Ice Skating On A Date

ice

He felt like he had never seen before. It was as if she had taken it there to see it finally, he realizes that what he wanted was: the see-that his gaze to her bank, in it, and can not take it off.
It choked all around him, too much heat, too much body, and the music and lights ordnance. He sat there and watched her dance, danced as she bent under his eyes, moist with perspiration, his hair soaked almost - she danced without looking, and yet he felt that his body was responsible for him, his eyes sunk in it, -. He felt like he had never seen before - her dress was drenched, and it was as if the lights, music, infusing his body, it poured so that it absorbs, dance to it, even abandoned, he felt, it was, to him, among all these others, abandoned. She breathed her eyes, she danced: for he sees it, because he saw it. It was as if they violate her eyes, she forced him not to turn away from her, he said, she no longer dances, but his gaze on her, that he would look down so that his body is suspended, and the heat and dark stripe of light, he had half a mind, to get out of this heat, it was about to faint, because of the moist air, almost palpable, the air laden with sweat, perfume, he seemed to detect his scent, as if dancing she exhaled her whole body to let him feel in his throat, so that it suffocates. Sometimes she came to him, she bent over the ice bucket, and took an ice cube, she sat beside him without saying anything, she looked away, with music a little further into his body, and she pressed the ice cube in her hands, she held him, that he founded in his hot hands. She drank a glass of champagne, as if he was not there, as if it was not the bottle he had given her for her dance again, so he can see, again. And then she took another ice cube and she returned to the ice and mingled with her sweat, her scent, she danced, and the ice on his neck, on his shoulders, his throat. He looked at the ice that melted on it, on his burning skin, it was absorbed in the ice, he exhausted himself so quickly on her body, her body and she took yet another, as if she needed at each moment to melt an ice cube in it again, to feel lost on her neck on his shoulders, his throat. He felt she had come, she wanted him here, for that alone - for he was filled with the bodies of ice and sweat, so that the seen dancing until they can not, so to be filled with warmth, her, he does not want only one thing to see. It was so unbearable he began to turn an ice cube and as she clasped it in his hands, sinking feeling, spreading his hands, disappear. The have. She danced again, stunned herself almost, of being seen, she did not doubt it, very strong, he sees it, it tightens on an ice cube in his hands, very strong, an ice cube background, and disappears without quench the heat, it can escape.

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Adventures Long-Brick earthworms Season 1 - Episode 3

Long Brick earthworms awoke slowly, stretching.
He looked up at the sky thinking of eternity, the weight of philosophy in the world order, a thousand ways to prepare mashed potatoes and the beginning of the erection that had fired sleep. Therefore he stretched slowly. Do not start a day with an erection in the earthworm, had been so incongruous that immerse themselves in an attitude of withdrawal. There existed a current of esoteric thought which advocated the winding and unwinding permanent but it was marginal, unhelpful and more specifically, for our purposes, nothing in life lit up modestly heroic Long Brick earthworms.
The flattened part of the body it did suffer slightly, reminding him constantly cursed the day of the fall of a cinder block on his fate, his pride and, secondarily, to half its length.

He advanced toward the light that he had so missed.
The accident, surgery, his recovery in the vivarium of a certain Jean-Amedee, 10, blond sadistic especially ugly by the admiration of his parents and the school administration, his escape slow and laborious, the fight against dog jean-Amedee, pre notorious asshole, neo-and post-Sarkozyist, then its back to the home ground, his commitment to freedom underground, his incarceration and his release, finally, it was all behind him. Therein lay his strength. Nothing could happen to him.

one swift motion and advised he went to the premises of the local Socialist Party following the instructions sent to him by the cylindrical Pamela languidly.

Reader, reader. this adventure would not exist without your ability to question the immutable order of universal conservatism. Reader, viewer, the friendship that binds us to constitute the strength to face the core issues. Let's go, then.
Do you think the verse is in the fruit?
the rose thorns are they the essence?
Why live on your knees when you can crawl to freedom? Now, do you consider harmless, or take the morning erection-so finally the place it deserves in the symbolic thoughts that shape our ability to resist?

