normal person. Fifteen years have many, many, may seem eternal, but if you are forced to pass them locked in a room without knowing why, without being able to go out alone with an old television set, four walls and a faux landscape in the window. Fifteen years of emptiness, madness, despair. Fifteen years of anguish and anger fierce. Clenched fists and kicks against the wall, fried ravioli every single day, hallucinations, ants do not exist under the skin, someone who all the drug nights and the despair of not knowing, not understanding. The desire for revenge that day after day, year after year, it grows and grows until it becomes the only reason to stay alive. Then the freedom and the bad dream that turns into a surreal nightmare, a whirlwind of events impossible to control. Severed hands, octopus eaten alive, phones ringing, fighting with a hammer, unknown women, blood and teeth ripped, suicidal dogs, a dagger stuck in his back, blackmail, ultimatums and chat colors. The desire to understand who you become, what you've become and why. "Although it is worse than a beast, I also do not have the right to live?". Anger and revenge are intertwined with fear, love, sex, buried memories. The answer comes, the truth emerges, vengeance is about to be eaten ... but Dae-su can not be just a pawn unconscious inside a maze game. Another truth, terrible and unbearable, is waiting for him in a colored box.
Old Boy (Oldboy or ) the second film by Korean director Chan-wook Park - loosely based on the eponymous Japanese manga - is a film visually perfect. The lights, mounting and framing change with the changing of history and fit perfectly in a complicated interlocking mechanism, made up of flashbacks, subplots, twists and sudden changes of register. A long fight, very realistic, is shot as if it were a scene from a '80s video game action, the hero seems to chase the past self in a beautiful alternate assembly that tells the re-emergence of his memories, some scenes were filmed with the camera fixed and aseptically documenting moments of unprecedented violence, others will follow the evolution in paroxysmal and smugly ironic. There is one scene the same, in Old Boy. It seems to pass from film to film, all the time. Oldboy is violent, hyperbolic, delirious over the top, but also a profound film that tells a tragic story and deals with universal themes and very strong as the feeling of revenge, hope, redemption, the failure, remorse, madness . At times the audience seems to be in a in a modern reworking of Shakespeare's plays four or five put together. The plays of Shakespeare are mixed then the topoi of classical Greek tragedies, violence adds to the disturbing and slapstick by turns suddenly tragic lyricism in black-humor comedy. All reinterpreted in manga through the eyes of a visionary director. The result is not simply sum of the parts, however, and the various components are not stacked on each other just to wink at the viewer (as it does, so perfect, Tarantino). In Old Boy all these mechanisms converge and come together in perfect unity. One unit terrible and deafening at the end of the film remains in the viewer's eyes and slowly creeps into his mind, forcing him to return to those images too absurd to be true, yet absurdly true. Not to be missed.
South Korea, 1988. Oh Dae-su is a person normal (whatever that means), fully integrated into society. She leads a quiet life, gray, very quiet too: he has a wife, a daughter of four years and an old friend who pulls him out of trouble when he raises a little 'elbow (yes, sometimes it happens). The film begins: our Dae-su has actually had a few too many to drink and freaks out in a police station, but it's nothing serious. Spoke his friend Joo-hwan who drags him out of there and together reach a phone booth Dae-su and reassuring the worried wife. He wants to return home, he also bought a present for his daughter. Outside the cabin it rains, Dae-su goes out and leaves Joo-hwan staggered into the cabin to talk to his wife. 1988, telephone booth, rain, end of everything. You see a purple umbrella and Dae-su vanishes.
South Korea, 2003. Fifteen years have passed and Oh Dae-su is no longer a normal person. Fifteen years have many, many, may seem eternal, but if you are forced to pass them locked in a room without knowing why, without being able to go out alone with an old television set, four walls and a faux landscape in the window. Fifteen years of emptiness, madness, despair. Fifteen years of anguish and anger fierce. Clenched fists and kicks against the wall, fried ravioli every single day, hallucinations, ants do not exist under the skin, someone who all the drug nights and the despair of not knowing, not understanding. The desire for revenge that day after day, year after year, it grows and grows until it becomes the only reason to stay alive. Then the freedom and the bad dream that turns into a surreal nightmare, a whirlwind of events impossible to control. Severed hands, octopus eaten alive, phones ringing, fighting with a hammer, unknown women, blood and teeth ripped, suicidal dogs, a dagger stuck in his back, blackmail, ultimatums and chat colors. The desire to understand who you become, what you've become and why. "Although it is worse than a beast, I also do not have the right to live?". Anger and revenge are intertwined with fear, love, sex, buried memories. The answer comes, the truth emerges, vengeance is about to be eaten ... but Dae-su can not be just a pawn unconscious inside a maze game. Another truth, terrible and unbearable, is waiting for him in a colored box.
