Mount And Blade English

on priests and military

long ago reached my ears a strong statement while chilling. Briefly summarized the history of modern Peru, easily applicable to much of the world. It touches us and what lies ahead. He said that to govern and live in peace was to live well with APRA, the Church and the military.

In the former does not think or dwell for a second. For that we have enough with Romulo Leon and company. Was the least bad option in 2006 and therefore are now where they play. Today I have wanted to speak instead of priests and military clans parasitic members of the "institutions" less productive in our society.

If anything I can disown the English since I live in this country is that more than 500 years have had the bad idea to land on earth new to cures with the cross in front [1]. I was surprised that a country as modern and eighth largest economy in the world until a few years ago allocate part of the money raised from taxes to feed the Church. At least now, as part of a multicultural and pluralistic European community and constitutionally secular, and not unilaterally allocate money from their taxpayer-Catholic or not-for feasts of priests, but everyone, so choose the income statement.

that I know in Peru is not intended part of the taxes to support the Church, because if so it should be done with Protestants and Muslims and even agnostics and atheists. But there they are, embedded, pinned their clutches among people. Reviewing what should not and instilling fear people always, hell, sin. Pristine in their vestments, giving orders and directing, unable to join the rank of workers eight or ten hours a day, or take hoe and shovel in exchange for a meager pay.

Somebody show me the statistics of the money generated within the EAP praying all day. Someone tell me if he found a cure by shopping at the square of the neighborhood or was in large supermarkets. What credit is that?

I believe that priests are the basis of the "institution" more selfish society. No work, and people want to do so were quickly excommunicated Vatican communist [2], but they are not frugal. Said to exist to help those without, but living in the preserve. And what is worse, already has a place reserved in heaven. The great institution of society is the family. Parents who wake up every morning and struggle to raise their children all day every day, shows real generosity, love and responsibility, while the priests, selfish all flee from that commitment, preferring to live by and for them and occasionally extend a hand to become the big givers when they only make a useless example of charity.

should be put to work.

Instead what happens with the military line to the side rather decadent, mediocre man: envy and spite.

video appears a rant of Chileans militarote is not nothing but a real sign of weakness and pathos in which nothing that "institution" [3]. I return to the same thing: someone show me the statistics of the money generated within the PEA. On top of these must be kept with our taxes as a priest in Spain! And why? Why the writing life ranting and cursing neighbors over spilled milk?

always thought that is the antonym perfect military intelligence. And now I have shown. To be a soldier must be willing to swallow the ideas to change orders. In the barracks is forbidden to think, otherwise it would be impossible to discipline, order and hierarchy. Freethinkers not bind disproportionately love the boots and a less give their lives for a piece of land. Because it is not possible to love a place and under one flag. You may wish, wonder, respect, and above all, the people who live there. I do not love Peru, I love my friends, my family, they are there, their customs, their places. I love my wife and my kids love. And never in this life would take a gun to defend a piece of land as Cenepa, a place I do not know or think I'm going to see in my life. I am not of those who say "I go to war and die before I kill ten Chileans" or Ecuadorian or whatever. Why do I have to die I, and why they have to die ten of them! Can not we all live, period?

Such thinking is for the chauvinistic, chauvinists and retrograde. For estrechomentales unable to live with the natural liberties of man. There the vengeful ideas Humala against homosexuals and foreigners. Hence the ridiculous militarote able to talk about bomb and kill women with a chill Chilean Rosette.

remember

an episode of The Simpsons in which ironically imagine a world without lawyers, and the result is a happy world, people smile and love everywhere. I do not know if the lawyers have so much guilt. At least make a living by working. I'd be happier in a world without priests or military, worshiping the earth with a rich pachamanca and drinking a beer with Chile and Ecuador.

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[1] Can you imagine the least corrupt in the world would live to worship the sun and the earth, our earthly gods, more near from the hand and less abstract? [2] What Gutierrez went to the father and the theologians of liberation when they began to defend their socialist ideas for farmers and the poor? [3] No institution can be called a group created to destroy. Look at Costa Rica and Switzerland, the only two countries in the world who have no armed forces, and how well they are doing. Is shown to be unnecessary. Japan after World War II, he realized that spending money on weapons was the biggest mistake, and became involved in investing in work and now is where is.

