paradise or Hell is other people.
Sartre, updated, corrected.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Is It Legal Drink In A Rv In Wisconsin
lepers Hell
paradise or Hell is other people.
Sartre, updated, corrected.
paradise or Hell is other people.
Sartre, updated, corrected.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Can I Sew On A Half-wig
The last photogram
procesos Are Organized yieldings dilapidation.
Emily Dickinson, 997
Slowly he descends
When the militia chased me away from everywhere, I was outcast to my brother’s chemists’ shop. One day Mario Cicarrelli turned up at the shop, a Canon perfume representative, before that, a university professor.
There’s Mario Ciccarelli, from Canon – I told my brother Roberto , who was snooping from the laboratory back room.
Roberto came up to the counter to greet the ex professor and ex journalist. They chatted for a while about politics in a casual way while Ciccarelly sharpened his pencil to take note of the order.
Roberto reminded him about the unflattering press release he had written. Cicarelli made fun of him saying that Roberto was supporting the Peronist right wing out of mental confusion.
Mario Ciccarelli had been very happy during university times, his intelligence surrounded him like a halo, he showed it off in bars where he truly held his chair but this paradise was short lived, just one year, hell became loose, false police groups would visit us with chains, iron bars and threats. That was the time when lecturers were discouraged with bombs that would explode at their doors.
After Perón’s death, breakdown speeded up. Isabel handed the fury of power onto Lopez Rega, the necromancer. He was granted an open way for murdering opponents to government from his Argentinian Anticommunist Alliance.
With Videla’s coup in March 1976, evil grew on, most of the lecturers and professors landed in different universities in Latin America and Europe but Mario stayed on devoted to developing that grey state of matters which we may call inner exile, that is, going unnoticed, talking as little as possible about politics and trying to keep revolutionary notions in some deep brain repository to survive.
When democracy came back, we returned to University like shadows, Mario recovered his chair but like a ghost.
Many of those who returned, bright revolutionaries in their days, were selling their ideological transvestism to political realism stepping on each other’s feet – as in super stores sales- to see who would get first to become “researchers” in Cepal, Oea, Unicef, Ford Foundation and other paying acronyms. From that standpoint they produced scores of toothless briefs – precision abandoned- reporting the obvious: Poverty; children’s poverty, education poverty, extreme illiteracy, crime and Latin America’s dependency on EEUU. With their papers and briefs condoned by their social democrat bosses and a cheque on its way, they went home to watch their favourite cable television program in their slippers, sprawling on their settees.
Mario chose to remain , wrapped in his gruesome jokes, in his pathetic Althusser and his film project: “Lencinas’ murder” in his mind.
From his chair in Sociology, Mario was becoming more of a bore and less of a charmer. He basked in the sun in the University swimming pool. He looked like an old and tired lion, lurking for his prey. When he found an adequate one, the predator stood up and launched his attack using his wit.
More seldom than often he would return, his prey in his claws to last him for a while, but most of the times he would suffer the brunt of being reckoned as a dirty old man, slobbering, pathetic.
His teaching became disastrous, his vocation focussed on consulting hours with girls not above 24, he would invite them for coffee in the centre and he would single out the one who went along with his chatting.
I learnt about what had happened to Mario through an offhand comment from a friend who assumed I knew. Mario suffered from Parkinson which affected his winsome ways.
He seldom left his house. Silane was among the few friends who visited him. He never saw a photogram of his alleged film except for drafts of a story board sketched on paper napkins from bars.
-He would tell me about a scene – Silanes said –I am game to spin a yarn and I would tell him to include one thing or another and we would engage in a visionary chat for three or four hours absolutely out of touch with surrounding reality (surrounding is a shitty word) I mean prevailing ( no, not this one either) , the reality of others, this is exactly what happened.
Silanes was one of the few people who noticed how ghostly Mario had become, how something was missing there. On the other hand Mario dreaded having his spirited away condition discovered; this is why he kept to his inner exile: walking the same streets, wearing the same face and smile, they didn’t know he was a ghost.
In the night of 18th November, Mario, like Peter Pan and having told no one, flies off from his window. He hasn’t been whisked away by the light holes some books talk about. He’s wearing his spectacles, his hair, his short sleeved shirts even in winter; in those moccasins of his with the silver buckles. There he is with his briefcase, his brown trousers, their bottoms tattered. Nobody can welcome him because Mario doesn’t know nothingness doesn’t exist. 
procesos Are Organized yieldings dilapidation.