Old Boy (Oldboy or ) the second film by Korean director Chan-wook Park - loosely based on the eponymous Japanese manga - is a film visually perfect. The lights, mounting and framing change with the changing of history and fit perfectly in a complicated interlocking mechanism, made up of flashbacks, subplots, twists and sudden changes of register. A long fight, very realistic, is shot as if it were a scene from a '80s video game action, the hero seems to chase the past self in a beautiful alternate assembly that tells the re-emergence of his memories, some scenes were filmed with the camera fixed and aseptically documenting moments of unprecedented violence, others will follow the evolution in paroxysmal and smugly ironic. There is one scene the same, in Old Boy. It seems to pass from film to film, all the time. Oldboy is violent, hyperbolic, delirious over the top, but also a profound film that tells a tragic story and deals with universal themes and very strong as the feeling of revenge, hope, redemption, the failure, remorse, madness . At times the audience seems to be in a in a modern reworking of Shakespeare's plays four or five put together. The plays of Shakespeare are mixed then the topoi of classical Greek tragedies, violence adds to the disturbing and slapstick by turns suddenly tragic lyricism in black-humor comedy. All reinterpreted in manga through the eyes of a visionary director. The result is not simply sum of the parts, however, and the various components are not stacked on each other just to wink at the viewer (as it does, so perfect, Tarantino). In Old Boy all these mechanisms converge and come together in perfect unity. One unit terrible and deafening at the end of the film remains in the viewer's eyes and slowly creeps into his mind, forcing him to return to those images too absurd to be true, yet absurdly true. Not to be missed.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Monster Energy Printable Color Sheets
When I was little I dreamed of inventing a time machine and discover all the secrets of the universe, and I was sure that in 2005 there would be flying cars and spaceships, smart robots, teleportation, several close encounters with extraterrestrial civilizations and colonization of the Moon and Mars. I was clouded by Star Trek, Visitors , Star Wars, Back to the Future, ET, Blade Runner, the novels of Jules Verne and Herbert George Wells , Mickey and Lords of the Galaxy ( a teacher knows what ago without knowing it) and "Interplanetary Rockets," by Lester del Rey .
teens I realized that the certainty that I had as a child were nothing more than desires which could not have ever made, but I still harbored a glimmer of hope, and I liked to think that at least there would have been some other human journey to the moon, a small signal for the SETI a pianetucolo orbiting Sirius, the strophic holographic projectors and a lot of cyberpunk with the women in tight latex suit.
But no, the reality has far exceeded the imagination. In 2005, there are camera phones, AIBO, the 'International Space Station , Internet, iPod, PSP , fiction, reality shows and, above all, Darth Sidious is was elected Pope and chose to call himself Benedict XVI .*
* I am very proud to say that he was the world's first to notice the amazing and uncanny resemblance. On
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Sports Psychologist Salries
2005 AD The link between ape and protoscimmia: Catania,
Health a few weeks ago (a kind of Fitness a bit 'posh printed on tissue paper, Annex every Thursday in the Republic), published an interesting article on the afternoon naps. This article, whose title is brilliant Lullaby , contains valuable and useful scientific information about the characteristics of the nap (things like, "if we sleep too long a nap too deep anticipate sleep at night '), a short article about naps Chirac, a small interview with Enza Sampò entitled "Tender Is the dawn," a world map with information about the siesta in the world (in Mexico in 1800 striking workers slept along the walls and in Japan a nap in the office is governed by contract) and above the box which I reproduce below, containing some remarkable statistics.
Now, it could be debating for days on the deep reasons that led the editors of Health to choose to split the data in this way rather than another, why you chose to divide the in Italian children, the elderly, islands, center, Lazio and Catania and such in teenagers, mature women, North East, Veneto and Bari? And why does not list the sources? What statistical institute he's busy, and by what method? There is much to say (and laugh), but at the moment this is not what interests me to do. Since the data reported are correct, the thing that leaps to the eye is the percentage of people who make the nap in Catania (the 50%), well above the national average (14.6%) to that of Lazio and Rome (12.5%), islands (18.6%) and children (34.3%) and equal only to the data on the elderly. Now, the percentage of elderly in Catania is not above the national average, is even slightly lower. How possible, therefore, that half the inhabitants of Catania to do the nap? What is the explanation of a given well outside the norm? Is there a scientific explanation, and if so, you may be finding it possible to identify other characteristics of the population of Catania? Is not it strange the silence of the international scientific community on these disturbing data?
