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yet another message of stuffed ...

Well here it is, to believe that the only messages I am able to post messages that are torshi write.
This one will not complete more than the previous one, only it will help this blog back to its original definition. In fact I had hypothesized that this blog would be that of a layabout so therefore the number of posts would be inversely proportional to the number of days elapsed.
It goes without saying that I would have yet many things to say and yet sheer spirit of contradiction I would say nothing. So that you will not know if I'm going right or wrong: D.

Thus, I conclude simply by one: "It's late and my" SIH "just waiting to be succeeded by" zzz ".
I reassured myself right now I do not understand what I write .
wait for tomorrow ... (Or not ...)

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Relax!

To please you Adele, I put this blog up to date ": D.

" This is a message of futility public "

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25 Posts, last published May 21, 2008

Before the request of some, and enjoying a moment of boredom Londoner, I will try to satisfy them or not. And I tend to think "or not." I
indeed quite a thing to say, a lot of things to express, only I'm not the type to m'extérioriser easily. Or at least I rarely do. The fact is that when I start to unpack all that I can weigh on your conscience I'll stop over and "balance" literally everything just irritate me, annoy me or fill me.
I have no control over myself in these moments, and the consequences are often tragic for me or for other although necessary.
I could also tell you about my stay in London, but again, I do not like so much talk about what I do, tell my life. And then as he is not finished yet, I will omit certain things: D.
Finally I wonder why I have a blog so that the very purpose of it is to tell his life xD. Finally
if he could put quite useful during the month of August in order to occupy many hours of work without so to speak. And yet I can not wait to be there. It's probably a contrast with my status layabout, but the prospect of "work" one month in August enchants. Ok it's not so much on work that interests me but instead of being home alone for 1 month, completely independent and much of friends in Paris.
Métro, boulot ... Improv!

Is it me or I just tell my life here? And shit ...

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I tagged you, you tagg me, we tagguons ...

Well, well, since apparently I was "tagged", a concept that remains vague for me, it is my understanding that I should express 3 pleasures of my life.

Good and well start with one of my pleasures as I sated this morning then, and saw nothing at all insinuating in there.

In the beginning Paris was : Me walk early in the morning in a Paris bathed in sunlight. Go through the Georges Brassens park down the street and take a Velib scaup. See awaken the fishmongers, bakers and butchers, and see that life is much more developed area in Paris as one might think.

Dumas is never far : Lying on a bed and cover 3,000 pages of Musketeers with a light background music while sipping a glass of Coke.

The future belongs to Spin Doctors : Agree an afternoon just to watch the umpteenth time episodes of Spin City and enjoy the class, the enthusiasm, intelligence Michael Flaherty, aka Mickael J. Fox.

And good as I am obliged to tagg somebody, I tagged Anna ^ ^.

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No I have not forgotten ...

I do not know if this is the approach of the twenties, or maybe the end of my secondary school years, but for almost six months, a kind of nostalgia that is installed in me. For proof, since I listen Aznavour. But this is paradoxical with my strong desire to leave my home, to emancipate me, to grow.

Recently, a wave of new members born in the 90s arrived on IP. They are 93, 94, 95 or 99 as I could see I did not feel to belong to their generations. I am of the generation revolution, one that looked Dragon Ball Z Pokemon instead. The one that was playing Pogs or Jojos and not Yu-Gi-Oh. From that danced the macarena or not the Tecktonic mia. From that seen France champion World Cup ... All these benchmarks and comparisons will undoubtedly seem pathetic, and yet these are my memories.

And I felt almost afraid of the idea losing them. Trying too hard to immerse myself in the future I'm afraid to drown my past. To lose one part of my identity, losing my roots. I always found it con and has-been people talking about their roots, and yet I understand them.

who could have known that someday I would come to regret the time spent? Not that I would take pity on my sadness, but almost.

Finally, we see much more time that passes the end of a school year at the end of one year time. The years do not end December 31, but June 31

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We are in search of inspiration. I'd almost forgotten

fact is, blogs piens are not as flowery as in the past. The conjecture is such that today it may take 2-3 days to see a new message pointing to the whole community Pienne. And yet, this message often resembles a simple mouth hole to fill the vacuum created in the space-time.

I can not blame anyone and wish I'd given myself the first person to blame. I write more, not because I do not want to, but because I can not find enough interesting topics to be exposed.

I regret especially that time when blogging seemed to respond. Where the influence of Some of revived interest autres.Où we were sailing towards a constantly changing without ever sinking into a sequence of repetitive ideas.

But this influence is even greater than it admits a converse: the silence feeds silence. And therein lies the drama. There are no blogs offset the void left by others too few rare exceptions.

My discomfort is perhaps a bit exaggerated or even invented. But the fact remains that I call and beg you update your blogs.

Because I miss your messages and more importantly, mostly ... I'm bored ...

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Paris ...

Oxford. Four Days. Four days spent away from Paris four days and yet magical. Almost too short. Four days

architectural discoveries, ethnic mixes, osmosis moderno-old and spooky evening.

Lewis Carroll's Alice is writing me, I found my wonderland ...

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Paris I love you love

Oh my Paris, ideal city
it must leave tonight.
Farewell, my beautiful city,
Farewell, not goodbye!

Paris, I love you I love you I love you,
With intoxication,
As a mistress.
You forget me soon, yet
My heart is capsized by leaving you.

I can tell you that with your smile,
You took my soul
And a woman.
While mine is yours forever.
Paris, I love you, yes, love.