Emily Dickinson, 997
Luisa Gonzalez
"The windowpanes Shatters Splintered and an angel with wings appears. He Remains weightless for a while, and Then He rises up gazing at the small town, ITS walls, further on from the castle, made of mist and snow. The mountains and the smoking volcano lay far away. A murky ocean surrounds everything. There’s a fire far, far away. Slowly he descends
When the militia chased me away from everywhere, I was outcast to my brother’s chemists’ shop. One day Mario Cicarrelli turned up at the shop, a Canon perfume representative, before that, a university professor.
There’s Mario Ciccarelli, from Canon – I told my brother Roberto , who was snooping from the laboratory back room.
Roberto came up to the counter to greet the ex professor and ex journalist. They chatted for a while about politics in a casual way while Ciccarelly sharpened his pencil to take note of the order.
Roberto reminded him about the unflattering press release he had written. Cicarelli made fun of him saying that Roberto was supporting the Peronist right wing out of mental confusion.
Mario Ciccarelli had been very happy during university times, his intelligence surrounded him like a halo, he showed it off in bars where he truly held his chair but this paradise was short lived, just one year, hell became loose, false police groups would visit us with chains, iron bars and threats. That was the time when lecturers were discouraged with bombs that would explode at their doors.
After Perón’s death, breakdown speeded up. Isabel handed the fury of power onto Lopez Rega, the necromancer. He was granted an open way for murdering opponents to government from his Argentinian Anticommunist Alliance.
With Videla’s coup in March 1976, evil grew on, most of the lecturers and professors landed in different universities in Latin America and Europe but Mario stayed on devoted to developing that grey state of matters which we may call inner exile, that is, going unnoticed, talking as little as possible about politics and trying to keep revolutionary notions in some deep brain repository to survive.
When democracy came back, we returned to University like shadows, Mario recovered his chair but like a ghost.
Many of those who returned, bright revolutionaries in their days, were selling their ideological transvestism to political realism stepping on each other’s feet – as in super stores sales- to see who would get first to become “researchers” in Cepal, Oea, Unicef, Ford Foundation and other paying acronyms. From that standpoint they produced scores of toothless briefs – precision abandoned- reporting the obvious: Poverty; children’s poverty, education poverty, extreme illiteracy, crime and Latin America’s dependency on EEUU. With their papers and briefs condoned by their social democrat bosses and a cheque on its way, they went home to watch their favourite cable television program in their slippers, sprawling on their settees.
Mario chose to remain , wrapped in his gruesome jokes, in his pathetic Althusser and his film project: “Lencinas’ murder” in his mind.
From his chair in Sociology, Mario was becoming more of a bore and less of a charmer. He basked in the sun in the University swimming pool. He looked like an old and tired lion, lurking for his prey. When he found an adequate one, the predator stood up and launched his attack using his wit.
More seldom than often he would return, his prey in his claws to last him for a while, but most of the times he would suffer the brunt of being reckoned as a dirty old man, slobbering, pathetic.
His teaching became disastrous, his vocation focussed on consulting hours with girls not above 24, he would invite them for coffee in the centre and he would single out the one who went along with his chatting.
I learnt about what had happened to Mario through an offhand comment from a friend who assumed I knew. Mario suffered from Parkinson which affected his winsome ways.
He seldom left his house. Silane was among the few friends who visited him. He never saw a photogram of his alleged film except for drafts of a story board sketched on paper napkins from bars.
-He would tell me about a scene – Silanes said –I am game to spin a yarn and I would tell him to include one thing or another and we would engage in a visionary chat for three or four hours absolutely out of touch with surrounding reality (surrounding is a shitty word) I mean prevailing ( no, not this one either) , the reality of others, this is exactly what happened.
Silanes was one of the few people who noticed how ghostly Mario had become, how something was missing there. On the other hand Mario dreaded having his spirited away condition discovered; this is why he kept to his inner exile: walking the same streets, wearing the same face and smile, they didn’t know he was a ghost.
In the night of 18th November, Mario, like Peter Pan and having told no one, flies off from his window. He hasn’t been whisked away by the light holes some books talk about. He’s wearing his spectacles, his hair, his short sleeved shirts even in winter; in those moccasins of his with the silver buckles. There he is with his briefcase, his brown trousers, their bottoms tattered. Nobody can welcome him because Mario doesn’t know nothingness doesn’t exist.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Can A Pinguecula Vanish
Zoltan Veres small
Currently the blog is in a period of pause until next week. Starting Monday everything will be normal.
Sorry.
Sponsors:
mature videos 
Currently the blog is in a period of pause until next week. Starting Monday everything will be normal.
