What Happened To Heather From Idt

Locked. Wednesday's Poem # 2

D where am I going?

copyright bittersweetvenom on deviantArt

Where do I go? I continue to ask me in a vicious cycle that never closes. In my head strolling several thousand thoughts that claim the same attention, obligations, commitments, digressions, all shouting the same, identical way.
It seems to me not to move, to be bogged down, to see the future going without me.

Where are you going? What are you doing, I wonder?

Posted by email from Close to Me

Italian Toscano Cigars

brainchild of LadyEarnshaw

Here we are again and here, again, on Wednesday. The day of poetry.

Today I will share with you the work of a poet who has rolling up the pace to perfection and the word: Emily Dickinson.
Council at all, as far as possible, to read his poems in the language. They are like free air again. Sweet success appears

& # 160; , & # 160; Success is counted sweetest
To those who have not ever had. & # 160; , & # 160; , & # 160; By ne'er Those Who Succeed. To comprehend a nectar
it takes & # 160; To comprehend a nectar
The fiercest thirst. & # 160; , & # 160; , & # 160; Requires sorest need.

not only a brave troop of purple & # 160; & # 160; Not one of all the purple Host Who now has won
flag & # 160; , & # 160; Who Took the Flag today
could define victory & # 160; & # 160; Can tell the definition So clear
& # 160; & # 160; So clear of Victory As

won the dying - and on whose & # 160; As he defeated - dying - far from burst ear
Disappointed , & # 160; ; On Whose
forbidden ear The notes of triumph & # 160; & # 160; & # 160; The distant strains of triumph
Strazianti e chiare!                                                                   Burst agonized and chear!

(translation by Guido Errante)

How Will You Know If A Scorpio Man

Wednesday Poetry

H or decided to participate in an initiative which I think is really cool. It's called Poems, and has been proposed by Morna and LadyEarnshaw , two bloggers that I follow with pleasure, this is a poem published every Wednesday, to awaken the love for poetry, to reflect, just for enjoy the beauty of words.

Today I share with you a poem very sad but very beautiful. A poem coated with a melancholy that first sweet, then bitter and dark, that I was infiltrated under the skin.

X August of Giovanni Pascoli

San Lorenzo, I know why so

of stars for the quiet air

burns and falls, why so much crying in

concave sky sparkles.

A swallow was returning to its home:

killed him: he fell between driven:

she had an insect in its beak:

the dinner for 'its swallows.

Now is there like a cross, which tends

that worm to heaven afar

and her nest is in the shadows, waiting,

chirping ever slower.

Even a man returned to his nest:

killed him: he said: Forgiveness;

remained open eyes and a cry

carrying two dolls in gift ...

Now there, in the remote house,

waiting for him, waiting in vain: he

motionless, astonished, points

the dolls to the distant sky

You, Heaven, from the worlds

serene, infinite, immortal,

Oh! tears of the stars of this atom, opaque

flood of Evil!

Why Do Men Spread Their Legs Apart When Peeing

Eighteen are now.

I the September 28th I turned eighteen. Eighteen

. It 's a number that haunts me, was the embodiment of all my fears.
Fear of being another 18 years to look after a mediocre and horrible past, fear of not being an adult, afraid of what will be live, finding a job, raise a family.
short, fear and nothing else. E 'a sentiment of ancestry.

Then comes the fateful day, you wake up, and you seem not to hear anything new. And so, I do not hear anything new, except the knowledge that now this obstacle is overcome, he outlined a new, long dreaded this birthday but did not leave nothing. Why

bottom 18 is just a number. It 's a semi-perfect number, and blood in the face of Naples, is the coming of age, is the atomic number of Argon and many other things, but primarily , it's just a number. I have many other

eighteen to overcome, and honestly it's nice, for once, realize that our worst nightmare was just a puff of smoke from his thoughts.

What Do The Jelly Bracelets Mean

One breath, two breaths.

A ll That I know is I'm breathing now

I want to change the world Instead I sleep

I want to believe in More Than You and me

But All That I know is I'm breathing
All I can do is keep breathing
All we can do is keep breathing now

Keep Breathing - Ingrid Michaelson

frejya20's work

E ' so hard, sometimes, to breathe ...

Overcoming those brief moments of crisis seem to want you take away the foundations of the world from under their feet. At that moment, short of breath and the thought seems the easiest resignation.

" Non ho più niente di solido da considerare terreno sicuro , tanto vale cadere ".

Eppure, alla fin fine, è sempre l'istinto di sopravvivenza ad aver la meglio. La voglia di agitarsi come ossessi, mulinare braccia e gambe, resistere fino a che non scoppiano i polmoni per trovare anche solo un angolino a cui attaccarsi coi polpastrelli.

In fondo, dopo il pianto, gli occhi sono più puliti, la mente meno ottenebrata, il corpo è stanco ma rigenerato dall'espulsione di tanta tensione e sofferenza. In poche parole, è pronto per ricominciare .

Need A Small Piece Of Corian

Salome, dance for me.

Q uesta registrazione mi mette i brividi .

