a pin for the birthday of Boris.
The workshop filled with paintings. I love it.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Free Online Pokemon Doujinshi
Pines dance (large version) The PIN
Table consists of 10 frames of 60 x 60 cm.
He settled in better space. The next
in progress will be 8 frames 80 x 80 cm.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Staci Diamond And Eli
After a half-Strange Days-Review
is strange. For a week I began to listen to the soundtrack of Amelie Poulain. And what is even more strange is that I can still feel after you listen to Valse d'Amélie. Shopgirl song that can easily play the piano, and that can be unpacked to impress girls and mothers to cry, he nevertheless something magical. A simple melody that grips the heart, which was invented only once. Even after years, you feel the same feelings, and we love this romantic music of shopgirl.
I do not really know where to begin this review of a semester. Maybe by this vision, always about the same thing.
I was at the train door at Le Havre. We were both in the car but one of the two of us remain on the platform. We do not say anything. He had to leave to experience new things, as if to say something else, change reality after spending an intense year who could not live on itself. "Live a lot of things, one after the recount," I told him. Then we kissed, and the train left. Since then, everything was mixed in my head. Everything has turned into another story, which began with an abnormal return, vibrating love, but also unwanted, who did not want a year of happiness to go away in the closet of memories with theatrical costumes and all their faces bright. And s'enchaînèrent misunderstandings, doubts, arguments, wickedness, bad faith, contempt inexplicable. And then there was the separation, and bitter cold. Still no substrate visible change, just the silence in an empty lot (you can see the herbs gently move but we hear no birds sing.)
Why rehash it? Maybe because these things are present in my mind. Because even if they claim to erase, move towards a better claim, they are still there, though. As my feeling after Valse d'Amélie. And why in such an article? Because this story, despite all the efforts and successes, all the same colored much this part of the semester, but perhaps not with the most beautiful painting possible. Tokyoites My adventure is not limited of course not this. But Japan is also the story and I can not deny it.
I just spent almost five months in Japan, one of the most developed countries in the world. Coming here, I first realized the importance of preparing its travel and go places that we really look. Not that I committed a blunder by coming here. It's just that I too follow a herd and the certainties of Sciences Po, and finally, I came here with false expectations. After this first difficulty, we must still find his account because he is not to be the spoiled child who is not happy in one of the most fascinating countries on the planet! Because if there is a fascinating city, wonderful, bombastic, it's Tokyo, the great swallower. Small streets like Grand Avenue, in a torrent of dazzling light. Ants everywhere, shopping everywhere, from everywhere. A large city almost always occurs immediately atomization of individuals. In a big city, we quickly found himself lost in a crowd. Stand out is difficult. One becomes a human being connected to a mobile phone, cosmic communion with other individuals so alone and lost in the phone contacts. But this is not necessarily sad. Tokyo foreign city, finally brings us back to ourselves. Because the cliché that accompanies travel is quite true: we discovered even more so when traveling. Looks like Michaux: "Travelling for s'apauvrir, here is what you need." Undressing certainty, to find himself naked and with nothing but a huge page to write.
If there is a balance to do in Japan, the balance of friendship. Making friends or French international is something quite easy and makes everyday brighter and brighter. Everyone is in the same state of mind, ie travel and discovery. I myself am rather surprised by my fluency easily link me with people like that. Despite the distance that I care, as a habit rather than distrust, this topic is not very difficult.
In contrast, some pretty tough here, and perhaps most interesting is to make Japanese friends who have never lived abroad and who do not speak English. Not that this is impossible! On the contrary! I quickly realized that the problem may not be alleged that the Japanese put distance between themselves and strangers, but rather can be a double set of seriality. By saying that the Japanese are ahead of difficult access, it crashes may be more, unless we dare to approach them, and build a friendship suddenly becomes more difficult. Finally, a major problem may be the language: to speak is to think and speak evil is to show a thought obsolete, it does not fully show itself, where more time important.
What I realized here is that despite cultural differences, there is one similarity, a little something that we can all agree, as a human being. This grand banality is actually rather a radical rejection of cultural relativism. There are many similarities between the Japanese and ourselves, and perhaps more than differences. The shape is just different, but the shape is also the background, the background is different. It is a dialectical interplay between the same and different: is this charming Japanese concept of the Other that one studies in Philosophy in Terminal! It was inevitable that it means something!
So in terms of Japanese friends: Yes! Yes, slowly but surely, I'm making Japanese friends. Some are really starting to open, as I open myself to them. While we appreciate the refinement, this attention to detail and the other, kindness, politeness, intelligence, beauty, humor, but shyness, mood swings, distance, fear, fascination ... Experiments are ultimately what we feel with anyone else. It's just that everything is in disorder, and it takes time to reconstruct the puzzle of cultural difference.