Sorry.
Sponsors:
mature videos
Monday, March 23, 2009
Why Does My Moms Feet Smell?
Letter cahuinadencul Friends
seedlings Hello beautiful friends! Last Wednesday after sending the newsletter and as he painted my Temazcal, came one of the moments we were always waiting, a police raid on our house and in our offices, a procedure in which I was arrested with the two people we help.
For more than three months he was aware of a complaint against us and know conclusively that this day would come, so we were already prepared for that.
ago, more than seven years we made a big commitment when deciding to create Cahuinadencul, the first shop specializing in etnobothanical of Argentina and Latin America. We knew it was a hard way, unexplored and would have to overcome more difficulties to stand firm and do not hesitate to take this path.
In this journey we set clear objectives to fulfill the mission that lay ahead: to facilitate access to ancestral knowledge that man was developed through thousands of years, especially with respect to the use of sacred plants and medicine from different parts of the world. Nothing more and nothing less than Cahuinadencul born with that spirit.
At first I was not sure if it was a crazy dreamer! Over time we realized that we were not alone in this quest, we were very many but those who felt and thought like us.
In the raid were carried well over 200 sacred cactus, including peyote and Sampedro, yage, cebil, and a few other plants ephedra. You can see some of what came out in the media through the following links: http:/
http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/sociedad/3-121851-2009-03-20.html
/ www.elpopular.com.ar/diario/2009/03/21/nota.html?idnota=48361
http://www.infoeme.com.ar/noticia.asp?id=15349
In the Desert Wiricuta in Mexico learned that the best way to approach to medicine is without shame and without fear, and today more than ever we are proud to do what we do.
The resolution signed by the judge says Antonio Saladino severe failures investigation of the case but says more tests are needed for the imputation that the `mere possession of plants or seeds to a greater or lesser extent contain any substance prohibited by law." The judge entered a second consideration on this point: 'the presence of prohibited substance is sometimes unknown and others so small that the profitability of its use for the drug is practically nil. "
I'm sure the police who carried out research spectacular desconocian cebil trees that are planted by the government of the City of Buenos Aires in squares and public walks, plus there are thousands of acres of of this plant in the north of our country. Sanpedro probably unaware that grows naturally in the provinces of La Rioja, San Juan, Salta, Catamarca, or ipomoea seeds we sell are available in almost any decent florist in the country.
is a fact that the peyote to sell on the site, are babies who need more than 15 years of cultivation so that they can get to get the amount needed to use it as ritual, apart from having a few of course. And sanpedritos, that the only damage done is if click the legs and hands of several policemen.
Not to mention the 40 kidnapped ephedra seedlings, which had just over 5 inches, and that a whole is not even enough to prepare some tea to soothe a cough. The police also
probably unaware that our computers were protected by highly advanced encryption systems and thanks to which will not be able to access any of our data or our customers.
All this causes much embarrassment, but deep down we know that when it happens, will be a big door will open to that in the future these things will not happen, so that everyone can take home sacred plants you want without having to worry about come the lords of blue.
Our website was taken down by the poor server administrator, but we're doing the paperwork to return to be online soon. We have received all messages and orders, but we need a little patience and a few days to return to work as before, or even better. Meanwhile
can use alternative Web:
http://www.cahuinadencul.net
We appreciate those who want to express to sign our guest book (rather than write email accounts and we have a bit saturated.) They can do from here:
http://gbooks1.melodysoft.com/app?ID=cahuinadencul&do=sign
keep you informed of developments are happening!
As you know, you can cut all the flowers but never stop the Spring
Hugs
Javier Perez
www.cahuinadencul.net 
seedlings Hello beautiful friends! Last Wednesday after sending the newsletter and as he painted my Temazcal, came one of the moments we were always waiting, a police raid on our house and in our offices, a procedure in which I was arrested with the two people we help.
For more than three months he was aware of a complaint against us and know conclusively that this day would come, so we were already prepared for that.
ago, more than seven years we made a big commitment when deciding to create Cahuinadencul, the first shop specializing in etnobothanical of Argentina and Latin America. We knew it was a hard way, unexplored and would have to overcome more difficulties to stand firm and do not hesitate to take this path.
In this journey we set clear objectives to fulfill the mission that lay ahead: to facilitate access to ancestral knowledge that man was developed through thousands of years, especially with respect to the use of sacred plants and medicine from different parts of the world. Nothing more and nothing less than Cahuinadencul born with that spirit.
At first I was not sure if it was a crazy dreamer! Over time we realized that we were not alone in this quest, we were very many but those who felt and thought like us.
