Female Celebrities Who Do Not Wax

South - South


It is in rough dust this place, as in the middle of the sun, biting through the puddle Mediterranean. Preserve the sprawling urban madness, raw materials are, of land as she and rocks and vegetation and sand. In the soft back of a German sedan that smells of leather, inside glazed, the nature contemplated in the black metal burning. And inside it looks the way with nausea on the edge of the tongue, lightly. He looks at the white line of center tarred his brain make him vomit breaded cutlet that contains the stomach acid. The colors and smells dry place him in a recall imagine him, a refuge. In this village in western or we walk a half-naked. Being a wild character and tribal. Be free because there is nowhere to go. It is as if he had to leave yesterday, and yesterday it was a year ago. He gets lost in the darkness of his glasses which obscures vision already dark. Which allows him to observe without being aware that hides its states. Melancholy is what this place is regular, he has seen throughout his life, he saw growing up with him. And vision of wasps coming out of one hole in the tomb of his grandfather is in his eyes. They eat meat, they eat the dead. Carrying large piece of flesh visible between their leg and be impressed. A grandfather reincarnated thousand things. Feeding the engine of life. Nourishing an eternity. Observing a young couple that intertwines the end of the small dyke of the small village. With fatalities in mind that prevents him from fully immerse in the moment of arrival.

Fort Myers Shrimp Boats

Epilogue - Act 5


The night sky here's where I want seems to be that which is fantasy but that does not exist. The wind noise sticks his vacuum in the ears and some stars seem already dead. And we have is still in the silent night, when the world seems suspended because people are tired at the foot of a church abandoned by the generation of realistic this time. Become a place of worship for people who spend time doing nothing with other people who do nothing, trying to find a love or a friend or a sexuality that touches or goal or vision of passing time. But none of it does not change the stars who died reincarnated in another solar system in a lot of noise and never actually dies in this dramatic sense of life. Nothing changes the sound of the empty wind carries the smell of others, while the smell of burning summer and the sand could change Diamond and my reflection is that of the other that we discover has this moment of his life. Whether short or long, destitute or wealthy, happy or not. Walking on the tarmac in the dark gray black, with the vision of my white shoes at the bottom of my eye for movement. That is the mark of a life that seeks in the slope of tar which finished with a donkey on the ground in front is marked "slow". The donkey is to enforce it and I avoid going in the lean flat space between the wall and the back. No connection with rebellion, it is a choice among the other as just as slow.
The desire of a beautiful symphonic music to film, poetic melancholy, somber and joyful, to give scale, find the child was and that we have the fears that without basic long-term. Simplify all this in a nice box with iridescent coloring that extends beyond the edges. The innocence that you can only have once in your life, think back in the swing of melancholy beautiful things.

Great Side To Go With Venison

Text 8


Feel the hollow spine of a world Far from rust
truths are laws
In this brackish water lake
Pungent burning eyes and dreams
Or the pretty girls still swim nevertheless
And aspires to the infinite lake bottom without
The olive branch that we are
In the pop things without names
For this there is no valid return
Just recycling a dark sand
In codes and imitations
In the reflection of red wine
roles and desires bottomless
In the shadow of the rock
So take this day without night
And creates this round you want to see shore.

Where Are Gloryholes In Dallas

South - Act 2


There are flies everywhere, and I think of the crap on it which are surely ask, so I try not to let them touch me. They come fuck the sound of their wings in my ears, the sound sucks. But forcing a one time or another one of those old larva raises its legs and his trunk on my white skin, it eats my dead skin, and all things that are invisible on my skin, she fed them. Or she just wants me to piss off. This fly with dust crap. And I said that made the flies are vital, they are a household that eludes us. The blonde redhead I put through the high volume on my computer to reduce noise steal their epilepsy. I look at the blue sky that envelops a barren hill in the open window and flies are the most and I only hear the sounds of teeming life in the garden all around. At that hour of the morning Cicadas do not do hear it without the sun disappear, the sun, they are nothing. This is what gives them their living movement. "Movement for Life" sounds very cult, very new age.
Just something simple and less like that, so simple that I never paid more attention. And then disappears. It is alive but there is no movement that goes with it.
So we must find that thing that prevents it from disappearing, a friend, a lover, a love, something, something, someone. But we do not want to show that we need anything to others, be weak in the sense that is more animal. For what has the fear of being eaten by the beast that is felt when All the lights are out, prowling for you swallow when she can. I feel we do not see with our eyes as a child, when one accepts the monsters of this kind. Or maybe she just has to bite, dog bites by what he feels fear, and he bites by what he is afraid.
And the beast grew up with us, grown, matured, fatigue.
This beast is probably fear. My legs
naked in the grass, I feel and I see the sun and I see colors and I see the ants in Indian tail, wondering what their life and I feel the heat and I do not want to be. I am the greatest children's garden flies. Shit is only the of a cycle that sustains life.
So I must say to all the people I love not to kill himself.
All this must be something I could call realistic optimism. And I regret to say such a term, for what it sounds masturbatory.
I reread what I write and I do not.
I want to take a Doliprane without a headache to see what it does.