If I am optimistic about the Japanese themselves, I am much less when the Japanese company. Perhaps this will change you it during the year, but in any case, I have no desire to make my life here. The lives of Japanese seems to be connected to one and the same thing, work. Quite simply, all examples of our textbooks talk or duties that must Sato san back home, either part-time job Moriyama kun. Here, work and effort are the cardinal virtues of working people. A child, after leaving primary school, will return to college and high school, where he will prepare for an entrance to the University. Of course, as this competition is difficult, smarter and more affluent take evening classes, which will summarize their school life at work. Once at the university, they study the material that inspires them most, from Art to Religion through the German and mathematics. They come in a club, they demandra an investment that can sometimes go three hours every night. They take a Baito or small job to earn money for fun once a week. From their third year they will begin to seek work, attend business seminars of all kinds. And so, if all goes well, because it is the crisis for almost 20 years, they touver a trade out of their fourth year. Thus, a student of Icelandic literature Bulgarian or banker can end up as a student of "culture and religion" being in a logistics company. Then, in this business, they work all year, with two weeks off per year, an explosion of hours per week, take the train at midnight to go home, if they do not stay in the asleep Metro after two hours of travel.
course this description is arbitrary, imprecise, is based on observations, and applies
much in Tokyo as Japan in general. It also can be a bit exaggerated. However, I can not help thinking that this country is doomed, as if the economic depression for so long that this was a reflection of a country that finally bored of having acquired everything. After the toilet in the glasses heated jet automated washes behind you and the vibrator "Hello Kitty", I do not know what the Japanese are going to be able to invent to find something to appreciate, once capitalism They were all brought to share the happiness and well being. And I'm not saying this for free. I spoke with my professor of literature, American, who would love to live in Europe, because "You guys Understood That a life Where You Are Working To Live Is not Worth Living. "Like what, 35 hours and months of paid leave, it can also dreaming the American and Japanese capitalists without question.
Challenging and integration into the world of work. How to make a discrete transition on me and my little person. The trip and my stay at Sophia shown me that I was increasingly difficult to cope with the academic and courses. Right now I'm completely lost. Twenty different Master. A life full of so much more exciting alternatives. I do not know absolutely what I want to do with my life. researcher, politician, artist, director, weaver of dreams. Do everything is impossible. And every choice involves a waiver, an opportunity cost. What a terrible law! I'm 22 and I have no idea. "On the top of the world, you've got nothing done" looks like Brian Molko. I just want to lose, no longer having to think. Create, create art and make people happy, intelligent, informed, aware, loving, extravagant, living. But also want to travel, get lost in the jungle, in the heart of darkness. To go in darkness, that these unknown hands take me to make me what they want to make me another.
Arty Farty
"You never bathe twice in the same river" Heraclitus said. "Everything flows". The third year we all went mad, or rather, made us all white. A desire not to be what was this feeling to do what we could not do before. Many couples have exploded. Friendships were created, while others have vanished, or we pretend to hatch and eventually die in the egg. We are all, more than ever, individuals and subject only to the great tapestry of our lives without really knowing what to write on it, but with a firm resolve not to make white copy. I do not know what to think the concept of "personal revolution" nor the change in itself. There is anyway not enough to judge such a sense of axiological manner. This is neither good nor bad. Just want to explode with light, push farther and do things that our parents may have never had the opportunity to do. And sometimes you see the change, and we can not fight against him. And then we see the boat away from shore, the familiar face fading into the mist, while one plunges into darkness, with the browser changer that takes us not toward death but towards the reality of life.
But sometimes there are things that do not change much. At least, they differ, take another rhetorical and other conversations. So I would like to thank Miss Star that I never mentioned Here on this blog. Without knowing why, I began to rethink her when I saw the nocturnal landscapes scroll while I was on the train. After a smile, I just wanted to thank her, tell her she was missing, and I wished her all the happiness in the world. Thank you for being there when it was really wrong. Not to be part of not having cleared while our situation when I left was far more complex and profound than the last story that has left so much suffering, misunderstandings and discomfort. Why, thank you. Advance does not always mean a clean slate of the past.
And to know it better: http://mademoisellestellaire.blogspot.com/
An incomprehensible sadness. We found ourselves in a room, the light glows dimly, wept after, both for the same reasons, even if our stories were not so intertwined. Lying on the bed, the mass in front of me was very drunk. I spent my arms around his back and closed my eyes. The lack, the void: the bullies that come up that we understand why those who make us think only people who persevere in our being, beings who live only through desire, and outside of ourselves, in good Spinoza. I then kissed her face and lips, but water has flowed over the walls, the petals of the flowers were down on themselves, and the wind stopped blowing out the windows. The sad part is closing the door, showing me the constancy of life, and inconsistencies of desire. And above all we need to be alone, to better discover.