In the raid were carried well over 200 sacred cactus, including peyote and Sampedro, yage, cebil, and a few other plants ephedra. You can see some of what came out in the media through the following links: http:/
http://www.pagina12.com.ar/diario/sociedad/3-121851-2009-03-20.html
/ www.elpopular.com.ar/diario/2009/03/21/nota.html?idnota=48361
http://www.infoeme.com.ar/noticia.asp?id=15349
In the Desert Wiricuta in Mexico learned that the best way to approach to medicine is without shame and without fear, and today more than ever we are proud to do what we do.
The resolution signed by the judge says Antonio Saladino severe failures investigation of the case but says more tests are needed for the imputation that the `mere possession of plants or seeds to a greater or lesser extent contain any substance prohibited by law." The judge entered a second consideration on this point: 'the presence of prohibited substance is sometimes unknown and others so small that the profitability of its use for the drug is practically nil. "
I'm sure the police who carried out research spectacular desconocian cebil trees that are planted by the government of the City of Buenos Aires in squares and public walks, plus there are thousands of acres of of this plant in the north of our country. Sanpedro probably unaware that grows naturally in the provinces of La Rioja, San Juan, Salta, Catamarca, or ipomoea seeds we sell are available in almost any decent florist in the country.
is a fact that the peyote to sell on the site, are babies who need more than 15 years of cultivation so that they can get to get the amount needed to use it as ritual, apart from having a few of course. And sanpedritos, that the only damage done is if click the legs and hands of several policemen.
Not to mention the 40 kidnapped ephedra seedlings, which had just over 5 inches, and that a whole is not even enough to prepare some tea to soothe a cough. The police also
probably unaware that our computers were protected by highly advanced encryption systems and thanks to which will not be able to access any of our data or our customers.
All this causes much embarrassment, but deep down we know that when it happens, will be a big door will open to that in the future these things will not happen, so that everyone can take home sacred plants you want without having to worry about come the lords of blue.
Our website was taken down by the poor server administrator, but we're doing the paperwork to return to be online soon. We have received all messages and orders, but we need a little patience and a few days to return to work as before, or even better. Meanwhile
can use alternative Web:
http://www.cahuinadencul.net
We appreciate those who want to express to sign our guest book (rather than write email accounts and we have a bit saturated.) They can do from here:
http://gbooks1.melodysoft.com/app?ID=cahuinadencul&do=sign
keep you informed of developments are happening!
As you know, you can cut all the flowers but never stop the Spring
Hugs
Javier Perez
www.cahuinadencul.net
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Tattoo Shop In Manila
Van Helsing
Not to be noticed, that’s the motto in Transylvania, the Count’s eternal sleep must not be disturbed, nobody knows for sure whether he’s dead or alive. But everyone knows about stonings and impalements.
In the town’s inn, a stranger walks inside the gloomy hall, people whisper and take furtive glances at that man in a jacket and a tie carrying a briefcase, ¿what is he carrying there? they mutter.
A girl whose blue eyes gleam in the darkness of the hall takes his command. After soup and a vine that has made him giddy, she takes him to a room and fiercely makes love to him. Van Helsing has never had it so good. He feels his body Rested from His weariness, He Feels weightless, as if floating, restored from the brutish two week's journey. At dawn
His briefcase has Disappeared and I notices is Not His image returned by the mirror. Raul
Lilloy Translated by Luisa Gonzalez de Castejon 
Not to be noticed, that’s the motto in Transylvania, the Count’s eternal sleep must not be disturbed, nobody knows for sure whether he’s dead or alive. But everyone knows about stonings and impalements.
In the town’s inn, a stranger walks inside the gloomy hall, people whisper and take furtive glances at that man in a jacket and a tie carrying a briefcase, ¿what is he carrying there? they mutter.
A girl whose blue eyes gleam in the darkness of the hall takes his command. After soup and a vine that has made him giddy, she takes him to a room and fiercely makes love to him. Van Helsing has never had it so good. He feels his body Rested from His weariness, He Feels weightless, as if floating, restored from the brutish two week's journey. At dawn
His briefcase has Disappeared and I notices is Not His image returned by the mirror. Raul
Lilloy Translated by Luisa Gonzalez de Castejon
Friday, February 13, 2009
How Many Calories Are In A Publix Roast Beef Sub
cultural magazine in English Cuevas del Almanzora
English Magazine
http://issuu.com/isaperez/docs/one_year_to_remember
sends me one of its authors: Luisa Gonzalez de Castejon, is an English teacher Secondary Institute Jaroso and encourages the students, building castles in the air. Raul
English Magazine
http://issuu.com/isaperez/docs/one_year_to_remember
sends me one of its authors: Luisa Gonzalez de Castejon, is an English teacher Secondary Institute Jaroso and encourages the students, building castles in the air. Raul
Watch South Park Streaming Free
Cockroaches: big footed monsters
Lilloy Translated by Luisa Gonzalez de Castejon
The cockroach
is a beast million years older than man. Because of hidden reasons, they decided not to mutate. They live in holes, caves and crevices near sources of warmth; kitchens, boilers and stoves, even in our soft warm beds.