However, I have come to the conclusion that in this business there's a lot more irons in the fire than many people would have you believe. I was born in Catania and I live in this city forever, which, although not (yet) conducted any scientific study on this issue, I was able to get close contact with the people of Catania, and spent my entire life with them, to become in some way I Catania. The main problem of Catania, in addition to the connivance of political and mafia, lace and urban decay, is without doubt the traffic ('u cciafficu). Catania is the tenth most populated Italian city. According to the census of 2001, Catania has 313,110 inhabitants, while in 1971 there were more than 400,000. Now, the depopulation of the major Italian cities is a fact, but it is natural to wonder what happened to fewer than 100,000 people of Catania, volatilizzatisi over a few decades. They're all dead? They moved en masse to Pisa, in order to stay close to![[info]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_sfzMuMYLgXjlvwyQcOFQNhjX-DPW7AgTvfy9DmqPZjzVoB89BBt7nckmY5xad-jieJ7K7rJ9kEBsG9q3j_QIDAHHdZJ9q8C6KjADqtLCctzH6T1w=s0-d)
drpsycho , their illustrious fellow citizen? No, I have just moved house, but did not go very far. Almost all have moved to 5, maximum 10 km, going to live in one of the many villages of the hinterland of Catania. Catania is connected seamlessly to a myriad of towns during the last few years have seen a boom in population, becoming the megaquartieri peripheral. The metropolitan area of Catania has more than 700,000, bringing the town of Etna in Italy in fifth place (after the first of Turin and Palermo) by number of inhabitants. The vast majority of these people, of course, continues working in Catania, and without a network of decent public services, most flock en masse to the streets with their car.
traffic in Catania, then, for structural reasons, would be a big problem. to aggravate it and make it a terrible tragedy and a endless drama, however, is the way in which he lived to locals. The Highway Code is not a cliché, is not very respected here in southern Italy. Just a stroll in Naples or Palermo to realize this. Catania is no exception at all. Follow the paved roads (or patched) of this city is a real entity, and must be equipped a considerable amount of courage to face it. The cars are parked in the third or fourth row ( swear that I'm not joking, a few days ago I was going to stop a car parked almost in the middle of the road by a guy who had to buy a pack of cigarettes) just to leave them right in front to where you want to go. The fact that there is free parking for twenty yards away is irrelevant, why do twenty meters walk when you can park in the street? You have no civic sense, everyone is sure to be the absolute lord and master of the road and the city. Overtaking from the right, dealing with the intersections for no reason, tonnes of rubbish are thrown out the window, the only known arrows are those used by Indians in western movies, stop just an anagram of commercials and no entry is a thing pointless. Who gets the license and learning to drive in Catania, can then drive in any other city in the world. These problems are particularly pronounced in Catania, but at these levels, as I said above, are common to many southern cities.
Something, however, that only exists in Catania. Something unique that makes that a reality Catania abnormal and worthy of being studied scientifically. This is the so-called taliatina . The taliatina is that particular kind of look, if not impossible to understand from personal experience, typical of many motorists Catania. Every language is an alphabet of symbols whose use presupposes a past that the interlocutors share, how to convey to others the immeasurable taliatina , fearful that my memory barely covers? * I will try but failed to give even a vague idea something that I can barely understand. The taliatina is a particular kind of look, I said, typical of many motorists Catania. It is used whenever the car he is wrong. Most obvious is wrong, the more powerful the taliatina. You look while evil, cruel, brutish and horrible to behold, atavistic, ancestral. To look for a while in the throes of Catania taliatina (which is really as if it were seized with a fit, unable to control themselves) means to face the past of mankind, the struggle for survival, the pitiless wars of our ancestors where you only win if it was the strongest and most ruthless of all the others. It means to travel back in time, way behind even before Hobbes' homo homini lupus, "at a time when homo sapiens did not exist (or even homo erectus, homo habilis and Australopithecus afarensis ). It is an incredible experience that can traumatize and mark forever even the most wise and rational. Imagine the scene: a person driving his toy car to go quietly in the gym or run errands, when at one point a guy comes out at full speed from one place in the second row, without putting the arrow, and forcing him to brake suddenly. As soon as the person tries to protest timidly * ZAC * takes the taliatina, with all its cargo and animal ancestral hatred, possibly accompanied by a primitive form of language sub-human, as "mbar, ccchi spacchiu you doing?" (Trad . 'friend, who acciderbola do? "). I defy anyone not to fall into the deepest anxiety in the face of all this.
Now, I am convinced that taliatina is somehow linked to the percentage figure that I quoted at the beginning of this post. In the article on Health, says that the siesta is "The remainder of the daytime sleep of primitive man that today keep the babies and the very elderly, alternating intake of food and sleep." I am sure that if you thoroughly study the genetic characteristics of Catania, the data would be obtained shocking. The Catania are not normal human beings, their DNA has some anomalies in the taliatina and the spread of the nap effects are evident. Not all are so Catania, fortunately. Catania, throughout its history, has undergone a considerable amount of domination, and perhaps some are actually normal Catania direct descendants of the Arabs, the Normans or the early settlers Chalcis, and the modified DNA is a characteristic of someone who has among his ancestors the monkeys living in this area hundreds of thousands of years ago and that, somehow, managed to reproduce by mixing with humans. Perhaps the genetic abnormalities are present in all the people of Catania, only that some are carriers and do not develop symptoms and others do not. I do not know. What is certain is that this is an issue that should be studied in great detail, because could shed new light on the evolutionary history of mankind.