I leave for two months outside of Japan. I'll do a month of training in Vietnam, and probably a month in China. I really need from Japan, need to experience something different, less sanitized, leaving the reality that I saw only half of m'apauvrir more. Maybe where I go, I do not find what I was looking for, but the important thing to look right? The answer somewhere, who cares!
As you can see, this picture is rather mixed, with shadows and lights, as realistic as can be love, money, friendship or the death of Carlos and Michael Jackson. Anyway, thank you Sciences Po! At least, this school will be used to something: to show us that we must adapt knowledge and change in this world of constant rotation. Pure products of the globalization maybe? Or simply have their twenties and lost, and say shit at all.
Anyway, back to France: Oh no!
I do not really know where to begin this review of a semester. Maybe by this vision, always about the same thing.
I was at the train door at Le Havre. We were both in the car but one of the two of us remain on the platform. We do not say anything. He had to leave to experience new things, as if to say something else, change reality after spending an intense year who could not live on itself. "Live a lot of things, one after the recount," I told him. Then we kissed, and the train left. Since then, everything was mixed in my head. Everything has turned into another story, which began with an abnormal return, vibrating love, but also unwanted, who did not want a year of happiness to go away in the closet of memories with theatrical costumes and all their faces bright. And s'enchaînèrent misunderstandings, doubts, arguments, wickedness, bad faith, contempt inexplicable. And then there was the separation, and bitter cold. Still no substrate visible change, just the silence in an empty lot (you can see the herbs gently move but we hear no birds sing.)
Why rehash it? Maybe because these things are present in my mind. Because even if they claim to erase, move towards a better claim, they are still there, though. As my feeling after Valse d'Amélie. And why in such an article? Because this story, despite all the efforts and successes, all the same colored much this part of the semester, but perhaps not with the most beautiful painting possible. Tokyoites My adventure is not limited of course not this. But Japan is also the story and I can not deny it.
I just spent almost five months in Japan, one of the most developed countries in the world. Coming here, I first realized the importance of preparing its travel and go places that we really look. Not that I committed a blunder by coming here. It's just that I too follow a herd and the certainties of Sciences Po, and finally, I came here with false expectations. After this first difficulty, we must still find his account because he is not to be the spoiled child who is not happy in one of the most fascinating countries on the planet! Because if there is a fascinating city, wonderful, bombastic, it's Tokyo, the great swallower. Small streets like Grand Avenue, in a torrent of dazzling light. Ants everywhere, shopping everywhere, from everywhere. A large city almost always occurs immediately atomization of individuals. In a big city, we quickly found himself lost in a crowd. Stand out is difficult. One becomes a human being connected to a mobile phone, cosmic communion with other individuals so alone and lost in the phone contacts. But this is not necessarily sad. Tokyo foreign city, finally brings us back to ourselves. Because the cliché that accompanies travel is quite true: we discovered even more so when traveling. Looks like Michaux: "Travelling for s'apauvrir, here is what you need." Undressing certainty, to find himself naked and with nothing but a huge page to write.
If there is a balance to do in Japan, the balance of friendship. Making friends or French international is something quite easy and makes everyday brighter and brighter. Everyone is in the same state of mind, ie travel and discovery. I myself am rather surprised by my fluency easily link me with people like that. Despite the distance that I care, as a habit rather than distrust, this topic is not very difficult.
In contrast, some pretty tough here, and perhaps most interesting is to make Japanese friends who have never lived abroad and who do not speak English. Not that this is impossible! On the contrary! I quickly realized that the problem may not be alleged that the Japanese put distance between themselves and strangers, but rather can be a double set of seriality. By saying that the Japanese are ahead of difficult access, it crashes may be more, unless we dare to approach them, and build a friendship suddenly becomes more difficult. Finally, a major problem may be the language: to speak is to think and speak evil is to show a thought obsolete, it does not fully show itself, where more time important.
What I realized here is that despite cultural differences, there is one similarity, a little something that we can all agree, as a human being. This grand banality is actually rather a radical rejection of cultural relativism. There are many similarities between the Japanese and ourselves, and perhaps more than differences. The shape is just different, but the shape is also the background, the background is different. It is a dialectical interplay between the same and different: is this charming Japanese concept of the Other that one studies in Philosophy in Terminal! It was inevitable that it means something!
So in terms of Japanese friends: Yes! Yes, slowly but surely, I'm making Japanese friends. Some are really starting to open, as I open myself to them. While we appreciate the refinement, this attention to detail and the other, kindness, politeness, intelligence, beauty, humor, but shyness, mood swings, distance, fear, fascination ... Experiments are ultimately what we feel with anyone else. It's just that everything is in disorder, and it takes time to reconstruct the puzzle of cultural difference.