Zoologists have not been able to find out why they got themselves exiled from outdoor life in woods and meadows to dwell our foreboding homes. Danger has only increased since devastating insecticides were invented after II World War.
Nevertheless, cockroaches have continued to stay in gutters, cesspits, sweet smelling kitchens; anywhere their youngsters con be fermented by heat. Blatella Germanica and Orientalis are the most common western varieties. The first one is small with blond back and a swift stride, their females are very fertile and have short reproductive cycles, this allows them to swarm rapidly, covering every inch of the house. The Blatta Orientalis, black, bigger and less fertile, needs to stand back to take shelter where food and warmth are scarce. Their young ones are crunchy high energy delicacies for their cousins, the Germanica.
Night sets in; there is not longer any human smell, no lights on. Silently they crawl over the table looking for meat leftovers, egg shells and other titbits, they munch on and they mutter. I can hear them from my bedroom. I must scare them away; I go to the kitchen barefooted. I feel a kind of dampness and something crunching under my feet, my heels, more precisely.
I switch on the light and they scuttle to their holes. Some heavy females can’t manage to hide; they release their foetuses they had rammed up their buttocks and wait helplessly for the boiling water or disintegration under my slipper.
They will survive us, untouched by radioactivity and the acid dawning of the big nuclear night. They will leave their hiding places. For months they will feast on the festering remains on the shelves. Some of them, the ones with a scientific mind, will find us out, like in Pompeii, in our bedrooms, our snoring interrupted. They will wait for the decomposition of our proteins and fatty acids. Their dinner will turn us into dark shadows.
They will grow on and multiply, now out of danger, once the towns are empty of food they will get back to forests and meadows. They will remain watchful for evolution from some insect into homo sapiens for millions of years longer. Meanwhile they will retell their children about those times of big banquets and they will scare them with wonderful stories about towering footed monsters. 
The cockroach
is a beast million years older than man. Because of hidden reasons, they decided not to mutate. They live in holes, caves and crevices near sources of warmth; kitchens, boilers and stoves, even in our soft warm beds.
Zoologists have not been able to find out why they got themselves exiled from outdoor life in woods and meadows to dwell our foreboding homes. Danger has only increased since devastating insecticides were invented after II World War.
Nevertheless, cockroaches have continued to stay in gutters, cesspits, sweet smelling kitchens; anywhere their youngsters con be fermented by heat. Blatella Germanica and Orientalis are the most common western varieties. The first one is small with blond back and a swift stride, their females are very fertile and have short reproductive cycles, this allows them to swarm rapidly, covering every inch of the house. The Blatta Orientalis, black, bigger and less fertile, needs to stand back to take shelter where food and warmth are scarce. Their young ones are crunchy high energy delicacies for their cousins, the Germanica.
Night sets in; there is not longer any human smell, no lights on. Silently they crawl over the table looking for meat leftovers, egg shells and other titbits, they munch on and they mutter. I can hear them from my bedroom. I must scare them away; I go to the kitchen barefooted. I feel a kind of dampness and something crunching under my feet, my heels, more precisely.
I switch on the light and they scuttle to their holes. Some heavy females can’t manage to hide; they release their foetuses they had rammed up their buttocks and wait helplessly for the boiling water or disintegration under my slipper.
They will survive us, untouched by radioactivity and the acid dawning of the big nuclear night. They will leave their hiding places. For months they will feast on the festering remains on the shelves. Some of them, the ones with a scientific mind, will find us out, like in Pompeii, in our bedrooms, our snoring interrupted. They will wait for the decomposition of our proteins and fatty acids. Their dinner will turn us into dark shadows.
They will grow on and multiply, now out of danger, once the towns are empty of food they will get back to forests and meadows. They will remain watchful for evolution from some insect into homo sapiens for millions of years longer. Meanwhile they will retell their children about those times of big banquets and they will scare them with wonderful stories about towering footed monsters.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
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