Uc Supplemental Questionnaire 2010

III Top Ten

ago a handful of months I wrote two post with the same heading. The first and second part of my ten most favorite. Novels, short stories, film. From what little I've seen and read my lists and I made public at the initiative of one or a magazine, do not remember exactly, but I found one other interesting idea. And as I copy, copy.

I also remember that remained outstanding songs and albums. And I came up to add writers, both to their works. I was never so fond of music, and Lucy always teases me by my meager and often no knowledge of music. She, pianist and dancer best sports like no dancing around the room even when alone, I'm sure would make a list of envy and fully prepared and infinite quality. I, in my modest taste for music, 90's and 80's somewhat less detailed in this post my playlists, albums and musicians, who scored and became the soundtrack of my life.

I'm more of letters, definitely, and I recognize that the greatest of my faults is humming songs and invented letters simply because I will never learn. I've two left feet when dancing. And I had fun like a pig with chiquichiqui, resounding musical success in the summer that left us here in Spain. So with this caveat and with the excuse man of letters who has no music lover nails, I list here are two lists that have cost me more than childbirth. Of the writers come, I suppose, a quarter.

Due to the countless string of songs and to not come together sweet potatoes, divided the list in English and English, but for the discs themselves have been able to unite them all into one.

Ten Songs (in English):

remained one step away from joining the list of ten successes so good and so present in my life that was worth it to extend the list to twenty, but In short, needlework editor and adhere to the rules, ten is ten. Could be issues such as Lithium, Nirvana, Heal the World, Michael Jackson, Creep, Stone Temple Pilots, Fly Away, Lenny Kravitz, Say what you want, Texas with Wu Tan Clan, One, U2, Crush, Dave Mathews Band, Losing my Religion, REM, Je T'aime, Jane Birkin, Creep, Radiohead, or Free Falling, Tom Pety.

These, then ten, and in that order:

1. Black, Pearl Jam.

2. Fade to Black, Metallica.

3. Lightning crashes , Live.

4. Lucy in the sky with diamonds , The Beatles.

5. Soul Sacrifice, Santana.

6. Black dog , Led Zeppelin.

7. November rain Guns n 'Roses.

8. Behind blue eyes, The Who.

9. Linger , The Cramberries.

10. Son of a preacher man , Dusty Springfield.

Ten songs (in English):

Just could enter the final list of these other songs that marked an era, mine: Image pagan Virus; Things mine, Abuelos de la Nada, Mass, Mercedes Sosa, The Girl from Ipanema, Joao Gilberto (not in English, but very nearly), A kiss and a flower, Nino Bravo, The dinosaurs, Charly Garcia, or The yerberito, Celia Cruz.

ten

Here, then, again sorted by author's taste.

1. Penelope , Robi Draco Rosa.

2. The arm, Fragile.

3. I can live on love , Rubén Blades.

4. On the boulevard of broken dreams , Joaquín Sabina.

5. The flower of the cinnamon , Chabuca Granda.

6. City fury, Soda Stereo.

7. As we changed , Presuntos Implicados.

8. A day without seeing , John Secada.

9. singer Hector Lavoe.

10. Melancholy , Camilo Sesto.

Now, here's ten albums. On this occasion, yes I could get either the language grouping. On this occasion list of ten is related to the year it appeared on the market, not favoritism:

1. Abraxas (1970), Santana.

2. Signs (1986), Soda Stereo.

3. Black Album (1991), Metallica.

4. Ten (1991), Pearl Jam.

5. Use Your Illusion I and II (1991), Guns n 'Roses.

6. Dogs (1992), The Dogs.

7. This a peep (1994), Joaquín Sabina.

8. Throwing Copper (1994), Live.

9. Buenavista Social Club (1997), Buena Vista Social Club.

10. Supernatural (1999), Santana.

Editor's Note: You may have noticed that are not on my lists are displayed so deservedly on the list of Rolling Stone. We must take into account that groups like The Police, singers like Prince or local groups such as Arena Hash never been to my liking.

Now, to receive kicks, punches and spitting, pogo same.

Disneyland Braided Leather Bracelets

Tell me who read and tell you what pose you

this blog I've posted two years and many months and throughout the time I received comments of all calibers, some of them unprintable, although the authors believe me, I keep them with love and respect. I have said all, I have called around and reminded me everything. I read phrases fierce, intelligent, quick, warm. I have stumbled upon liver trials, suffering, flattering. This was to be a post dedicated to them, because they are an important part of this page.