If I am optimistic about the Japanese themselves, I am much less when the Japanese company. Perhaps this will change you it during the year, but in any case, I have no desire to make my life here. The lives of Japanese seems to be connected to one and the same thing, work. Quite simply, all examples of our textbooks talk or duties that must Sato san back home, either part-time job Moriyama kun. Here, work and effort are the cardinal virtues of working people. A child, after leaving primary school, will return to college and high school, where he will prepare for an entrance to the University. Of course, as this competition is difficult, smarter and more affluent take evening classes, which will summarize their school life at work. Once at the university, they study the material that inspires them most, from Art to Religion through the German and mathematics. They come in a club, they demandra an investment that can sometimes go three hours every night. They take a Baito or small job to earn money for fun once a week. From their third year they will begin to seek work, attend business seminars of all kinds. And so, if all goes well, because it is the crisis for almost 20 years, they touver a trade out of their fourth year. Thus, a student of Icelandic literature Bulgarian or banker can end up as a student of "culture and religion" being in a logistics company. Then, in this business, they work all year, with two weeks off per year, an explosion of hours per week, take the train at midnight to go home, if they do not stay in the asleep Metro after two hours of travel.
course this description is arbitrary, imprecise, is based on observations, and applies
much in Tokyo as Japan in general. It also can be a bit exaggerated. However, I can not help thinking that this country is doomed, as if the economic depression for so long that this was a reflection of a country that finally bored of having acquired everything. After the toilet in the glasses heated jet automated washes behind you and the vibrator "Hello Kitty", I do not know what the Japanese are going to be able to invent to find something to appreciate, once capitalism They were all brought to share the happiness and well being. And I'm not saying this for free. I spoke with my professor of literature, American, who would love to live in Europe, because "You guys Understood That a life Where You Are Working To Live Is not Worth Living. "Like what, 35 hours and months of paid leave, it can also dreaming the American and Japanese capitalists without question.
Challenging and integration into the world of work. How to make a discrete transition on me and my little person. The trip and my stay at Sophia shown me that I was increasingly difficult to cope with the academic and courses. Right now I'm completely lost. Twenty different Master. A life full of so much more exciting alternatives. I do not know absolutely what I want to do with my life. researcher, politician, artist, director, weaver of dreams. Do everything is impossible. And every choice involves a waiver, an opportunity cost. What a terrible law! I'm 22 and I have no idea. "On the top of the world, you've got nothing done" looks like Brian Molko. I just want to lose, no longer having to think. Create, create art and make people happy, intelligent, informed, aware, loving, extravagant, living. But also want to travel, get lost in the jungle, in the heart of darkness. To go in darkness, that these unknown hands take me to make me what they want to make me another.
Arty Farty
"I Want to Take You Away Lets Escape Into
the music DJ let it play
I just can not refuse it Like the way
you do this Keep on rockin
to it Please do not stop the Please do not stop the
Please do not stop the music "
the music DJ let it play
I just can not refuse it Like the way
you do this Keep on rockin
to it Please do not stop the Please do not stop the
Please do not stop the music "
violence and alcohol circulating in my veins
few neurons fought in my brain
At the entrance of the cave, the pale distant voices
Vampires Homnivore a cross on his back.
In the dark night out of their black coffins
Great men very tall, jet-black hair
The looks delicious, devouring clouds
The soft prey straight out of the evening breeze.
We then took the iron, I marked the wrist
A glass of blood donated, thrown straight into Hell
friend at my side, vision of Lucifer
deadly Vision, we are damned.
In the den of vampires, so we threw
Frightened primarily by their sapphire eyes
scary Their smiles, their calm tone wax
Long fingers silent, seeming to seal my fate.
Music is vital, fear fast asleep
around human beings that want to enjoy and embrace
love his faces made of gold:
Our screams of fear turned into laughter.
"You never bathe twice in the same river" Heraclitus said. "Everything flows". The third year we all went mad, or rather, made us all white. A desire not to be what was this feeling to do what we could not do before. Many couples have exploded. Friendships were created, while others have vanished, or we pretend to hatch and eventually die in the egg. We are all, more than ever, individuals and subject only to the great tapestry of our lives without really knowing what to write on it, but with a firm resolve not to make white copy. I do not know what to think the concept of "personal revolution" nor the change in itself. There is anyway not enough to judge such a sense of axiological manner. This is neither good nor bad. Just want to explode with light, push farther and do things that our parents may have never had the opportunity to do. And sometimes you see the change, and we can not fight against him. And then we see the boat away from shore, the familiar face fading into the mist, while one plunges into darkness, with the browser changer that takes us not toward death but towards the reality of life.
But sometimes there are things that do not change much. At least, they differ, take another rhetorical and other conversations. So I would like to thank Miss Star that I never mentioned Here on this blog. Without knowing why, I began to rethink her when I saw the nocturnal landscapes scroll while I was on the train. After a smile, I just wanted to thank her, tell her she was missing, and I wished her all the happiness in the world. Thank you for being there when it was really wrong. Not to be part of not having cleared while our situation when I left was far more complex and profound than the last story that has left so much suffering, misunderstandings and discomfort. Why, thank you. Advance does not always mean a clean slate of the past.