* I thank Jorge and I apologize to him.
Health a few weeks ago (a kind of Fitness a bit 'posh printed on tissue paper, Annex every Thursday in the Republic), published an interesting article on the afternoon naps. This article, whose title is brilliant Lullaby , contains valuable and useful scientific information about the characteristics of the nap (things like, "if we sleep too long a nap too deep anticipate sleep at night '), a short article about naps Chirac, a small interview with Enza Sampò entitled "Tender Is the dawn," a world map with information about the siesta in the world (in Mexico in 1800 striking workers slept along the walls and in Japan a nap in the office is governed by contract) and above the box which I reproduce below, containing some remarkable statistics.
Now, it could be debating for days on the deep reasons that led the editors of Health to choose to split the data in this way rather than another, why you chose to divide the in Italian children, the elderly, islands, center, Lazio and Catania and such in teenagers, mature women, North East, Veneto and Bari? And why does not list the sources? What statistical institute he's busy, and by what method? There is much to say (and laugh), but at the moment this is not what interests me to do. Since the data reported are correct, the thing that leaps to the eye is the percentage of people who make the nap in Catania (the 50%), well above the national average (14.6%) to that of Lazio and Rome (12.5%), islands (18.6%) and children (34.3%) and equal only to the data on the elderly. Now, the percentage of elderly in Catania is not above the national average, is even slightly lower. How possible, therefore, that half the inhabitants of Catania to do the nap? What is the explanation of a given well outside the norm? Is there a scientific explanation, and if so, you may be finding it possible to identify other characteristics of the population of Catania? Is not it strange the silence of the international scientific community on these disturbing data?
However, I have come to the conclusion that in this business there's a lot more irons in the fire than many people would have you believe. I was born in Catania and I live in this city forever, which, although not (yet) conducted any scientific study on this issue, I was able to get close contact with the people of Catania, and spent my entire life with them, to become in some way I Catania. The main problem of Catania, in addition to the connivance of political and mafia, lace and urban decay, is without doubt the traffic ('u cciafficu). Catania is the tenth most populated Italian city. According to the census of 2001, Catania has 313,110 inhabitants, while in 1971 there were more than 400,000. Now, the depopulation of the major Italian cities is a fact, but it is natural to wonder what happened to fewer than 100,000 people of Catania, volatilizzatisi over a few decades. They're all dead? They moved en masse to Pisa, in order to stay close to
drpsycho , their illustrious fellow citizen? No, I have just moved house, but did not go very far. Almost all have moved to 5, maximum 10 km, going to live in one of the many villages of the hinterland of Catania. Catania is connected seamlessly to a myriad of towns during the last few years have seen a boom in population, becoming the megaquartieri peripheral. The metropolitan area of Catania has more than 700,000, bringing the town of Etna in Italy in fifth place (after the first of Turin and Palermo) by number of inhabitants. The vast majority of these people, of course, continues working in Catania, and without a network of decent public services, most flock en masse to the streets with their car. traffic in Catania, then, for structural reasons, would be a big problem. to aggravate it and make it a terrible tragedy and a endless drama, however, is the way in which he lived to locals. The Highway Code is not a cliché, is not very respected here in southern Italy. Just a stroll in Naples or Palermo to realize this. Catania is no exception at all. Follow the paved roads (or patched) of this city is a real entity, and must be equipped a considerable amount of courage to face it. The cars are parked in the third or fourth row ( swear that I'm not joking, a few days ago I was going to stop a car parked almost in the middle of the road by a guy who had to buy a pack of cigarettes) just to leave them right in front to where you want to go. The fact that there is free parking for twenty yards away is irrelevant, why do twenty meters walk when you can park in the street? You have no civic sense, everyone is sure to be the absolute lord and master of the road and the city. Overtaking from the right, dealing with the intersections for no reason, tonnes of rubbish are thrown out the window, the only known arrows are those used by Indians in western movies, stop just an anagram of commercials and no entry is a thing pointless. Who gets the license and learning to drive in Catania, can then drive in any other city in the world. These problems are particularly pronounced in Catania, but at these levels, as I said above, are common to many southern cities.