So my first idea was blown twenty-eight months that I have been writing, entering each of the post and read every one of the comments to select those who can, somehow, to summarize the history of this blog. But my laziness wins, what can I say. It's hard work and I have no secretary. What I've noticed is that the first two years turned to the letter writing for each month, typical, and were gibberish and nonsensical texts which are the majority. How far can write interesting things, transcendental, revelatory. Nothing!

pasotas Rather there are texts, surface, pure fuck. However, I also tried to write one or two who were slightly thought, thought, understood. Perhaps a sketch, a shy touch of novice painter, which of course have no depth. I do not know if bored, or Seriot, or simply because they were poorly written. But those who talk about bad girls, Peruvians recognized leagues on hi5, the music of the 90, the importance of size, etc.., Those other than were read, and above all they said. Of course, this is not the blog of Cisneros [1] does not appear in an important newspaper. But there are those here, were the most discussed.

Now, if we analyze what written here, we can reach conclusions that fall to mid-mature and rotting of the tree twisted: I do not write serious texts and what is more, or worse, I do not write them out well.

And while we're on stage vox populi going to rebel my biggest secret: I read texts either deep or serious. Never read Proust, and I am convinced that the thousands of volumes of In Search of Lost Time continue for me as lost as before. I was the first-sleeping one night in the same street concert tickets to buy Madonna's debut Jaime Bayly and read it in one day, happy, and although that is a really bad book. It was the illness, what they want to say. I still

: The only time I opened the first page of Ulysses, Joyce, I fell asleep, and I never make the same mistake. There remains closed. I enjoyed as I read Cossack Life of Martin Romana exaggerated, Bryce. And my high in life is to follow his steps: copy, and what is best: make money for copying.

repeat: I hate my pseudo public relations work in Spain and now I realize that I hated my work in Lima as a writer and editor for newspapers in the doldrums. And I must admit that the only job he really liked me in this life has been a teacher, because it was the only time I've won things that money and send others to read and I understand.

cast the first stone Let he who does not once said at a meeting of well, about a cup of coffee and cigarettes, chat rooms, which only reported in Trade and denies the pamphlets, which Vargas Llosa reads and mocks the writer Bayly, who sees only black and white movies and hates Panorama [2].

If I remember a couple of threads going about my favorite and totally arbitrary list of books, stories and movies of all time. There are the comments from more than one who claims to have read and seen nearly complete lists when I'm sure you have browsed more than one or two. Not that I do, and the rest, if I said that I have read recently and pretty bad, but because there is so much choice in the marketplace, so little time in life to embrace all that it would be much chance. What happens is that we were right.

It's like when in full session with the same people you're either telling the story of the book you just read but do not remember the author's name and then you go to the scholar of the group to ask about the name in question because it never fails, and pretend to think and toss in a hundred faces and bid as if the memory operate when you squeeze it and finally said, "I do not remember" when the rest who knows the author and the book does not have the slightest fucking idea, just a world that tells us to accept that we do not know what we know and it is better to say I do not remember.

Since long ago left that pose. When someone asks me for an author who does not know or dogfight, lift the shoulders and admit my ignorance, the same with books, records and information in general. And I'm on my own, reading what I like and write what I please. And above all, waiting for the comments on each post, the only or few out there who appear to understand a bit more to people who read me and know what they also have to say, because that's what this blog and write stories here. ----------------------------------------------

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[1] The Bride Seeking is my greatest envy. I want to be like him, you pretty well commented million and will publish the post in best-selling books and signing autographs. [2] And not to mention the pose of the many journalists who appear in photographs in the same style of César Vallejo, who by the way I read a thousand times without coming to understand ", when signing an item.

Best Place For Brazilian Waxing Inland Empire

's ahead !

I remember the first time I got on a bus alone. He was then nine years old and my father had taken me to school on a Saturday morning to meet Diosito in Catechesis of the First Communion. I stopped at the door with my pad of recycled paper in hand and my book with prayers, holy images and a profound lesson of the Body of Christ, amen. I said today I come home alone, I reached a few coins and I repeat once again how to get on the green bus that went to the Esperanza Trujillo.