Paris, I love you I love you, I love you I love you, but see,
Since I 'tell you I love you, come on!
For caresses
a thousand mistresses
They will forget me soon, yet I
, of their kisses, I'll remember for long.
One by one,
The blonde and the brunette,
Made me, without words, Taste
miles ecstasies.
J 'ya' swear that I am yours forever.
Paris, I love you - and how! - Love.

I would not have said it better.

And yet, I'm almost afraid to say what I feel for Paris, is still well above that. I fear more and more my addiction and feelings that I have toward Paris. I almost feel like really in love with this city within the meaning of the word. And personification can I make Paris more and more worried. (It should invent detoxification for addiction to cities, it would become almost dangerous: sec)

Finally, Paris I love you always ...

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Little praise of bed ...

My first intention was to titrate: small praise sleep. But on reflection really sleep with his presence during our period of unconsciousness, does not leave us his furtive little feelings of happiness that can make a bed. The bed is the best friend of man. Man is never so happy lengthens as it does nothing.

Consider first, the logical chronological period initial contacts with the benefactor. Or rather, let us approach.

The moment you think of your bed, the mechanical switches on. Thinking of him. To her. For this quilt warms you, envelops you. When you're the little child, who claims the protection and security custody. You are calm and sure of the invulnerability that will give you this yet so frail protection.

excitement intensifies as you prepare. Pajamas or no pajamas question is irrelevant. Only a feeling of comfort and well being prevail in the chosen place.

But as you change, the crumbling layers of clothing, a slight shiver of course you cool gradually. Let it, it will be even nicer later. The light extinction

then marks the beginning of happiness.

Wrapped in the blanket, lying on the soft mattress, few daily moments that can boast of providing such a burst of pleasure. What a joy to be able to expand, relax her muscles, stretching up and down to a quasi-orgasmic relaxation. Do not let escape piece of flesh cloth. Feeling cover with head to foot with a protective layer.

Imagination is then placed in optimal conditions, eating plenty wildest dreams.

And then you go ...

Sometimes, however, during his vacations imaginative, we are awakened by inadvertence, by any outside source. It is then very nice to see that he can find another 1 or 2 hours to decorate a little more our night.

It is therefore even more brutal in the morning having not just wake up and leave for a day of reality, but also leave this place so conducive to well being. Damn alarm clock!

And then there is so much more enjoyable to do also in bed ...

not wait I lie \\ o /!

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Sympathy for the Devil ...

Finally I have not tired, I'm just moody.

I just make the strange discovery 30 minutes ago on my way home on foot.

This morning I got up and I'll shove, you do not wake up as usual. No, but as usual, I emerge from my bed, gently. I slipped painfully into the shower. And I fall asleep again.

Damn I was still in bad mood, having no desire to return to classes and having to get up so early. Besides, why not declare that the day starts at 12am. I prefer to leave all the work from 12:30 to 20H instead of 9:00 am to 12pm and 12pm to 16:30. Anyway this is another problem.

And here I am therefore left the path of schoolchildren, accompanied by my despair and my mp3 that sank a little closer to the depths of my thoughts. Because yes listen to Bryan Adams at 8:00 is not the best thing is to start a day provided a good dose of joy: D.

I therefore, almost defeatist in progress, having neither did my math dm, nor did my physical and exos or Kohll learned my math. Something to celebrate ^ ^ '...

Results of the day?

A complete success. Wherever I went, I conquered. Modest bargain. And then? : D

The return was a moment of pure enjoyment that I can not explain. I'm a Man of Wealth and Taste. Gone Bryan Adams, place the Stones. A walk down the street, listening Sympathy for the Devil , I felt great. I felt that nothing could resist me, everything I could. There are songs like this that make you who you communicate some impressions. The bass, drums, rhythm, lyrics, the voice of Mick, all is there. Rather than go into a spin on this wonderful music I rather let you discover it, then rediscover it: D.

Rahhh and then I feel like writing. I'm going to go again, yet again Interview with a Vampire. All this to say yesterday it was wrong, and today everything going for the best in the best of both worlds: D.

What will happen tomorrow?

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I think I'm sick ...

I think I'm sick ...

Tired of all - tired of not knowing put it - sick of me not understanding - tired of being frustrated - am tired - tired of people - tired of not knowing what I want - sick of never being satisfied - sick of depressing - Vélib broken tired - tired of playing - the preparation of sick - sick of being dependent - too tired to say what I think - tired of not quite say what I think - tired of hairdressers - sick of being confused - tired of constantly questioning me - sick of being dissatisfied - sick of this chick is - tired of bumming - tired of being misunderstood - tired of bad days - the usual tired - tired of the monotony - tired monologues - tired of not understanding - tired of scare me - tired of my contradictions - fed up with Mike Brant - fed up with long sentences where one would like to really say what we feel without get there - tired of punctuation - sick of being jealous - tired of envying others - fed up with Deep Purple - Tired of hope - Tired of old - tired of always wanting to contradict - fed up of young people - tired of it all that means nothing - tired of ponds - ponds fed up - sick of March - tired of having nothing to say - tired of the search eyes of others - tired of "good years" - tired of turds - tired ponies of Luxembourg - tired of having so many frivolous things to say - tired of questions unanswered - tired of white paper - fed up with incompetent - tired of my incompetence - fed up wifi - tired of being away - enough of the boredom - tired of not daring - have not tired of correcting spelling - tired of feeling like crap not say that - fed up 'Shame - tired of repeating myself - Sick of being pathetic - sick of being ridiculous - sick of this shit - tired of this.

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