Something, however, that only exists in Catania. Something unique that makes that a reality Catania abnormal and worthy of being studied scientifically. This is the so-called taliatina . The taliatina is that particular kind of look, if not impossible to understand from personal experience, typical of many motorists Catania. Every language is an alphabet of symbols whose use presupposes a past that the interlocutors share, how to convey to others the immeasurable taliatina , fearful that my memory barely covers? * I will try but failed to give even a vague idea something that I can barely understand. The taliatina is a particular kind of look, I said, typical of many motorists Catania. It is used whenever the car he is wrong. Most obvious is wrong, the more powerful the taliatina. You look while evil, cruel, brutish and horrible to behold, atavistic, ancestral. To look for a while in the throes of Catania taliatina (which is really as if it were seized with a fit, unable to control themselves) means to face the past of mankind, the struggle for survival, the pitiless wars of our ancestors where you only win if it was the strongest and most ruthless of all the others. It means to travel back in time, way behind even before Hobbes' homo homini lupus, "at a time when homo sapiens did not exist (or even homo erectus, homo habilis and Australopithecus afarensis ). It is an incredible experience that can traumatize and mark forever even the most wise and rational. Imagine the scene: a person driving his toy car to go quietly in the gym or run errands, when at one point a guy comes out at full speed from one place in the second row, without putting the arrow, and forcing him to brake suddenly. As soon as the person tries to protest timidly * ZAC * takes the taliatina, with all its cargo and animal ancestral hatred, possibly accompanied by a primitive form of language sub-human, as "mbar, ccchi spacchiu you doing?" (Trad . 'friend, who acciderbola do? "). I defy anyone not to fall into the deepest anxiety in the face of all this.
Now, I am convinced that taliatina is somehow linked to the percentage figure that I quoted at the beginning of this post. In the article on Health, says that the siesta is "The remainder of the daytime sleep of primitive man that today keep the babies and the very elderly, alternating intake of food and sleep." I am sure that if you thoroughly study the genetic characteristics of Catania, the data would be obtained shocking. The Catania are not normal human beings, their DNA has some anomalies in the taliatina and the spread of the nap effects are evident. Not all are so Catania, fortunately. Catania, throughout its history, has undergone a considerable amount of domination, and perhaps some are actually normal Catania direct descendants of the Arabs, the Normans or the early settlers Chalcis, and the modified DNA is a characteristic of someone who has among his ancestors the monkeys living in this area hundreds of thousands of years ago and that, somehow, managed to reproduce by mixing with humans. Perhaps the genetic abnormalities are present in all the people of Catania, only that some are carriers and do not develop symptoms and others do not. I do not know. What is certain is that this is an issue that should be studied in great detail, because could shed new light on the evolutionary history of mankind.
* I thank Jorge and I apologize to him.
Monday, February 28, 2005
33 Weeks Pregnant And Have A Tender Tummy
Shameless
I just finished to follow the evening edition of TG5. Yes, they are incredibly masochistic. I've seen it all, from 19:59 to 20:31. Thirty minutes of pure enjoyment. The opening sentence: "Italy has become a freezer full of frozen expensive" (sic). Services: 10 minutes on the snow, rain and storms, 10 minutes on the pope who is not so well but is slowly recovering (now made the burp is a good sign), 5 minutes to process Want to Marchi, with advertisements in the final Strip the news this evening dedicated to this hot problem 'to meet fans of the case "(sic), 5 minutes on a guy who stole the coins in the Trevi fountain and was caught with a haul of 42 € and finally, at 20.30 o'clock, well 20 seconds on the death of Mario Luzi , one of the greatest Italian poets of the twentieth century. Sic.
I just finished to follow the evening edition of TG5. Yes, they are incredibly masochistic. I've seen it all, from 19:59 to 20:31. Thirty minutes of pure enjoyment. The opening sentence: "Italy has become a freezer full of frozen expensive" (sic). Services: 10 minutes on the snow, rain and storms, 10 minutes on the pope who is not so well but is slowly recovering (now made the burp is a good sign), 5 minutes to process Want to Marchi, with advertisements in the final Strip the news this evening dedicated to this hot problem 'to meet fans of the case "(sic), 5 minutes on a guy who stole the coins in the Trevi fountain and was caught with a haul of 42 € and finally, at 20.30 o'clock, well 20 seconds on the death of Mario Luzi , one of the greatest Italian poets of the twentieth century. Sic.