These questions do they have a long way while Brick The earthworm moves towards his destiny head full of uncertainties and the still fresh vision of the naked body of Pamela?

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From Vanity

The futility of earthly things and the transitory nature of life are at the heart of what is vanity. Satisfaction of self seem to desire, vanity is primarily the character of what is vain and useless.

Still, the conceit of these defects are most common among men. Conceited are among us.

But who are conceited, pedantic and ridiculous claim and showing that and are still proud of what they do or do not.

Trissotin modern times by the display of information that they have mastered the surface, these are just vanity mirror of ourselves for vanity is a sentiment that is in us all.

It appears when you like and that one has to admire, when we look at the other prostitute.

Very often, a quest that led to the exacerbation of a need for recognition, and to feed his ego, the vanity is considered better than all. It's not even in his own qualities that supposedly will find material to rise above his peers, but rather the defects he sees in others.

But this desire to be approved by the other is merely a form of humility. Indeed, as the philosopher, "beyond the vanity, there is humility, so that an uncertainty of praise heal" (Bergson).

Maybe then the true face of pedants.

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summer night

Two spectra discussed before. Wir werden

denies diese Gespenster breast-wir sind ohne Worte Gespenster, ohne Vergangenheit, die each zusammenbringen würde, wir sind von Stille und Gespenster Abstand getrennt,
Du hast die Worte ermördert, -A summer night. It was the end. You were tired, tears, cry. You were killing words Todfluss-rousing,
you had left me - you have stolen from the bedroom , I did not sleep more, in solitude, -
I should leave you for a while without sleep, without summer - I came back. Summer night. Your eyes have reflected a stranger
-summer night. A phenomenon which shaped the eeriness of the distance. I could not bear - the nights without sleep, days without nights, the summer without beginning, without end.
summer night. You know, it's the end. We sense it, a hidden certainty, it is an unconscious feeling that we met, without reality, because unexpressed, there was no beginning, there was nothing, how could there be an end, summer night. Your black eye, black tears. The trauma, silence which heralds the eternal silence, where you'll disappear. Never shall we meet again, we never have met, you say that you had already forgotten everything - summer night, your words destroy us, there are no words
enstelltes your face. I could never reach you. lost your face in a summer night.
Summer has no end. Sleep and dream. I have found the nights, and the dream. It is a single summer night without end.

Et la nuit seule entendit leurs paroles .

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the dreamed

Pourquoi donc qu'il m'en voulez-vous souvienne?

Could you still perceive the difference of the dreamed off from the figures that at that time belonged to reality - you've experienced what you felt experienced as you've been dreaming, dreaming must test what you know because the only way out was the path that went nowhere-
the dreamed were we, without knowing it, the dream in the desert of memory-it was an urge that his own exhaustion, contained his denial, it was a time that was inseparable from their destruction, by-the awareness of this destruction. The dreamed we were, because of the awareness of the end, and we lived as whether we were not aware in the dream the impossible eternity of a moment.
Have you swallowed in oblivion - disappeared from the start, the Missing , from the beginning, a dream that can record not , - Why do you want
that I remember, we- were perhaps only dreaming that fade with the dim light - we were one of the past and she died. We were the dim light, which prevents to distinguish anything. We had a moment of feigned night, the feigned day-to-noise, in which everything falls and dies. Why do you want me to tell me it is commemorated, driven-to something else, something else to determine. You envy me for my forgetfulness, but maybe that's forgetting what we went through, maybe you've longed for this already then forget it-we were just longing for forgetfulness. You still hang on the dreamed that have never met, they lie deep in the dead time in the imaginary space that arises from the past-
In the desert refers gives birth to only dreamed , and the full night, the ghosts, to me it is nothing else. Maybe we were just dreamed and dreamed we stayed, my dreamed-of life in the dead past.