Leaning Mirrors On Mantle

What did you say? The wind

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Big White Booty Cartoons

I guiltily fed unnecessary doubts, promptly denied, that the Lusitania would have given me, in these final hours of my stay, the beads of which there is absolutely no other trace from any part of the whole earth.
In recent times, say, the Portuguese news continues to be a mine full of endless streams of unintentional comedy: the Portuguese nationalist frenzy, generated and fueled by the spending spree ninety-four million euro by a club fútbol English to secure the exclusive services of a size so apocalyptic tamarro to impose an immediate genuflection urbi et orbi facing the myriad of fans of Slayer for years labeled little accustomed to the mores civilians, for a surface comparison with the Madeiran is worthy to rule the court of Louis XVI, causes me the itches scary; tamarro that kicks a ball (and kicks him a lot worse than he did Boban, but not to go too far, it kicks a lot worse than Lionel Messi) and beating women.

outbreak of swine flu, or H1N1 grip or amount to date, 8 July of the year two thousand and nine to 61 announced by the government (in a population of ten million people, look at the percentages) in one area of the capital, and in most cases are children below three years infected nursery, the people rise indignantly against the fines for no parking on the side in a factory when there is ample parking payment (as many as 20 cents an hour "Because it has parked 10 meters from here in the areas provided?" "To save money in the parking lot, no?") Or against a minister macchiatosi an indelible guilt: he made the horns of a member during a parliamentary session (Amateur: My Prime Minister has made them to an equal degree in a foreign Photo Journal, and it did not happen yesterday ), and my neighbor, yet stoically single (who must seize if, as bad as the war), drunk in the bar below at six in the afternoon, games without frontiers Bulgarian plays every night at 20 on the first channel, Indian Hindus to defend the actions of the Vatican and the excellence of the quality of life of Europe Southern, empty house, burned pc, wavy or slightly wavy seas with strong winds from the northeast.

Summer escapes me, how I miss the sense of dreams banal, trivial items that were in my room and I have consigned to oblivion, succeeded beyond all my expectations - assuming you know me well - to fill effects very personal five bags of waste to five kilograms each (the obsession for the move is reflected on every single act that concerns me: I came to watch the weigh of the Pixies - less than 120 grams - or regret the fact you do not place the same DVD recordings of the Magnetic Fields with that of Louise Attaque saving 20 grams, because Merritt was hurt could, in addition to harass agony and the lives of those martyrs who had the misfortune to accompany me in this momentous time in history) without batting an eye, making a cold, mechanical, blind, cruel and ruthless genocide of cynical souls who, without feeling any resentment, without feel no regret, no regret for each round trip ticket from the Enchanted Lands, for every letter exchanged with lonely souls and wandering by chance into a seductive and far far west corner of the continent, for each entry ticket sent only to a cinema that old film in black and white, for each ticket worth more than € 20 of Super Bock and tremosos in tascas stuffed into holes hidden the shelter of a sun blazed mercilessly, and that continues to burn without a break the skin of this miserable city, lying and sensual, without pity for exhibitions of Brazilian culture outlined by the smiles behind the gray jerseys, old-fashioned, postcard advertising, for cubes Chinese a thousand faces, such as those who made them, for messages and dark irony resigned, for an unforgettable glimpse of fiery red sunrise on the river port, with the cranes that sound deaf in the night, the tears that seem dull thuds and groans widows of the Moors 1000 years ago, and the wind blows hard on this plan continues to deliver the twelfth cold without peace to my heart: I had the strength to listen to them again, I had the courage still love them, I had the passion and tenacity to hear and adore their sound desperate and lacetante it is the same wind that brought me up to them, is now the same wind that carries me away.

And the same wind that I will remain inside, as if it were another wrinkle on this face, like another shadow in my eyes, like the desolate silence that you taught me and I understand, and to which I commend, this other door closing behind me, erasing my footprints that other, stifling it sigh, my umpteenth and painful goodbye to you, Lisbon.