ryknowe @ 2005-11-28T18:19:00
Amniotic Boulevard did not die. The author has simply decided to throw in the sewer bigger in the next 6 or 7 chapters ready, as unsatisfactory results. And then I broke the computer. And the stereo. No, seriously. Periodaccio. This post will self-destruct just restore the novel to save the narrative continuity. In the meantime, I hope you consolation to know that finally my academic studies have given fruit. After 171 tests from the overpass of Tortona, now it's official. Unlike cats, hamsters do not fall still standing. And what is fascinating, not only is there more blood than one would expect in those fur balls, but some emit sounds very similar to an oath, under critical circumstances.
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Monday, November 28, 2005
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Lebanese Tradfitional Thank You Gifts
Puff Puff Pant pant
periodaccio accidents that, work work work and never a penny uffaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
that today is Sunday are at work that beard!
'm tired I need a little holiday = 0) at least we hope that the marriage of ash and whiskey to succeed so we will soon have many frugoletti to cheer up a bit 'dark this winter = 0) is now married and then if all goes as we must children in New Year!! born with barrels ghghghghgh well not a bad couple, 1st and 2nd place in the competition this year! = 0) = 0) Saturday
periodaccio accidents that, work work work and never a penny uffaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
that today is Sunday are at work that beard!
'm tired I need a little holiday = 0) at least we hope that the marriage of ash and whiskey to succeed so we will soon have many frugoletti to cheer up a bit 'dark this winter = 0) is now married and then if all goes as we must children in New Year!! born with barrels ghghghghgh well not a bad couple, 1st and 2nd place in the competition this year! = 0) = 0) Saturday
Wednesday, November 9, 2005
How Much Chariol Bracelet
Erode
(serials, read from the beginning by clicking here)
The taxi I vomit in a former industrial area on the outskirts of the city. I did not know existed. Abandoned warehouses, gray oppressive sheet. Saetta away with screeching tires, leaving very few options. The
6 is in front of me. I look around for an entry ...
Suddenly, hell.
unadorned walls and wounds, exude a palpable apathy. Pulsing, hypnotic, black tar, boiling in his throat. The darkness.
envelops all things, inviting the silence, the appeal of anything.
Shout.
No sound, reverb, echo. Warm. Oppressive, unhealthy, suffocating. A wave of nausea ferina back the esophagus with the momentum of a tsunami. The smell of blood. The stench of bodies torn, torn. Decomposed. Left to rot in a slurry of vain hopes. It affects the nose, scratch or mucous membranes, tearing away the oxygen from each cell with surgical treatment, brutal caution. Trudge. The chest claws compressed by intangibles.
not remember where I entered. I know I have to leave.
takes a step, bump something. It forces your eyes to counteract the attempts to look at. It has feathers, but painfully familiar. I know that face. From that first took shape. I know where it came from, he was born, why. I know his name. Why was I give him one. To give life, and individuals.
A dream. Mio One of the many.
retreated. I realize what that pile of corpses, and some climbs up the spine, sinking fangs into the neck. A feeling cold, hot, needles and awareness. The sense of guilt. Leaving them to die. Renegades.
Abandonment the waiver, the choice not to choose. The bulbs have become accustomed to the darkness, but now I see better. It is not a room. It is a seemingly endless expanse, dotted with other victims of the routine and gray. A dream-like genocide. A massacre of innocents. I take breath, the beats are regular visitors.
I turn up the collar, I turn around.
close the door behind me, ready to forget it, condemning them again. They were my dreams. Probably will not be anything more. I walk away, with regular pace, and slowly retract the needles from my neck. I do not think I will return more here. You should never look in certain rooms in their mind.
.
(serials, read from the beginning by clicking here)
The taxi I vomit in a former industrial area on the outskirts of the city. I did not know existed. Abandoned warehouses, gray oppressive sheet. Saetta away with screeching tires, leaving very few options. The
6 is in front of me. I look around for an entry ...
Suddenly, hell.
unadorned walls and wounds, exude a palpable apathy. Pulsing, hypnotic, black tar, boiling in his throat. The darkness.
envelops all things, inviting the silence, the appeal of anything.
Shout.
No sound, reverb, echo. Warm. Oppressive, unhealthy, suffocating. A wave of nausea ferina back the esophagus with the momentum of a tsunami. The smell of blood. The stench of bodies torn, torn. Decomposed. Left to rot in a slurry of vain hopes. It affects the nose, scratch or mucous membranes, tearing away the oxygen from each cell with surgical treatment, brutal caution. Trudge. The chest claws compressed by intangibles.
not remember where I entered. I know I have to leave.
takes a step, bump something. It forces your eyes to counteract the attempts to look at. It has feathers, but painfully familiar. I know that face. From that first took shape. I know where it came from, he was born, why. I know his name. Why was I give him one. To give life, and individuals.
A dream. Mio One of the many.
retreated. I realize what that pile of corpses, and some climbs up the spine, sinking fangs into the neck. A feeling cold, hot, needles and awareness. The sense of guilt. Leaving them to die. Renegades.
Abandonment the waiver, the choice not to choose. The bulbs have become accustomed to the darkness, but now I see better. It is not a room. It is a seemingly endless expanse, dotted with other victims of the routine and gray. A dream-like genocide. A massacre of innocents. I take breath, the beats are regular visitors.
I turn up the collar, I turn around.
close the door behind me, ready to forget it, condemning them again. They were my dreams. Probably will not be anything more. I walk away, with regular pace, and slowly retract the needles from my neck. I do not think I will return more here. You should never look in certain rooms in their mind.
.
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