And to know it better: http://mademoisellestellaire.blogspot.com/
An incomprehensible sadness. We found ourselves in a room, the light glows dimly, wept after, both for the same reasons, even if our stories were not so intertwined. Lying on the bed, the mass in front of me was very drunk. I spent my arms around his back and closed my eyes. The lack, the void: the bullies that come up that we understand why those who make us think only people who persevere in our being, beings who live only through desire, and outside of ourselves, in good Spinoza. I then kissed her face and lips, but water has flowed over the walls, the petals of the flowers were down on themselves, and the wind stopped blowing out the windows. The sad part is closing the door, showing me the constancy of life, and inconsistencies of desire. And above all we need to be alone, to better discover.
"Voyage, voyage! Later, as night and day!" Desireless
I leave for two months outside of Japan. I'll do a month of training in Vietnam, and probably a month in China. I really need from Japan, need to experience something different, less sanitized, leaving the reality that I saw only half of m'apauvrir more. Maybe where I go, I do not find what I was looking for, but the important thing to look right? The answer somewhere, who cares!
As you can see, this picture is rather mixed, with shadows and lights, as realistic as can be love, money, friendship or the death of Carlos and Michael Jackson. Anyway, thank you Sciences Po! At least, this school will be used to something: to show us that we must adapt knowledge and change in this world of constant rotation. Pure products of the globalization maybe? Or simply have their twenties and lost, and say shit at all.
Anyway, back to France: Oh no!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Creative Extigy Drivers Windows 7
Thanks to Clarisse Pham
"The poet is no longer camped alone, facing the rest of reality, it is neither more nor less than another, embedded in the same boat and for a single trip. This proximity especially highlighted its uniqueness that its activity is almost non-existent when the rowers who tug on the oars are end of the race and getting ready, they are stretched back to tilt forward hastily, raising the oars in the water, they create this movement even a sort of stop in the movement of the boat which corresponds to a moment of inertia. It is precisely here that which identifies the poet Rilke intervenes: his singing fills this inertia, and, more importantly, converts, turning the resistance of the boat into a song that metamorphosis, along with the song that allows those who row to find the pace and direction of their action. Moreover, the source of the song is not the paucity of reality, but additional to which it is necessary to first give a shape. The song that rises so does not necessarily feel immediatly noticeable, but it maintains a link between the strange and unusual immediacy of concrete resistance but dominated, subverted, and aspirations more distant, yet inevitably blurred, which ert, probably remain unexpressed in the absence of receiving this momentum, somehow emerged from the future. Therefore, the place of the poet is, before any place one would deny, concede or offer, the site in time. "
Marc B. de Launay
Introduction Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke 
"The poet is no longer camped alone, facing the rest of reality, it is neither more nor less than another, embedded in the same boat and for a single trip. This proximity especially highlighted its uniqueness that its activity is almost non-existent when the rowers who tug on the oars are end of the race and getting ready, they are stretched back to tilt forward hastily, raising the oars in the water, they create this movement even a sort of stop in the movement of the boat which corresponds to a moment of inertia. It is precisely here that which identifies the poet Rilke intervenes: his singing fills this inertia, and, more importantly, converts, turning the resistance of the boat into a song that metamorphosis, along with the song that allows those who row to find the pace and direction of their action. Moreover, the source of the song is not the paucity of reality, but additional to which it is necessary to first give a shape. The song that rises so does not necessarily feel immediatly noticeable, but it maintains a link between the strange and unusual immediacy of concrete resistance but dominated, subverted, and aspirations more distant, yet inevitably blurred, which ert, probably remain unexpressed in the absence of receiving this momentum, somehow emerged from the future. Therefore, the place of the poet is, before any place one would deny, concede or offer, the site in time. "
Marc B. de Launay
Introduction Letters to a Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Hot Scene From The Movie Mera Naam Joker
blue seaside
Detail rocks at the bottom left
Once is not custom, a blue pin on a first array with a seaview ..
a window on the beautiful landscape of the Bay of Roses.
Accrylique on canvas 100 x 81 cm
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Ovarian Cysts And Post Viral Syndrome
Thanks!
"Happy birthday to you Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday to you Mister President
Happy birthday to you"
I started without a valid reason to listen Marilyn Monroe in her heyday. When Marilyn sang this song, which undoubtedly caused an erection while her male audience, she immediately signed his death warrant, a suicide who felt too well below the presidential to be candid and desperate. Happy Birthday Mister President! And most importantly, all late, a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Let us celebrate.