In Catechesis not remember anything, thank goodness. But I will never forget the return trip. First because I was wrong to micro, rather, I took the wrong side and that was the opposite. I was just so for a single ticket - otherwise I'd spent a lot of bread with steak and onions and a chicha morada watery-so I said what goes down must go up, without regard to the reach the final idle drops to around the world and if you want to get on again you have to pay again. So let me Justito the side where the devil lost his poncho is in the middle of a clearing and surrounded by mangy dogs. What did I do? Walking. I made the same way the micro ... back. And I got back to school, then I realized that I still lacked all the way home. O followed him and arrived on Sunday night and I was up to the mike again, this time steering home sweet home. I did the second. It was the first time I went piola unpaid ticket. When I reached my stop I told the collector "and I paid you for a while, choche" and put my child's face just out to talk to Papa Lindo in Catechesis can have more devout. Thousand hours later I was finally home.

were other times. One to nine years could be lost at the end of the world, walking among mangy dogs, get on the mic alone retrace I walked and laughed years later of what bastards we were innocent. I never stole, nor frightened, nor kidnapped me, and I saw orange skies as a prelude to apocalypse. He was a boy walking down unfamiliar streets, learning a bit more life.

As an adult I've seen my cousins \u200b\u200bfor the first time to ride a bus or a van with many more years then, however, was a risk, a danger was gamble, and my aunts were accelerated presses the thought that went the poor, fourteen, fifteen years, all alone in the streets, as if the world had changed a few years, worse, infected.

Lima When I left I realized I was leaving behind this new breed of cautious people, with eyes at the back, walking down the street cautiously, as if walking from one side to another outside an obligation rather than a walk. And I realize that the world is following. If Americans are doing the light off in droves to buy water, batteries, blankets, they think of massive attacks, fleeing in terror. I talk to many people here in Spain and I have now that the crisis is unique, daunting, and as compared to the "banana republic"-with forgiveness, Jesus, I always say, " nobody can stop talking about rising oil prices, the mortgage bubble. People are crying blood against a background believe mitigates bleak and with beers on the terraces and collapses on the road for vacation in August. I talk to my parents who live in New York and tell me they are pulling their hair, that people do not know what to do, than gasoline, that food, that if Obama wins ... I talk to people in Peru despite the economic boom and the figures of envy, people can not remain silent, they see a crisis, the darkest night. Everywhere blame Bush, war, oil, Chavez. What's happening?

few weeks ago I read an article in El País Semanal on a grim new trend, catastrophic, reflecting in his absolute fog, the very end of the world only worse, because humans survive to see it, or something. Article played all eyes were on U.S. President that the new Hollywood movies, video games and new bookstore best seller had no mercy with Bush and the world in a nutshell it is going to hell.

Of the countless examples of the newspaper article because I just remember two of Claritas view. The first is I am Legend, Will Smith movie with the talking head of a lone survivor of a deadly virus has to face human beings turned into night. The second is the record book records in the U.S., The Road, by Cormac McCarthy. The story of a father and son who roam U.S. highways after the world became ashes and soot. The fiction of both stories is scary, extremist, and an excellent example-fully hyperbolic, "but at last example of what, as individuals, we can produce [1].

Le film is bad, the novel is great. But I doubt that both have been gestated and have come to light with Bush in their sights. It would be a disappointment and a shame to do so thinking of someone like him. There are more interesting things in the world. And as these other examples of the article. Nevertheless remains concerned that some call new post-apocalyptic vision. Is it what we want, what we want?

I prefer to keep seeing the world as it always was, a cyclical process, with El Niño events in five or ten years, with earthquakes every hundred, with good and bad-balance-blessed, and people coming and going, which makes and breaks to give rise to the following. I follow up on buses and taxis and subways in cities where I now have to live and I always remember with nostalgia when a combi Lima upload a child alone and pay your ticket and sit in silence, and playing Tetris, and forget that you have to give the seat to the elderly, and runs his own all the way straight home. And loose a smile. Because now be more difficult. Cities are not the same, no games, nor the world, but it remains a place to live, it is worth it's up to us. ----------------------------------------------

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[1] In plans is to get the book of American journalist Alan Weisman, The World Without Us, a crushing test on what will be this planet from the day after the man disappeared from Earth.

What Size Rug For Under A Pool Table

The power of a book

was the month of April this year and I had a forced trip to Barcelona to take care of some paperwork. One morning in the Peruvian Consulate and Asian shops around to buy food at my wife species, and from there to enjoy the city, around a Peruvian restaurant to eat a ceviche that meets achiever hidden passions and I was time-it was most bookstores and go-to me from past issues like a woman scorned shopping with the husband's credit card.