How To Write A Letter Of Interest Sorority
telephone conversation + hypnagogic been
speaker phone ready oh hello how are you're in the wheel of Euronics is a camcorder minidv samsung to 299 €, a digital camera to 169 €, 29 € for a cordless phone, a pen phosphorescent € 9, a toothbrush to € 0.9, a long blond hair is not dyed to 0.09 € rustling you hear there is a ready ready ready beep click the box, however, deserves Grace Jones also that of Godard vhs audio cd pretty well and I Advertising barilla one set of 80 fly-Petersburg Petrograd Leningrad or shalom is a newspaper ankle is the director thinks that laughter DeLillo really laugh a lot 'na figure as you say screensaver flickr and the short film at school in Catania, the ghost of the castle like that was from my bet mo' black mark creative writing anything pink triangle boh 'this guy is disturbing and 2013 will be the universal implosion in the megalopolis is the base of the Masonic Lodge, Licio Gelli no has nothing to do I have to read Shakespeare Chekhov predal a chapter every now and then a pack a ball a ball in center decentralized everywhere rocky horror the flight of the siren lives an hour and a half away by bus barton fink record the music with mulinciane I suck I have not read Little Red Riding Hood plutonian
Cidda between the record company that stands out the beautiful cover that I was only 9 years, the screwdriver and made dueottosei mechintosc plus the sixty-four commodo Shortvillage and say there's nothing imeil mummies star wars Pasquino Easter Monday after the producer of the film a CIA blog in Indonesian language reads the last free hammer Minghella is a skinny Paraplast I had a six scunchiurutu pheasant producer under the soles of shoes rosso result Emilia worked on the heart draw a humanist sect remember me running a vanilla sky is my chick running friend you have not seen you open your eyes fool Zen and the art of reading the manga right side rocky glen or glenda you have kissed you and Buetti I come get married with the kilt and inflatable dolls
eh so go to her aunt's house with Dana International Michael Cimino grenade press Kodansha kodama love John Fante DeLillo coppola scorsese dick a lot today are looking vanvitelli Daniel Pennac an iridescent fuck of people to go and dig taormina film fest with a long beard goat me you rabbi daniel Dannett subject develops cats dust nasty kidnap and then the executioner in a wheelchair wheel grinder migrated to Japan in San Francisco migrated handsome noir taormina noir and there is always the pokemon and the dolphin is a sentient being even if he graduated in physics I disappoint you tell me how much from 1 to 256 relax do not think I'm telling you because I like Umberto Eco and lebowski witching hour you thought werewolves evangelion us topless on the train w carlo hideoki visa mastercard what the hell I say just let it be not to think about how we'll not forget about think what's important is ... hello soon I love you so much
speaker phone ready oh hello how are you're in the wheel of Euronics is a camcorder minidv samsung to 299 €, a digital camera to 169 €, 29 € for a cordless phone, a pen phosphorescent € 9, a toothbrush to € 0.9, a long blond hair is not dyed to 0.09 € rustling you hear there is a ready ready ready beep click the box, however, deserves Grace Jones also that of Godard vhs audio cd pretty well and I Advertising barilla one set of 80 fly-Petersburg Petrograd Leningrad or shalom is a newspaper ankle is the director thinks that laughter DeLillo really laugh a lot 'na figure as you say screensaver flickr and the short film at school in Catania, the ghost of the castle like that was from my bet mo' black mark creative writing anything pink triangle boh 'this guy is disturbing and 2013 will be the universal implosion in the megalopolis is the base of the Masonic Lodge, Licio Gelli no has nothing to do I have to read Shakespeare Chekhov predal a chapter every now and then a pack a ball a ball in center decentralized everywhere rocky horror the flight of the siren lives an hour and a half away by bus barton fink record the music with mulinciane I suck I have not read Little Red Riding Hood plutonian
Cidda between the record company that stands out the beautiful cover that I was only 9 years, the screwdriver and made dueottosei mechintosc plus the sixty-four commodo Shortvillage and say there's nothing imeil mummies star wars Pasquino Easter Monday after the producer of the film a CIA blog in Indonesian language reads the last free hammer Minghella is a skinny Paraplast I had a six scunchiurutu pheasant producer under the soles of shoes rosso result Emilia worked on the heart draw a humanist sect remember me running a vanilla sky is my chick running friend you have not seen you open your eyes fool Zen and the art of reading the manga right side rocky glen or glenda you have kissed you and Buetti I come get married with the kilt and inflatable dolls
eh so go to her aunt's house with Dana International Michael Cimino grenade press Kodansha kodama love John Fante DeLillo coppola scorsese dick a lot today are looking vanvitelli Daniel Pennac an iridescent fuck of people to go and dig taormina film fest with a long beard goat me you rabbi daniel Dannett subject develops cats dust nasty kidnap and then the executioner in a wheelchair wheel grinder migrated to Japan in San Francisco migrated handsome noir taormina noir and there is always the pokemon and the dolphin is a sentient being even if he graduated in physics I disappoint you tell me how much from 1 to 256 relax do not think I'm telling you because I like Umberto Eco and lebowski witching hour you thought werewolves evangelion us topless on the train w carlo hideoki visa mastercard what the hell I say just let it be not to think about how we'll not forget about think what's important is ... hello soon I love you so much
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Nadine Jansen Angela White
And for my 19th birthday I got a union card and a wedding The coat
Today I remembered that I, too, some eon ago, I turned 18. No, say 18 years, an age fundamental (at eighteen you can watch porn movies on your portable DVD player while driving, not pizza and figs). I felt like sharing with you the many photos of sballosissimo megaparty which was organized to celebrate worthily my move to age ( dasketch , take note). I put them after the lj cut, because they weigh a tot.