I thought "Happy birthday" because I wanted to make a thank you as glamorous as that of Marilyn. I wanted to thank the readers of this blog. I write to clear my head, trying to shape what happens in my head, and especially to keep a constant in life without feeling of falling into the void. I would not make me poet cursed course, because I'm neither good enough nor adept pictures all made to me as such. Let's just say that writing gives me the impression of walking straight, despite storms Wind on the road. A kind of existential carpet we offer only the act of creation. I want to thank everyone who sent me messages and compliments after reading my articles, even if they do not comment on them on the blog itself. Each message is personal and touching. Thank you again, it still gives me the desire to write more and better.
I thought "Happy birthday" because I wanted to make a thank you as glamorous as that of Marilyn. I wanted to thank the readers of this blog. I write to clear my head, trying to shape what happens in my head, and especially to keep a constant in life without feeling of falling into the void. I would not make me poet cursed course, because I'm neither good enough nor adept pictures all made to me as such. Let's just say that writing gives me the impression of walking straight, despite storms Wind on the road. A kind of existential carpet we offer only the act of creation. I want to thank everyone who sent me messages and compliments after reading my articles, even if they do not comment on them on the blog itself. Each message is personal and touching. Thank you again, it still gives me the desire to write more and better.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all.
And happy birthday to you mister president!
And happy birthday to you mister president!
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Cervical Mucus White Chunky Pregnant
was missing something ... Onomakoen
Onomakoen I arrived at 9:37 in the morning. Through the windows of the train, you could see the snow falling horizontally. All was white around the village. The snow had covered everything and the cold had seeped everywhere. It was seven degrees below zero. Too few degrees to allow me to go out without the paraphernalia of the mountaineer. All passengers of the train looked like astronauts. It was almost as if we were on another planet. The sun was high and cold. The sky was as blue and icy.
Onomakoen is a tiny town near Hakodate. Both cities are on the island of Hokkaido (北海道), located in northern Japan. This is clearly the coolest island the country. I had gotten for Christmas holidays. I needed to escape Tokyo, its great metropolis, its social life and its problems. I needed to lose a little further north. And I found myself Onomakoen.
It happened that day, a Friday. Onomakoen is a very small village. In winter, we no longer see the road, the houses are covered with snow, there is more sidewalks and people do not leave home. I walked out of the station, to the lakes. Three charming small lakes, connected by wooden bridges are one of the local attractions. On the road ahead was difficult. It was so cold that my face seemed to fall. I had the impression of having ears and my nose was not breathing the same air. I was disfigured, and my feet sank wearily into the snow.
Once the lakes, I felt my face quickly recompose. The lakes were indeed present, beautiful, calm and frozen. The uniform white coat covered the banks and the trees, the water remaining black and without any movement. Not a leaf on the trees, too dark glow to the table all white. The sky was terribly cloudy. Everything was quiet. I then advanced and I crossed the first bridge to get lost in the forest.
Getting lost in the forest was really difficult. In Japan, the unknown is often known, and soon finds himself marked. Even with five feet of snow, the signs point the way. Taken by the contemplation of the place, I still found a way to depart the shores inadvertently, to deeper into the forest. The cold does not bother me anymore. But after a while the vision was becoming increasingly difficult. I was lost in the blizzard. My walk became moot. I decided then to go to escape the cold. It was at that moment that I saw. A young woman, tall, thin, wearing a long white dress. Bare shoulders, she did not seem cold. She looked into my eyes, then turned to plunge into the forest. I called several times but it did not stop and disappeared.
I did not know who she was. I just saw his face. This conundrum persisted in my mind until I arrived at the station. My walk was too long and I was surprised to discover that I had missed the last train of the day. I was forced to stay Onomakoen. It does not take long for me to find a hostel. Located in a small cozy room, I looked out the window at the spectacle of white out. Who was this woman? Why does she not die of cold and lost in the snow? I did not want to be alone in this room, so I went downstairs to the dining room for dinner. A young woman was playing and singing Shamizen. Rocked by the strange sounds that I could have used to hear, I watched the young woman asleep in one eye. Outside it was snowing.
It was snowing again, and the wind froze me petrified face. In large dark streets of the city, I try to follow the footprints in the snow. I do not know where I am or where I go. I'm just the footprints in the snow until you reach an impasse. There on the floor of small scarlet drops on the white carpet. After I wake up.
I awoke. There were close to me the body of the female Shamizen asleep. She showed me her back, lying on its side. There was a smell in the room of the body. At the window, snow fell on the morning we took out the shovels to clear snow. The sky was white. Some traces of fog too. Mist on my glasses when the musician gave me a curious look last night. It was then seated near the fireplace. She spoke Japanese. I also, finally evil, but enough to convey the ambiguity that gradually awakened in me. What a strange face, his eyes so fine, discreet mouth, a smile that is not one, but that does not refuse either. I did not know very well how we had to come up to my room, or how I slowly remove her clothes. His kisses were different from those that had been given up when, after nearly 45 years of wandering. We quickly rolled overboard. After waking, I felt this strange feeling, waking up the next the person with whom you had sex a few hours before. It was like an in-between, between the impression of knowing the deepest but on the other side, a distance characteristic of the human soul, we can not really fully grasp. As if something was missing. Then gently kissed her shoulder.
