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Na toalete

2016-05-21 @ 05:42:11 am
by christine


O racismo e uma doenca curavel. ...

2012-02-23 @ 12:57:24 am
by christine luane mega miranda


uma demonstracao de fe sobrenatural, levando ...

2012-02-23 @ 12:40:17 am
by christine luane mega miranda


jeferson um carinha aew do intervalo ...

2011-03-18 @ 05:24:05 am
by jeferson


This text started with a slang ...

2009-11-21 @ 10:28:39 pm
by christine luane


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Posts sent in: August 2017

15 Aug 2017 

a saida

jaded by the images that crossed his mind and buffered with doses of morphine jack laid his body in the bed dreaming of a nice sleep but none of this happened when he woke up it was still friday and and the sheets covered in sweat. He could barely stand up so he rolled and knelt on the floor and found a paper towel which he used to wipe his shaved legs. He gave in to some sort of disease that the doctors wouldnīt discover the conditions. Or at least were the thoughts of this young man of thirties. As soon as help came he thought it would be easy but he was getting worse spitting blood in a container. As soon as possible the thoughts rolled his mind he would take another dose of whiskey and die just the way he wanted since in this thought he was going to the cemetery anyway. So in order to avoid more terror at the hospital he prefered dying alone in his house, he genlty poured the can into his cup and threw the rest away to the gods. He wouldnīt have another reincarnation, or it would be so difficult that his depression as he thought they would see each other and come forth with his mirror as he combed his head slowly. 



as he steped down the stairs of his apartment in fifth crossed the street and and saw a man in a wheal chair trying to run as fast as he could to get to the other side. and jack thought - how am i trying to kill myself now that so many people in and in this case better than him but then his childhood or boyhhood crossed his mind and he couldnīt neglect it for nothing in this world. so much i  am creeping like a vagabond.
jack had his masters in economy at berkely and went in to the solo carrear in doing nothing for the rest of his life. It had been five years of woe and sadness, no rings on his phone no messages to all the neighborhood he was a weardo. but he didnīt want to get in to more detail  since it felt even worse every stingy snap that came in his neurons. He thought i better die or else live, of couse jack thought dying was a yes yes. He moved his hair a little to the frontal bone of his skull and knocked his head with his fingers a little bit longer than usual and went back to the apartament where he feel asleep and passed away the saddest day of the year ked for a whjaded of his reincarnation Jack was born in an infermary full of baby boys cryinng, he had a brain of thirty four, and was strong as lion and pale as a cadaver. When his mother took him in her arms jack didnīt want her breast. He grabbed the baby bottle given by the infermary and so due speak took their family home to god knows where in cincinaty. He never cried. His mother took him to several doctors and not one revealed his problem. Until his aunt appeared in the house for a visit and it came about that he would be baptized. The words sounded refreshing and warm just before the day jack had a dream that he was falling of the creeb. he grabbed his toy and sucked the teets of the bear. And fell asleep again. He woke up surrounded by the people in all directions The father blessings that strange evening yes it was an evening and he wore blue and while the priest looite spot to touch not grabed his underwear and gave his blessing.Jack was found by chance dead in his apartment and left fortune in his creeb, but it was all but a dream and he woke up drunk with a jar of peanut butter on his hand and his teacher knocking on his door.    Jack por um acaso encontrado morto em seu apartamento jack deixou fortuna em seu berįo, mas tudo nao passava de um sonho ruim, jack acordou bebado com uma lata de amendocrem em sua mao e sua professora batendo na porta. 

Admin · 6 views · Leave a comment
15 Aug 2017 

a saida

Every attack, another retaliation. Westners donīt seem to breed guns anymore. They even achieve this through concessions. And by the way there is no limit trying to win the war on terrorism. I coulīd go on talking about terror, by I īd rather put it in to alternatives. A-Put them into theatre.B-Put them through community service.C- try to collonize the land.D- Search into Bollywood. E- Put peace into the reagion.