A few blocks from where I live, here in Vigo, is a another library to which I will from time to time to dig some curiosity, and sometimes even kill the worm by me in some interesting publication. Not bad. But to get to Barcelona is like entering a literary paradise. There are all the books, everyone. And how happy you start to explore the four floors of the Plaza Catalunya FNAC [1] or slip through the streets of the Gothic Quarter in search of old booksellers and unexpected issues hidden in old shelves. A pleasure like few I try to make the most, like weirdo, in a city always willing and open to everyone.

By chance at that time appeared on the market the last book by Carlos Ruiz Zafon, Game Angel [2], the second part of the trilogy of the Cemetery of Forgotten Books. I remembered that phrase a few years ago when someone told me vaguely that time the book was becoming a bestseller. It was Shadow of the Wind [3], the book that became famous millionaire while the English writer who has lived long ago in California.

Then that afternoon I bought the first of two books, among other acquisitions, because logic dictates it and because I try to be very logical about everything, and that night I started reading the synopsis excited back cover on old booksellers of the Barcelona-forties, the story of a boy who visits the Cemetery of Forgotten Books of the hand of his father and get a book that opens up a mystery that covers the city and confusing literature on the same atmosphere of night and fog. The next day I rushed downtown to walk the streets where they walked their characters and recognizing stops, subway stations that were depicted in their pages. And I discovered that there is even a tour of the streets where the story of the book and was not the only one who was there after reading it. I was shocked to discover a literary Barcelona while character. Especially because the years pass and still the same. I thought a little in Lima, which appears in a thousand stories, and I thought that the best that was certainly discussed and portrayed Julio Ramón Ribeyro. In order that the book took me so my stay in Catalonia, three days. And I went to the pleasure of reading an author for me hitherto unknown, who passionately loved literature.

And when I reached the last page, I understood why this story had sold over eight million copies and been translated into almost every language [4]. He was convinced that Ruiz Zafon life had stopped writing the novel and these figures and become a best seller was the wonderful consequences of a domino effect. The success of his novel had nothing to do with the Da Vincis Code or The Tenth Symphony or secret dinners that can easily appeal to morbid group. This time the plot had its own universe and its author had given birth to her own history from a simple idea, in the fantastic setting Cemetery of Forgotten Books.

So just got to Vigo, as I handed my wife the teriyaki sauce and sesame oil and seaweed and other spices that came in the suitcase, I was commenting on the good book I had bought and the same day was a couple of blocks from home buying the second installment, which had been heralded as the most anticipated of the year, then the Cemetery of Forgotten Books. And closing doors and windows and I left the world to get into reading. And the result was a big disappointment.

I say

about movies that sequels are never better than the first. With honorable exceptions such as The Godfather II, for example. The last of Ruiz Zafon is far from what he accomplished with Shadow of the Wind, but how they sold and how people queuing in mind the book fair has the world to get an autograph from the author. I've seen him grab the attention of the media, the organizers of the ordinary people, those who know and those who do not. Is that Ruiz Zafon must thank the rest of his life to the first delivery that this second band everywhere and at all times. Because if nothing existed would be the same.

No But what causes the most impression is that so far no comment on this new book, which nobody has come to say that the issue was left with large and that history does not deserve so many pages and so much effort. Nobody said a peep, or at least I still have not heard. And Ruiz Zafon has achieved what few writers in this world, no matter what anyone says, no matter what he writes, his name associated with the Cemetery of Forgotten Books is larger than any commentary, is stronger than any other publication, has its own life, the Harry Potter effect, and no one can stop him, nor himself. And therefore will continue to sell millions of copies and generating queues in search of autographs. In good time for him and for literature.

For now I am left in despair, waiting for the third and last part. Let's see how many years from now. You have to hold it. ----------------------------------------------

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[1] A store the size of San Isidro Saga but dedicated exclusively to books, music and games. Just as we hear! It takes more than a day if one wants to visit all, so it is advisable to go with clear ideas and pocket pressed not to die trying. [2] Ruiz Zafon, Carlos, The Angel's Game, Editorial Planeta, 1st Edition, April 2008. [3] Ruiz Zafon, Carlos, The Shadow of the Wind, Editorial Planeta, 1st Edition, April 2002, 62 th Edition, December 2007. Yes, in about five years had more than 60 editions of the same company, as if the only book published. [4] And to think that Lima was announced with great fanfare the publication of a novel by Bryce Echenique, with 5,000 copies of the same company, and that the same managers said they were all at risk!