The room was empty again, full of my presence alone. I drank coffee at the window when I began to think again. The lady of the forest. What had become of her? Maybe I should see her again if I went there again. Then I began thinking about all his stories of goddesses and witches, Odysseus who was carried away by the horns: a small laugh escaped my mouth. I finished my coffee, my camera, took my coat and went outside.
The weather was not favorable, but not hostile. Midwater. Then I went to the same place as last time. It was four o'clock, the night was falling, but the reflection of distant city lights on the white snow I could still see clearly. As I expected, the young woman was there again. Always expressionless, right shoulder while she was naked in a frigid climate, she placed her big eyes on me austere. Typically, before such person was scared and fled. But we are in life to be afraid, life is both frightening than attractive. So I stood before her, and I went slowly to be sure I see every contour of his face.
near me I was beautiful, she did not flinch. She stood barefoot in the snow, leaves open the hair, skin as white as blue in this paradise frozen. Near her, I was surprised by the scarlet drops in the snow all around her dress. I looked down and saw a big red hole in his throat. Took fright, I drew back, blankly. I decided to go hostel without looking back. The young woman did not follow me.
is said that the day of her wedding, a bride discovered that her husband had run away without explanation. Mad with grief, she went to commit suicide in the forest Onomakoen. It was found that traces of blood but no body. It was 20 years ago. The player
Shamizen taught me some songs. We sang in bed together. It still reaches a kind of intimacy with each other that we can even sing with her. This gives a sense of closeness, a mysterious rejuvenation around the message rather direct intercourse. As we sang, she looked into my eyes. Though I know it recently, I could not help but feel good about it. But something was missing. While I was singing softly, she passed her hands through my hair. Then gently, she kissed me and slipped his hand up my back. Then slowly I passed my hand over her firm breasts and soft as snow. She took me gently by the hair and took me down. We had stopped singing, having opted for a more direct message. So little afterwards, I went and I left the player Shamizen and I did not know exactly where I was.
Always the same dream in a city, it's dark and I am the footprints in the snow to reach the drops of blood. This same dream, finally, is as strange as it starts to become reality this dream. As if my dream became a reality. As if my reality was becoming a tale, whose meshes are formed by the dream. Disentangling fact from fiction. The train spirit to fly, the snow too. Snow returns to heaven. There are more clouds. And when we look in the lake: "There's something missing." I kissed him
gently on the shoulder. My mistress had a taste of snow. She turned with eyes full of tears. "Because you're going!" she told me. So I kissed her, and all the wooden walls around me turned into stone. When I kissed her, I saw her face open like a cloudless sky, blue and orange rain falling its dry hair and money. I kissed her, as if not it goes away, as if to prevent it from starting when she was gone, orange color, like the violin that grew slowly in my hands. I spent the archer on his cheeks quivering ... Why? Why ... Water flows from the apartment when it is snowing outside? He reigned in the room smelling corpse. So I kissed him again, but my lover turned into puddle and slipped between my fingers, leaving as attendance sheets wet salt to taste.
"There's something missing." I went back to the snow woman, because I knew she would be there. The leaves were falling like autumn on the white snow turned red. I approached the young woman ... there was nothing more to say ... It was a bit like there's no history. The beautiful woman in the forest, the ghost of my own wanderings past entanglement that can not get out "of the misery in which I am." We plunge into the snow as it plunges into the void. We can talk of blood on the snow, the beauty of scarlet on the background white. There is something missing in this story is missing something.
I both feet in the snow to go back to the lady of the snow. She was gone. She will not return. She had probably never existed elsewhere. All this is just fiction, like the walls of this chamber who have flown at the same time in the dark like this woman who has broken water in the middle of my lonely bed. The snow reflected the red lights of emergency beacons. But here, the path was more marked. All this is false, everything is broken, all is lost in the literary device of snow environments. Moreover, Onomakoen was not really a winter landscape. It was in midsummer. I did not have 45 years. Shamizen And the player was not really Japanese.
I had only one solution. Walking on the small wooden bridge, which separated two small islands, I leaned over the fence to gaze at the frozen lake winter. I then climbed over the fence and jumped into the water. The ice broke my fall. The lake was deep. In the water I turned to see the light of the moon through the hole left by my body. I let myself sink to the bottom, leaving the cold finally petrify every part of my body, my skin becomes very blue. Nothing doing yet, nothing to do. Something was missing.
He began to snow. 
Onomakoen I arrived at 9:37 in the morning. Through the windows of the train, you could see the snow falling horizontally. All was white around the village. The snow had covered everything and the cold had seeped everywhere. It was seven degrees below zero. Too few degrees to allow me to go out without the paraphernalia of the mountaineer. All passengers of the train looked like astronauts. It was almost as if we were on another planet. The sun was high and cold. The sky was as blue and icy.