Mi spaventa e mi affascina perchè riesce a rendere il desiderio affannoso e senza freni di un sovrano ormai pazzo per la lussuria e quello freddo e calcolatore di una cortigiana che vuole vendetta.

Perchè mi riempie di inquietudine .

Listen on posterous

[Salomè, di Oscar Wilde. L'interpretazione di Carmelo Bene]

("Pantagruel", in onda su Radio3, è stata una magnifica scoperta)

Peyton's Wig On One Tree Hill

Mixture of Art and Sense of Ineptitude

The Kiss, Gustav Klimt

If I love you? O woman! I wanted him not Diria.
Voice Express yourself how much can never m'inspiri
sweetness to the heart, when pious
turns toward me your lights, if other ways to learn?
If I love you? And you ask? dich'io silent and did not?
and they say my tel no long sighs,
and afflicted my soul, which seems to breathe, while
from your lovely eyes I'm hanging immobile?
And every time the phone says crying
which may have fear mixed with hope and,
pay once, and I desire restrain?
Everything in me says, tel: my tongue while
only phone is silent, because my heart hath been sighted, who at that
feels that he has nothing to say: I love you.

If I love you? Oh woman!, Vittorio Alfieri

Is not the art, after all, the perfect mirror of feeling, of reason, the human being?
How many times I feel better, lost in contemplation, than when I analyze my conscious clear essere incapace a vivere. E 'frustrante.

Posted via web from Close to Me

Hyundai Remote Programming 2010

the beat that gives rhythm to life

thymέ, thύm amichάnoisi kήdesin kykώmene,
per dέ, dysmenέon d alέxef insulted enantίon
stέrnon present dokoisin ἐχθρῶν πλησίον κατασταθείς
ἀσφαλέως· καὶ μήτε νικῶν ἀμφαδὴν ἀγάλλεο
μηδὲ νικηθεὶς ἐν οἴκωι καταπεσὼν ὀδύρεο.
ἀλλὰ χαρτοῖσίν τε χαῖρε καὶ κακοῖσιν ἀσχάλα
μὴ λίην · γίνωσκε δ οἷος ῥυσμὸς ἀνθρώπους ἔχει.

Heart, heart agitated by troubles irremediable,
rise up and defend yourself from enemies, opposing their chest,
in clashes with opponents
firmly planted near them. And if you win it does not boast openly, and if you won
not thrown to the ground crying in the house, but
rejoice in the joys and evils without suffering too much:
learning the pace at which governments man.

(Archilochus - Br 128 W)

I the rhythm, you know, is what gives it that "something" to our lives. It may be how we can develop in ways that are always the same or rise over the peaks of unpredictability, can follow the course that we expected or abandon the most beautiful. But it is always rhythm, music has always, always wonderful. So magnificent or terrible choice.
It 's always the heart, is always within us, is in the middle and extreme.
short, is the rhythm. Does it make sense to find a definition? Certainly does not help you to live better.
Just close your eyes and listen.

C.

Shampoo That Really Works On Your Hair Repair

Browse Petals, To welcome the Spring.

Q ui, where I live, Spring is announced by the daisies. They start popping up everywhere on the roadside, meadow, every place that has a little 'ground proudly shows a daisy.

not feel like to you to bend down, take one of your fingers, tear it gently and take it to the nose, to extract the smell that there is a new flower, spring?
not you just want to browse i petali, anche se non avete nessuno da amare, trasformando il m'ama-nonm'ama in un lotroverò-nonlotroverò?

Io faccio sempre così. L'ho fatto anche oggi mentre ero sdraiata tra le margherite, a studiare; ne ho presa una e ho chiesto alla sorte, sfogliando i petali.

Non sempre la sorte mi sorride come oggi.
Di certo però sarà bello, qualche volta, ricordare che anche delle semplici margherite possono far sembrare tutto più bello. Come la primavera.

C.

Calories Popped Vs Unpopped Popcorm

"You know that Darkness and Light I am the Son of the Sun?"

U n nome, un programma.
Chi suona? La Fame di Camilla . Sembra uno scherzo, ma è così.
La canzone è Buio e Luce , And I am madly in love.

I am here in search of a soul
with whom to share all that I am here to
be reflected
What do you look like a bit 'cause I'm lonely
I see here I'm looking for peace in the heart But I only know
how to avoid the skies will dream love


As the wind blows on me I'll pretend I do not think

while pretending it no longer wants me

Look at us we're like two satellites
We need to gravitate
neighbors look at me because we are the same
You know that Darkness and Light are the children of the sun will dream

skies
As the wind blows on me I'll pretend

while pretending not to think about it no longer wants me

carelessly I hear your voice saying my name
We are two roads that intersect
you can not believe that the reason should be told how to heal this heart I feel your

carelessly voice saying my name
We are two roads that intersect
you can not believe that the reason should say how to do this heart must suffer
Not only will dream dream dream

skies
As the wind blows on me I'll pretend

while pretending not to think about it no longer wants me

Cami.