Today I remembered that I, too, some eon ago, I turned 18. No, say 18 years, an age fundamental (at eighteen you can watch porn movies on your portable DVD player while driving, not pizza and figs). I felt like sharing with you the many photos of sballosissimo megaparty which was organized to celebrate worthily my move to age (
dasketch , take note). I put them after the lj cut, because they weigh a tot. 
Sunday, January 23, 2005
All Nighter Woodstove Any Good
nonexistent Giulia slum There
Joycean streams of consciousness written with all the commas in the right place, sudden changes of register, wild fantasies of a restless mind, lucidity and clarity descriptive piece by piece so neurotic. We are faced with all this reading I slums exist, the main story of the collection A normal person - the slums do not exist and other stories shameless of Julia C. - Aka giuvax , a young writer bell become famous for more blogs than a human mind can imagine and for having created the popular web community ![[info]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_vmvkqPDGt-hrPV-wHxJsrzi0JBuI6RFysBfEAH3e6R0e6MoHwhH9JJll6IBj_vvvkS6bKen43MURaRfV-ACT0pUMH1LZuUwuBfk1z-lX3YFO1d9JYjWA=s0-d)
rompicats . The Lower Depths is a non-existent ensemble crowds of narrative fragments, a building made with pieces do not fit, a shake-free connection of perceptions. The plot, the fabric, history have no meaning, and the reader - wrong-footed and confused - can not help but suffer the tidal wave made of thoughts and liquefied upset that the project, in the short space of fourteen dense pages, within the hallucinations of the self narrative. The strength of this young author's writing lies in the way it manages to mix elements contradictory topoi classical and postmodern experiments, descriptions, and speculations existential narratives in a giant blender cerebralemotivo. Who is the protagonist of this story? The mind, I crystallized the author? No, that overwhelms the ego and stuns the poor reader with tons of other ideas and delusions that the card is not unaware of a mad mosaic behind which does not hide any figure, a piece of a patchwork made of different fabrics and irreconcilable. This is, in hindsight, the real weakness and extreme contradiction This story, yet so charming and well written: it is a true story (but - warning - not even a jumble of diaries, as it may seem after a cursory reading). There is no structure capable of supporting stories and visions. There is too in The Lower Depths nonexistent, too much even for the author, a victim of its excess of virtuosity, unable to dominate and shape the chaos of all the universes of his own mind. In short, if someone asked me if I liked the story, that I could not say no, because I slums exist is not a story. 
is an envelope full of different puzzle pieces, not a real puzzle where you can slowly and patiently build a figure, even absurd or incomprehensible, but the result of assembly of shapes made to be embedded. The cards should be able to match if you want to create a design, an idea, just a story, otherwise remain only fragments of different designs put together without any purpose, just to make the river in full flood of his own thoughts (but then it would be fair keep the words and hide the rest of the world, inevitably destined not to understand [1]). A narrator is one who takes your soul and your guts, winks and makes you jump in front of his creation [2]. The author comes close to us at different times, some lines The Slum de nonexistent are pure energy, intense and bursting [3], the problem is that some lines are not enough, a true creation is integral, not built through the juxtaposition of so many minicreazioni can cause minisussulti unrelated to each other. The story is therefore non-existent, but some micro-are sublime. 
The lucid description of the non-dialogue with his father, for example, succeeds in a few lines to project the reader into the psyche of the characters and the sequence of thoughts, behaviors and events that brought them through endless ramifications of that interview- soliloquy "in the kitchen, late at night, over a cup of milk that sucks." The meeting with the baby on a bench by the lake and with a stranger in front of a window, the reflections on the hands that smell of wine and "cattiveggiare" the streets are like pictures taken with a precision lens that are printed in the mind of reader. All this, however, is not enough. Giulia C. have the talent and the true writer, but for now is a slave of enormous potential that can not handle. She lacks the ability (or maybe just the desire) to give birth to a plot, a story with a path, as labyrinthine, to be followed. The player is lost looking for a way to help him understand (not rationally explain or understand - in this case would not make sense - but just to understand) and he can not find, because in the words of Julia C. there is no path, or at least a route is really only understandable by the same author. In summary, and finally, the humble author of this brief review it is confronted with a substantial lack of narrative structure coupled with a massive force of writing. The author is very young, however, and can only improve (this is a commonplace, in reality often gets worse over time ... Orson Welles and Maradona teach). Judgement is then temporarily suspended, but I am firmly convinced that Julia C. is a writer with the power they capital that, sooner or later be able to dominate his creative genius [4] and will give us something great.
Giulia C., The Lower Depths nonexistent, published in the collection A normal person - the slums do not exist and other stories shameless , Adelphi, 232 pp., 12 €
[1] Just say, as does the author in the preface of the story, the reader must "imagine feelings sound emotions conflicts pain, only a few words [...]. Who does not understand will obviously out. "? Is this not an excuse to bariccheggiare in freedom?