The Vampire Strangler

was once a blog

The good thing about having a weblog where to lay down a couple of ideas that we often fall from mature is that you never know who may read them or is capable of predicting the nature of their comments. And that is without doubt the best incentive for the few, poor, good and many ideas you have, not lost like dreams, into oblivion.

thousand moons ago I stopped posting in this blog and has not been much because I had run out of ideas, especially the poor, always flying around my head, but because I had a promising proposal for a Lima newspaper move to your pages for a while. And you can imagine those days when I proposed it: I thought the best writer in the world, the last puff of mango here in Europe, and suddenly I thought well deserved and with sufficient grounds to break all records this tiny world barely scratched. It was the time of the rise, take off like lightning to the top and see who I am to be screwed all jojolete lerolero. Straight to the Nobel.

Also, how did all that had been presaged in the nail. Neither more nor less. It had already written a couple of post for a blog the same day with dyes peruanidad suffered abroad. A kind of "Cholo am" with "Peruvian suffer, suffer." At that time I lived in Barcelona, \u200b\u200bwhere we had come up with Lucy, my wife, and where we began to break through. Then I ventured to propose a perennial blog. Peruvian bloggers were already in Beijing, London and other cities. Barcelona I told them and they told me odd. So there had been the thing. Until I received an email where I was invited to be part of a blog where he would write three people. All young writers, told me. The idea was to write a novel in three hands. The three we would present an argument and the "Editorial Board" the daily choose the best. Hence the two other writers had to be continuing the story where I had left earlier.

then I was no longer living in Barcelona but in Vigo, the land of my wife. And one of those days my father had taught me at home a very old grandfather clock that had belonged to his family since the early twentieth century and that I was captivated by her beauty. Then I thought the story had to be on the clock. I set up the argument, read Lucia, added a couple of ideas and send it to an old friend of the wet and dreary Lima. He, in that vein as a poet and journalist to make matters worse, be responsible for adding the salt and pepper to history.

Weeks later I respond

journal with a new proposal. Turns out I had suggested that not only the three writers were to build a short novel but so did the readers who exercise the right to voice their comments give the guidelines for where they thought should be the thread of the story. And they liked the idea. I replied that we would no longer by myself but the three who wrote the blog and that the very idea of \u200b\u200bincluding the readers would be the motor of history.

I think ten million emails sent to all my contacts and contacts of my contacts for them to know that I moved for a time in the trenches and make themselves a return from time to time through the pages the dean to read and entertain-if that were possible, with a story of mystery and intrigue that was just out of the oven.

At first I must admit that it worked. It was clear he would not be a blog like that brides finder takes all the plaudits for the magnitude of feedback, but at least the painting idea. Then I moved and, as usual, I packed without getting me to think there was a fact as simple as it seems, would be responsible for destroying my little sand castle.

was clear that among the comments that there would be responsible for the taunting, the chacota and Bacilon, also those chilly bile leave on the table because of tastes and styles has not written one, while one another understand what it was this blog and join in grief or sympathy with this cause. And to the last post were scheduled ten since the beginning and were some fourteen or fifteen at the end, always there even one person in the world that leave a few words, although not so much to intervene in the story and give suggestions but to leave their opinions. But something went wrong.

turns out that a post should always focus on one idea, and as argumentative text, close it. Leaving very clearly what you mean or what to expect. Because that's the nature of the blog, that one becomes aware of something is or where it surfs the chance, which is also true. Read the same day that is published or one year later. There it is wonderful weblog, is sustainable. I have more of a post I wrote over a year ago and for which I am still receiving comments. They are there and ready. Endpoint. In contrast to the post in the history of the watch was difficult. Why were some related to others and especially with the old. It made the comments were limited while the post hung lasted until the next appeared. From the outset it was determined that post once a week which in the long run I do not know if eventually more complicated.

Anyway, the story ended and the bitter aftertaste still can not get it out of my throat. The blog is no longer posted on the journal page even if one is curious and goes through the files or the list of blogs LINKED can still access it, and especially read the last, which seems to have final . The comments just refer to it, that something is missing. I did not dare to continue it because I knew if the climax he had prepared for the final in the making would be sufficient. Then I thought of leaving it open. You never know. Perhaps encouraged me to continue in some other place.

What Do The Colors Mean On Wriste Bands

Impossible Objects

Why is water cheaper than diamonds, being that humans need water, not diamonds, to survive?

Christopher Handley Iowa 2010

Writer delivery, my new blog at The Trade

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