What To Write For Birthday To Boss

Patience is the virtue of the strong.

isegnare D forces to develop patience: there is no work, even the simplest, which is not the result of a long process, and probably a good deal of pain at your fruit grow in a manner different from what we expected.

When we take a pencil in hand, for example, we have perfectly clear idea of \u200b\u200bwhat we represent, but then realize that what is coming to life on paper is not even remotely comparable to what we wanted to express.
So, what do you do? Clears. You draw back, changing the points that we do not like, adding innovations, experimenting, we came to mind, working on these cards sweaty, and maybe another attempt angry because of the signs blacks who, after many cancellations, there may not appear.

Today I picked up the pencils and colors, after a long time since I did, and I drew.
These days, more than ever, I feel the need to develop this quality which for me has always been a kind of sphinx, enigmatic and intractable, I always thought that patience was the virtue of the strong by nature. This is because for me, patience is not forgiveness, nor the ability to ignore the discomfort or anything like that for me is the virtue of strength, the ability to control the choice of saying yes or no and maintain its review without having to shout or scream.
So this is what I want to be.
Drawing helps me, even when the rubber Segnacco become many and feel like throwing a pencil on the floor. I had almost forgotten how, drawing, able to be at peace with myself, without thinking, letting my brain to focus only on that and nothing else. The music, reading, watching a TV series, all of which are somehow activated areas of thought that sometimes I would like to silence. Draw and all other activities in which you create something totally absorb the concentration of the action and is making me seems to inhibit the mind, until they forget the problems. Try not cost

nothing, no? I really think that the boxes where I keep the pencils remain in plain sight.

Ross Kemp Gangs Watch

and if one day entered the show, and too difficult to get out of it? About

I n these days continues to suffer, unable to defend it properly, the attacks of each image that surrounds me. All photos, movies, stories in which I run end up breaking into my soul and lead me to thinking that, reluctantly, I cause tears in his eyes.

not try to say that it is pre-menstrual syndrome, because it is the good time that I get angry.

The problem, returning to us, is that I can not put me to cry every time he runs into any kind of demonstration of the existence of the other. Why indeed is this: I identify with so much in the lives of others that I lose touch with my conscience, and this, like a car that is free from the hand brake, you run down the hill. Not much exciting, because it usually leads to smashing into a wall of unpleasant memories that I did not want to return.
I call incomplete catharsis. Because when the show ends the user returns to any human being, should usually be free, light, renovated. But I feel worse than before, as I stop all'immedesimazione and I can not go further.

But a nice thing happened yesterday: I read a poem and I was fine. Not because of poor quality, but simply because the very nature of this poem is so slight that maybe, finally, has sent a little bit too.
I hope that my situation will improve soon, I need to go watch the world with more reasonable.

Meanwhile, let me share with you a poem I mentioned three lines ago. I find it absolutely wonderful ...

The Quiet World

In an effort to get people to look
into Each Other's eyes more,
And Also to Appease the mutes,
the government has Decided
to allot Each person Exactly one hundred
and sixty- seven words, per day. When

the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

(Jeffrey McDaniel)

Salmon Patties Recipes No Eggs

A (late) for the year already begun.

Gli pareva che tutte le tracce della sua esistenza si impadronissero di lui e gli sussurrassero:"No, non ti libererai e non diventerai un altro, resterai quale sei: con i dubbi, il continuo malcontento di te stesso, gli sterili tentativi di perfezionamento, le ricadute e l'eterna attesa d'una felicità alla quale non sei destinato e che non puoi conseguire".
Ma mentre subiva l'impressione che gli oggetti gli parlassero così, una voce interna gli ripeteva che non doveva sottomettersi al passato e che poteva fare di sè tutto quel che voleva.

da Anna Karénina di Lev N. Tolstòj

Leggendo queste parole per la prima volta penso che il mio cuore abbia saltato un battito, forse due.
Vi è mai capitato di trovarvi talmente in una frase da pensare che avreste potuto scriverla voi, se v'avessero dato le giuste parole?
E' stato questo il sentimento che ho provato, mentre man mano il loro significato si depositava nella mia mente; e ora, ogni volta che le rileggo, sapendo quanto dell'autore è stato infuso nel personaggio di Levin, penso che mi sarebbe piaciuto conoscere Lev, mi sarebbe piaciuto confrontarmi con lui e chiedergli se davvero anche lui ha provato quella sensazione di massima speranza e massima disperazione, nello stesso momento.

E' così che ho deciso. Ho deciso che questo sarà il mio proposito per l'anno nuovo, con più di un mese di ritardo; d'ora in poi prenderò la vita come insegna questa citazione, per bocca di Levin: anche se spesso tutto ciò che hai attorno ti si mostra contrario, l'unica voce che bisgona ascoltare è quella interiore che dice di non arrenderti, di lasciare il tuo solco su questa terra, di perseguire il tuo obbiettivo.
Resa così, "in soldoni", mi rendo conto di sminuire, forse, quella che è la sua portata a livello etico e artistico; spero mi perdonerete. Più di tutto, spero mi perdoni Tolstòj.
Ancora di più, spero che questa citazioni illumini voi, anche per un secondo solo.

C.