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She told him that it was a bit like the gate of hell, or at least that was the feeling that she would have had such a door, the snow around People raised, expectation, and the building that seemed to spring from nowhere in the night, she had told him they would have to wait very cold, they would believe faint with cold, and most people who could not enter, who were waiting for hours before returning the same way white. She had told him it was different and yet somehow, still more immense, and the man who tattooed his face all the gauges, sent them back one by one, the ink was etched in his face until to make a mask like the snow without cold, he almost wanted to leave, not to be seen, not to arrive at this man, as if immutable in all ages there had been anchored there and the door closed to the image of his face.

She had told him that inside it was not the same, he could not imagine, before being immersed whole, to feel, deep, almost lost because it was too big, too empty, it was dark, cold again, and the endless stairs, to get there, and when he arrived, it would also in some way other than anywhere else plus he had never been otherwise, there would be no mirror anywhere, as if not see, really, there would probably not that feel of it be, to be in his body, penetrated,-trance, maybe, and trance, more than forgetfulness, more than the drunk, something else again, a kind of freedom oozing out of the flesh, up again, be about to faint, but this time with a different failure, burning, and then he would

as he never had seen, was this the reason that it took him, and yet forgetting to warn him, leaving him lying a moment to lose, he would find, somehow, everywhere, slipping from one moment to another, from one person to the other without being able to grasp the feeling, just like a subtle presence that would be impossible to set up the back, but was it really still somewhere in the dark, was it not, rather, it only the body, vented, or even another body again offered to another, open it probably would distinguish it, the fumes of his body, an arched shape and screaming in silence giving to see the image of his cry, his face tilted somewhere where he could reach it, and probably it was not her, it could be her, with among others the enjoyment, the body of enjoyment and cons It's unknown

he would like he never saw her, I found her finally to herself lost, on his whole body against him, grabbing her hair, not like the unknown probably with violence, but then slowly, without a mirror in the bathroom, where she watched in vain for his own reflection, he would, after the violence of herself exhausted, vomiting desire, and a strange smell, a bit sweet,

and finally the morning sun on the frozen snow, and his body abandoned.

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Stage guerrilla

to Cugnaux (31) premises SIVOM Saudrune.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
from 9:30 a.m. to 4:30 p.m.

Do not hesitate, dear comrade, comes into guerrilla warfare.
More info here and here

The underground is not waiting

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The Adventures of Long-Brick the Lumbricus - Season 1 - 6 2pisode

Pamela

return to the world and the gentle waves. The underground

regenerating and saving, between depths and the shock wave. Uncertain limbo, capsizing torpor post-romantic, eternity supreme fighter.

Observe the invincible soldier risking death to each of your hugs. Then dig into the death that takes the exquisite face and threatening sleep.

Underground, life is taking shape, the galleries are leading the way enjoying tomorrow.

You, life, you look down.

A revolutionary always rests. You can push the top of your bluffs, can manhandle your ocean, your sirens lose in giant vortices.

He just died between your breasts, over your shoulder, on your neck.

You wake up the morrow. He will revive and will leave for battle.

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The Adventures of Long-Brick the Lumbricus - Season 1 - Episode 5

Abstract: Driven by a mission beyond its simple semi-cylindrical, Long Lumbricus The Brick just to blow the premises of the Socialist Party, saying by this simple and yet how brave passivity and softening bourgeois are sinful and criminal should be condemned and then judge.

You think that the office of any local Socialist Party explodes and burns like this. Simply

.

You think sow death in the ranks of traitors, renegades, is a revenge of course, who makes a brief and violent movement. The Brick

Long Lumbricus smoked his cigarette and thought back to the scene. There was Pamela. Crossing the road, slow and perilous. The entrance to the Socialist Party, the comings and goings of luxury shoes, of Berlutti so tasteful, so expensive, oozing so the call to murder.

It would take time to any inspector or commissioner or whatnot, your narrator being no specialist police ranks and promotions, to understand the meaning of the destructive blast which came to knock this place as various municipal officials say Socialists had patiently for decades, transformed into a laboratory of their little petty personal election. While the banker

certainly the trader, the speculator certainly had fallen into disgrace. There was very little in the commentator believes fellow and we avoided the insurance broker as the leper few centuries ago.

But never, ever, public morality had questioned the virtues of the ruling Social Democrats stars, or their foundation, nor alliances, nor their ability to produce a new world. The Brick

Long Lumbricus knew him. He knew that nothing could be learned from these shit more imbued with ambition than public, more eager for great restaurants and flashy television dummy that social equality and justice.

He was convicted later he would think to judge them.

And especially, especially, it was running.

The underground world of his own, and his tumultuous galleries, had solved the problem this way, when men were content to build false hopes by projecting itself into space, the stars, planets, neglecting the revolution that was spreading beneath their feet.

him, the wretched of the earth, had wanted to make a clean sweep of the supreme art.

He therefore established the relationships required to install the bomb. So we would not have the presence of mind at first to imagine that the victims were killed by means other than the explosion, it was necessary that this explosion is violent.

He entered with difficulty, enjoying a moment of respite that members agreed the party sad, bitter that they were to determine if increasing the tax on very high incomes of 0.03% or would not be the driving profound changes in the majority, which assured them the joys of power.

He entered the office of Federal Secretary savagely busy trussing that which was his mistress and who enjoyed the certainty that she would one day become the wife of one of the most influential men of power. He enjoyed without guilt, knowing that his position allowed him to promise anything and everything to anyone, even marriage. Mr.

Federal Secretary, pants fell on the calves he had flaccid, the ridiculously buttocks in the air, waved his body fat between the legs of the political future of the region, a good 32 years full of ambition and boobs very evenly distributed.

her, pretending to cry a roar of a lioness undernourished, he pretended to believe it, staring at the portrait of Francois Mitterrand that adorned his sad office, unaware of the danger threatening them. The Brick

Long Lumbricus climbed on the thigh and penetrated the anus of precious federal secretary who felt a slight discomfort when he tumbled Madam, going and coming under the gaze of incredulous Lionel Jospin in a birch true.

he implemented the strategy known as nematomorphs, parasitic worm that takes place in the abdomen of some insects while taking care not to alter their vital organs. Nematomorphs When the insect wants to extricate himself, he forces it to jump into the water allowing it to regain the aquatic environment essential for its reproduction. The

nematomorphs pushed his victim to suicide, you are reading.

Long Brick The Earthworm its long period of captivity, had learned to survive and to kill. One day he learn to live again.

was thought therefore a desperate move of the explosion, when the fat secretary jumped out the window on the fifth floor, leaving her for dead companion in misfortune, whose skull had jumped as a result of the flight edge of a piece of the framework Glass photo protector of Martine Aubry. In

creeping social democracy was unknown fighting began.

Ignorance of the opponent is the strain that feeds the fire of the first shots.