suicide

suicide

 


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??????????creative use?issimo the Macintosh design??issimo I draw very?????English and why I would have to kill?
PERCHE' ME And MY CAT DO NOT HAVE PIU' JOB And ARE DYING OF HUNGER ME AND MY RED CAT. (comfort and vettovaglie to
barrywhitebabe@hotmail.com)
thanks, grazie.......................................

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Tuesday, 27 September 2005
 


There was once to Venice. With a last timid and afraid salute they had given appointment to Venice. They were promised: We will carry a trust on the back therefore we will be able to write our comments and to insert our GIF. Not more plastic people and virtual shadows that fluctuate fantasmatiche black shadows of the night. It had whispered in Greek: affitterò for you all Marghera Port and will be them only for we. We will dance and eat on the wharves luridi we pollute to you, two alone, rimirando the moonlight covered from vapors of petrochemical, the cloud dense and loaded with sounds and chicchi with real words and melagrano, that they arrive from the sea and they break up like dirty waves of carob tree blood on the wharves. They will be our ballet and our banquet of the hours and the autumnal Mandarin, leaves and died daughters, and you will be my Deborah-Orsa. We will not be more dirty moribondi, single bugs and blasfemi, under neon lights... in the shadow that we brood larve and we attend crisalidi invasion of locuste in apnea in dyspnoea with the strascicata language for earth between powders and pulviscoli. To the return in my old blue torpedoing I will tear you the mutandine of cotton n. 33 from two moneies, and profanerò your sacred heart. And you will hate me for all the life. And you accuccerai and traviserai yours amor (coast)paradiso. And also I you will be buio, light and crown of thorns and roses. You riaccompagnerò to Wisteria Marghera Wools and you will buy curlers and creams of gold Estée Lauder from 300 euro and scents Cocò Chanel and red sticks of Winston and bisticks and will sing flying under your shower, blood rain, that she strains between your gilded legs. But you will hate me with all the spirit in order to have made brandelli your butter heart...

postato da biancaneve | 18:55 | comments
Sunday, 11 September 2005
 

MY HUSBAND RAUL BOVE

he would have to shave his legs,neh?

postato da biancaneve | 18:21 | comments
Saturday, 10 September 2005
 
Arthur Schnitzler

Fräulein Else
Novelle

------------------------------------------------------------------------
»Du willst wirklich nicht mehr weiterspielen, Else?« - »Nein, Paul, ich kann nicht mehr. Adieu.
- Auf Wiedersehen, gnädige Frau.« - »Aber, Else, sagen Sie mir doch: Frau Cissy.
- Oder lieber noch: Cissy, ganz einfach.« - »Auf Wiedersehen, Frau Cissy.
« - »Aber warum gehen Sie denn schon, Else? Es sind noch volle zwei Stunden bis zum Dinner.
« - »Spielen Sie nur Ihr Single mit Paul, Frau Cissy, mit mir ist's doch
heut' wahrhaftig kein Vergnügen.« - »Lassen Sie sie, gnädige Frau,
sie hat heut' ihren ungnädigen Tag. - Steht dir übrigens ausgezeichnet zu Gesicht,
das Ungnädigsein, Else. - Und der rote Sweater noch besser.
« - »Bei Blau wirst du hoffentlich mehr Gnade finden, Paul. Adieu.«

Das war ein ganz guter Abgang. Hoffentlich glauben die Zwei nicht, daß ich eifersüchtig bin.
- Daß sie was miteinander haben, Cousin Paul und Cissy Mohr,
darauf schwör' ich. Nichts auf der Welt ist mir gleichgültiger.
- Nun wende ich mich noch einmal um und winke ihnen zu.
Winke und lächle. Sehe ich nun gnädig aus?
- Ach Gott, sie spielen schon wieder. Eigentlich spiele ich besser als Cissy Mohr;
und Paul ist auch nicht gerade ein Matador. Aber gut sieht er aus
– mit dem offenen Kragen und dem Bösen-Jungen-Gesicht.
Wenn er nur weniger affektiert wäre.
Brauchst keine Angst zu haben, Tante Emma . . .
postato da biancaneve | 00:05 | comments
Friday, 09 September 2005
 
Without You

    My Pillow gazes upon me at night
Empty as a gravestone;
I never thought it would be so bitter
To be alone,
Not to lie down asleep in your hair.
I lie alone in a silent house,
The hanging lamp darkened,
And gently stretch out my hands
To gather in yours,
And softly press my warm mouth
Toward you, and kiss myself, exhausted and weak-
Then suddenly I'm awake
And all around me the cold night grows still.
The star in the window shines clearly-
Where is your blond hair,
Where your sweet mouth?
Now I drink pain in every delight
And poison in every wine;
I never knew it would be so bitter
To be alone,
Alone, without you.

Hermann Hesse

Translated by James Wright
postato da biancaneve | 22:49 | comments
Thursday, 01 September 2005
 


..IT SUCCEEDED THAT I WAS ABLE - WITH the ASTUTENESS -
TO KEEP The ERIC's WARM PISS, ( my adored red cat )
THUS I AVOID TO HIM An ANESTHESIA
IN ORDER TO CAPTURE HIS PISS To HIM WITH
The SYRINGE THROUGH His BELLY.....
TOMORROW I BRING HIM TO THE VET FOR THE CONTROL......
I'LL DRINK LITERS OF DIAZEPAM, THEY MUST MAKE HIM AN ECHOGRAPHY...
... POOR TREASURE.............

postato da biancaneve | 02:23 | comments