Michigan Snowmobile Trail Reports

I'm in Misiones, but really, I'm somewhere else, I'm flying over the life, day, night, estalaticadel reasoning, logical candor sun slitting land.
found a bridge that is held on one side only, but in reality it is because it holds from below. Maybe you have to find is the subterfuge that is the answer, allowing us to enter a space too small for the body, a space in which the lights go down by poor facilities, because he felt like a buy a slingshot and aim to play with them, instead of firing at cans or birds.
I have wanted to throw me a stone on his head, letting the pain of beingcrossed, perpetuated, stimulated, drugged by azarozas situations that touch me.
I have the desire to break with a glass each wall, make a Zen garden and the remains of walls of veins, inputs and outputs, to find as a solution making the no-decision that inaction has a value in itself, which generate revenues without abrupt changes. As if a glass and smashed into him through, and I realize that was a mirror.
I just follow the white rabbit without having to decide to do, I can do it by inertia.
But deep down, really, when I think ... None of this is real ... I want, from the bottom, is to be the white rabbit, enlighten, make you smile, hacer love, make dinner, follow me, give reasons, give reasons, to wish, turn around, drop everything, leave me to myself, let me go. ----

On the other hand, I leave here a translation of Gherasim Luca ... I was checking my mails and found sat this one time I sent my favorite canary (sounds like you're the bird, but really, I think it says so, right?), Isaiah ... would have become of us without Tolkien ... does not say much, Ri, but all Tolkien's fault: P


THE INVENTOR OF LOVE (English translation: moi, or Marina Petersen)

From a temple to the other The blood of my Ebony suiDad of four o'clock so that we suspect of any subsequent embrace, either, but absolutely any human initiative contains this character mnemonic mitigating and four o'clock, to chance encounters, romance remarkable, to those of Suddenly surprising crisis of conscience. Leo
blood dirty man of watches, full of records, not tailored romances, full of complex fatal
full of limitations. With an upset
learned to ignore, I hasten to myself between these personalities, among these agencies endless, male and female humans, dogs, schools, mountains, terror and exaltation extinct everyday. For as few thousand years, put out later this humanoid Oedipus axiomatic that spread like an epidemic obscurantist, castration complex man, the man of birth trauma, against whom you support ; s your lovemaking, your occupation, your ties and your purse, your progress, your art, your churches. I hate the natural son of Oedipus, I abjure their pre desdeñoy biology. And if this is the reason why this man was born, then all I can do is renounce birth, abjure any axiom, and was proud of the appearance of certainty. Holding a curse this daily psychoogy, by the birth, we will never dig the potential to enter the world extrinsic birth trauma. Oedipus The man deserves his fate (...).
If the woman who enters into us not invent itself before our eyes, if your eyes do not leave the cliché of the burning by the time the image on the retina, if not allowed to be magnified, amazed, surprised and targeting
perpetually a virgin region, then the whole life seems like an arbitrary setting any age of our children, or humanity, a
mimic the lives of others. Seriously, then life becomes a routine theater where we performed Romeo, Cain, and Cesarto possession, possession a state of rest, and then to a new state of excitement, I think the recipe technique straitjacket of this cliché is the existence congenital human. If the execution of this simple act: to breathe in the essence of the locks of the lover, not bet our life, we do not compromise the fate of the last atoms in our plasma and the more distant star If this split second in which we run in full our doubts, our guesses, our restlessness, our most contradictory aspirations, then true love is, as we announced the pigs, no more q

Bmx Application Painting a little culture, Chee ... Oo .. this is called "the fart at work"

amp; about girls, ana of absence fall.
The boats are lost in your eyes
In the socket of disappearances
The abyss is revealed that the others extinct
The shadows that you believe are not entitled to night.



From "L'amour la poesie"





version Aldo Pellegrini