Since Ebola broke, even Aids, now Malaria, not to say the communiting persona.Not much different  from the list of Shindler. Or we could pray, pray for a certain isotope to cure homofobia and become dependent of a new medicine that looks much like a heart of hate. This is about dreams, this is about fun, this is about arrest, this is about death. In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. Have we got for ourselves and for others. Thatīs the difference. We talk about communism. Mercy. Mickey mouse got your cheese Medicine got some leverage. Some of the facts are there. There is no way to continue helping ourselves without reaching up to a friend to understand thee motive or word to bring upon understanting about so it could explain wheather to free up or to condem. FOLLOW
John Atkinson Grimshaw (British, 1836 - 1893)
John Atkinson Grimshaw
FOLLOW
William Adolphe Bouguereau (French, 1825 - 1905)
William Adolphe Bouguereau
FOLLOW
Vilhelm Hammershøi (Danish, 1864 - 1916)
Vilhelm Hammershøi
FOLLOW
Richard Parkes Bonington (British, 1801 - 1828)
Richard Parkes Bonington
FOLLOW
Dante Gabriel Rossetti (British, 1828 - 1882)

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12 Aug 2017 

i

Surprisinly, this afternon ,she had a comment about the night she had spent alone many years ago. Withing many of some of the things, were the same, the wine, the big lounge...and day dreamming.

It had been a long and tirering evening, some what like the losing picture of lost images. Upon which when she returned to that sadnees. With filled spirits. She had certainly had to have come to me. I was a difficult content you know, but in sense it had to be. I would not think of things just before our sessions. But with time I had to. I just had to prepare my own content, come what may.Well, when she climbed the stairs, and the big office on the beach opened there would be a gap of fifteen minutes. It was what I had. Fifteen full minutes of conversation. And it started filling in. I just had to fill the breathing,conversation, and jot down some art. She would be stepping down in twenty. I hadnīt be going for this. I should have started my own business. This office and tending some problematic women, seemed to much of overdo in my part. And would start calculating about when I would start thinking about her comments, like, processing. Some times it took months before, I myself processed everything on my own life, when just having her, and began to understand to stark speaking out. 


Just like herself, when talking to me afternoons, and the reasons why are those so special? Something had to be special in her life, she had to get rid of the expectation, start to really live it, that would really work. So as crafting a song I put some of the inventions that one is to do. Every one does something. Has a talent, a profession, a powerfull gift, a mission, or maybe an idea. But everyone had failed sometimes. So the evenings about her had to seem magical to me. At least to try to tend her in my office, try to do it a routine. Like every step she took. That wasnīt always that easy on her, so on me. One had to imagine, something more than talking to raise something new. If we had been intellingent enough, a cognitive research, about her would had been enough, but we hadnīt that resourse. I could ask her to watch a movie with me, try some of the technics I had to offer her as in newspaper articles, and such. But I had happened that I had already learned everything there was to learn about this lady. So as much as I tried, she had to be comming back the next week. I didnīt know really if that was my fault. In the end I liked the way it was, but time had to seem more open to reach other things. And that came naturally with words, places and things, was the only way I could fill my bag. With time there was no other stimulus I could find to continue doing my job. And I wish I would have some more time to think about treating myself. In fact I had accumulated a lot, just a lot of thoughts that I didnīt need. Something like five hundred words encoded in my vocabulary. I had worked so much to have financial comfort, and few were the arts I had accumullated or even lost it about treatment. And after all, truth ,and my tireless effort was not, recognized by any, my friends now were beginning to tell me different things,much else, that only telling this next week, had completed the thinking I had of them and that really after ten minutes, ten successfull minutes, I might be a kid again. And again, and again.  
Sir Joshua Reynolds (British, 1723 - 1792)
Admin · 10 views · Leave a comment
12 Aug 2017 

a saida

Surprisinly, this afternon ,she had a comment about the night she had spent alone many years ago. Withing many of some of the things, were the same, the wine, the big lounge...and day dreamming.

It had been a long and tirering evening, some what like the losing picture of lost images. Upon which when she returned to that sadnees. With filled spirits. She had certainly had to have come to me. I was a difficult content you know, but in sense it had to be. I would not think of things just before our sessions. But with time I had to. I just had to prepare my own content, come what may.Well, when she climbed the stairs, and the big office on the beach opened there would be a gap of fifteen minutes. It was what I had. Fifteen full minutes of conversation. And it started filling in. I just had to fill the breathing,conversation, and jot down some art. She would be stepping down in twenty. I hadnīt be going for this. I should have started my own business. This office and tending some problematic women, seemed to much of overdo in my part. And would start calculating about when I would start thinking about her comments, like, processing. Some times it took months before, I myself processed everything on my own life, when just having her, and began to understand to stark speaking out. 


