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

O racismo e uma doenca curavel. ...

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uma demonstracao de fe sobrenatural, levando ...

2012-02-23 @ 12:40:17 am
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2011-03-18 @ 05:24:05 am
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2009-11-21 @ 10:28:39 pm
by christine luane


October 2017
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12 Aug 2017 - 08:55:13 pm

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)
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