[2] Yes, like a serial killer.
[3] Yes, like the bubble bath.
[4] What is certain is that it already dominates the market, given that his book became a best seller and has sold 57,000 copies in three weeks (some argue that this incredible success is due to the so-called effect Melissa P. , but that's another story).
giuvax , a young writer bell become famous for more blogs than a human mind can imagine and for having created the popular web community rompicats . The Lower Depths is a non-existent ensemble crowds of narrative fragments, a building made with pieces do not fit, a shake-free connection of perceptions. The plot, the fabric, history have no meaning, and the reader - wrong-footed and confused - can not help but suffer the tidal wave made of thoughts and liquefied upset that the project, in the short space of fourteen dense pages, within the hallucinations of the self narrative. The strength of this young author's writing lies in the way it manages to mix elements contradictory topoi classical and postmodern experiments, descriptions, and speculations existential narratives in a giant blender cerebralemotivo. Who is the protagonist of this story? The mind, I crystallized the author? No, that overwhelms the ego and stuns the poor reader with tons of other ideas and delusions that the card is not unaware of a mad mosaic behind which does not hide any figure, a piece of a patchwork made of different fabrics and irreconcilable. This is, in hindsight, the real weakness and extreme contradiction This story, yet so charming and well written: it is a true story (but - warning - not even a jumble of diaries, as it may seem after a cursory reading). There is no structure capable of supporting stories and visions. There is too in The Lower Depths nonexistent, too much even for the author, a victim of its excess of virtuosity, unable to dominate and shape the chaos of all the universes of his own mind. In short, if someone asked me if I liked the story, that I could not say no, because I slums exist is not a story. is an envelope full of different puzzle pieces, not a real puzzle where you can slowly and patiently build a figure, even absurd or incomprehensible, but the result of assembly of shapes made to be embedded. The cards should be able to match if you want to create a design, an idea, just a story, otherwise remain only fragments of different designs put together without any purpose, just to make the river in full flood of his own thoughts (but then it would be fair keep the words and hide the rest of the world, inevitably destined not to understand [1]). A narrator is one who takes your soul and your guts, winks and makes you jump in front of his creation [2]. The author comes close to us at different times, some lines The Slum de nonexistent are pure energy, intense and bursting [3], the problem is that some lines are not enough, a true creation is integral, not built through the juxtaposition of so many minicreazioni can cause minisussulti unrelated to each other. The story is therefore non-existent, but some micro-are sublime. The lucid description of the non-dialogue with his father, for example, succeeds in a few lines to project the reader into the psyche of the characters and the sequence of thoughts, behaviors and events that brought them through endless ramifications of that interview- soliloquy "in the kitchen, late at night, over a cup of milk that sucks." The meeting with the baby on a bench by the lake and with a stranger in front of a window, the reflections on the hands that smell of wine and "cattiveggiare" the streets are like pictures taken with a precision lens that are printed in the mind of reader. All this, however, is not enough. Giulia C. have the talent and the true writer, but for now is a slave of enormous potential that can not handle. She lacks the ability (or maybe just the desire) to give birth to a plot, a story with a path, as labyrinthine, to be followed. The player is lost looking for a way to help him understand (not rationally explain or understand - in this case would not make sense - but just to understand) and he can not find, because in the words of Julia C. there is no path, or at least a route is really only understandable by the same author. In summary, and finally, the humble author of this brief review it is confronted with a substantial lack of narrative structure coupled with a massive force of writing. The author is very young, however, and can only improve (this is a commonplace, in reality often gets worse over time ... Orson Welles and Maradona teach). Judgement is then temporarily suspended, but I am firmly convinced that Julia C. is a writer with the power they capital that, sooner or later be able to dominate his creative genius [4] and will give us something great. Giulia C., The Lower Depths nonexistent, published in the collection A normal person - the slums do not exist and other stories shameless , Adelphi, 232 pp., 12 €
[1] Just say, as does the author in the preface of the story, the reader must "imagine feelings sound emotions conflicts pain, only a few words [...]. Who does not understand will obviously out. "? Is this not an excuse to bariccheggiare in freedom?
[2] Yes, like a serial killer.
[3] Yes, like the bubble bath.
[4] What is certain is that it already dominates the market, given that his book became a best seller and has sold 57,000 copies in three weeks (some argue that this incredible success is due to the so-called effect Melissa P. , but that's another story).
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Translate I Want In Tamil
naturally escape routes female infant
From: Maria Elena
Date: Mon, 17 Jan 2005 10:05:19 +0000
To: Sim
'... I love puns, puns a bit 'twisted, which are just as many escape routes for that part of the soul that is the twists and turns, a bit ' female and a little' child ... "(François Truffaut )
course, I immediately thought when I read this thought in 'letters François ...
ME
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Sudden Motion Sick With Age
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