Just like herself, when talking to me afternoons, and the reasons why are those so special? Something had to be special in her life, she had to get rid of the expectation, start to really live it, that would really work. So as crafting a song I put some of the inventions that one is to do. Every one does something. Has a talent, a profession, a powerfull gift, a mission, or maybe an idea. But everyone had failed sometimes. So the evenings about her had to seem magical to me. At least to try to tend her in my office, try to do it a routine. Like every step she took. That wasnīt always that easy on her, so on me. One had to imagine, something more than talking to raise something new. If we had been intellingent enough, a cognitive research, about her would had been enough, but we hadnīt that resourse. I could ask her to watch a movie with me, try some of the technics I had to offer her as in newspaper articles, and such. But I had happened that I had already learned everything there was to learn about this lady. So as much as I tried, she had to be comming back the next week. I didnīt know really if that was my fault. In the end I liked the way it was, but time had to seem more open to reach other things. And that came naturally with words, places and things, was the only way I could fill my bag. With time there was no other stimulus I could find to continue doing my job. And I wish I would have some more time to think about treating myself. In fact I had accumulated a lot, just a lot of thoughts that I didnīt need. Something like five hundred words encoded in my vocabulary. I had worked so much to have financial comfort, and few were the arts I had accumullated or even lost it about treatment. And after all, truth ,and my tireless effort was not, recognized by any, my friends now were beginning to tell me different things,much else, that only telling this next week, had completed the thinking I had of them and that really after ten minutes, ten successfull minutes, I might be a kid again. And again, and again.  
Albert Anker (Swiss, 1831 - 1910)
Admin · 5 views · Leave a comment
12 Aug 2017 

a saida

Surprisinly, this afternon ,she had a comment about the night she had spent alone many years ago. Withing many of some of the things, were the same, the wine, the big lounge...and day dreamming.

It had been a long and tirering evening, some what like the losing picture of lost images. Upon which when she returned to that sadnees. With filled spirits. She had certainly had to have come to me. I was a difficult content you know, but in sense it had to be. I would not think of things just before our sessions. But with time I had to. I just had to prepare my own content, come what may.Well, when she climbed the stairs, and the big office on the beach opened there would be a gap of fifteen minutes. It was what I had. Fifteen full minutes of conversation. And it started filling in. I just had to fill the breathing,conversation, and jot down some art. She would be stepping down in twenty. I hadnīt be going for this. I should have started my own business. This office and tending some problematic women, seemed to much of overdo in my part. And would start calculating about when I would start thinking about her comments, like, processing. Some times it took months before, I myself processed everything on my own life, when just having her, and began to understand to stark speaking out. 


Just like herself, when talking to me afternoons, and the reasons why are those so special? Something had to be special in her life, she had to get rid of the expectation, start to really live it, that would really work. So as crafting a song I put some of the inventions that one is to do. Every one does something. Has a talent, a profession, a powerfull gift, a mission, or maybe an idea. But everyone had failed sometimes. So the evenings about her had to seem magical to me. At least to try to tend her in my office, try to do it a routine. Like every step she took. That wasnīt always that easy on her, so on me. One had to imagine, something more than talking to raise something new. If we had been intellingent enough, a cognitive research, about her would had been enough, but we hadnīt that resourse. I could ask her to watch a movie with me, try some of the technics I had to offer her as in newspaper articles, and such. But I had happened that I had already learned everything there was to learn about this lady. So as much as I tried, she had to be comming back the next week. I didnīt know really if that was my fault. In the end I liked the way it was, but time had to seem more open to reach other things. And that came naturally with words, places and things, was the only way I could fill my bag. With time there was no other stimulus I could find to continue doing my job. And I wish I would have some more time to think about treating myself. In fact I had accumulated a lot, just a lot of thoughts that I didnīt need. Something like five hundred words encoded in my vocabulary. I had worked so much to have financial comfort, and few were the arts I had accumullated or even lost it about treatment. And after all, truth ,and my tireless effort was not, recognized by any, my friends now were beginning to tell me different things,much else, that only telling this next week, had completed the thinking I had of them and that really after ten minutes, ten successfull minutes, I might be a kid again. And again, and again.  
Gustave Courbet (French, 1819 - 1877)

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