Onomakoen is a tiny town near Hakodate. Both cities are on the island of Hokkaido (北海道), located in northern Japan. This is clearly the coolest island the country. I had gotten for Christmas holidays. I needed to escape Tokyo, its great metropolis, its social life and its problems. I needed to lose a little further north. And I found myself Onomakoen.
It happened that day, a Friday. Onomakoen is a very small village. In winter, we no longer see the road, the houses are covered with snow, there is more sidewalks and people do not leave home. I walked out of the station, to the lakes. Three charming small lakes, connected by wooden bridges are one of the local attractions. On the road ahead was difficult. It was so cold that my face seemed to fall. I had the impression of having ears and my nose was not breathing the same air. I was disfigured, and my feet sank wearily into the snow.
Once the lakes, I felt my face quickly recompose. The lakes were indeed present, beautiful, calm and frozen. The uniform white coat covered the banks and the trees, the water remaining black and without any movement. Not a leaf on the trees, too dark glow to the table all white. The sky was terribly cloudy. Everything was quiet. I then advanced and I crossed the first bridge to get lost in the forest.
Getting lost in the forest was really difficult. In Japan, the unknown is often known, and soon finds himself marked. Even with five feet of snow, the signs point the way. Taken by the contemplation of the place, I still found a way to depart the shores inadvertently, to deeper into the forest. The cold does not bother me anymore. But after a while the vision was becoming increasingly difficult. I was lost in the blizzard. My walk became moot. I decided then to go to escape the cold. It was at that moment that I saw. A young woman, tall, thin, wearing a long white dress. Bare shoulders, she did not seem cold. She looked into my eyes, then turned to plunge into the forest. I called several times but it did not stop and disappeared.
I did not know who she was. I just saw his face. This conundrum persisted in my mind until I arrived at the station. My walk was too long and I was surprised to discover that I had missed the last train of the day. I was forced to stay Onomakoen. It does not take long for me to find a hostel. Located in a small cozy room, I looked out the window at the spectacle of white out. Who was this woman? Why does she not die of cold and lost in the snow? I did not want to be alone in this room, so I went downstairs to the dining room for dinner. A young woman was playing and singing Shamizen. Rocked by the strange sounds that I could have used to hear, I watched the young woman asleep in one eye. Outside it was snowing.
It was snowing again, and the wind froze me petrified face. In large dark streets of the city, I try to follow the footprints in the snow. I do not know where I am or where I go. I'm just the footprints in the snow until you reach an impasse. There on the floor of small scarlet drops on the white carpet. After I wake up.
I awoke. There were close to me the body of the female Shamizen asleep. She showed me her back, lying on its side. There was a smell in the room of the body. At the window, snow fell on the morning we took out the shovels to clear snow. The sky was white. Some traces of fog too. Mist on my glasses when the musician gave me a curious look last night. It was then seated near the fireplace. She spoke Japanese. I also, finally evil, but enough to convey the ambiguity that gradually awakened in me. What a strange face, his eyes so fine, discreet mouth, a smile that is not one, but that does not refuse either. I did not know very well how we had to come up to my room, or how I slowly remove her clothes. His kisses were different from those that had been given up when, after nearly 45 years of wandering. We quickly rolled overboard. After waking, I felt this strange feeling, waking up the next the person with whom you had sex a few hours before. It was like an in-between, between the impression of knowing the deepest but on the other side, a distance characteristic of the human soul, we can not really fully grasp. As if something was missing. Then gently kissed her shoulder.
The room was empty again, full of my presence alone. I drank coffee at the window when I began to think again. The lady of the forest. What had become of her? Maybe I should see her again if I went there again. Then I began thinking about all his stories of goddesses and witches, Odysseus who was carried away by the horns: a small laugh escaped my mouth. I finished my coffee, my camera, took my coat and went outside.
The weather was not favorable, but not hostile. Midwater. Then I went to the same place as last time. It was four o'clock, the night was falling, but the reflection of distant city lights on the white snow I could still see clearly. As I expected, the young woman was there again. Always expressionless, right shoulder while she was naked in a frigid climate, she placed her big eyes on me austere. Typically, before such person was scared and fled. But we are in life to be afraid, life is both frightening than attractive. So I stood before her, and I went slowly to be sure I see every contour of his face.
near me I was beautiful, she did not flinch. She stood barefoot in the snow, leaves open the hair, skin as white as blue in this paradise frozen. Near her, I was surprised by the scarlet drops in the snow all around her dress. I looked down and saw a big red hole in his throat. Took fright, I drew back, blankly. I decided to go hostel without looking back. The young woman did not follow me.
is said that the day of her wedding, a bride discovered that her husband had run away without explanation. Mad with grief, she went to commit suicide in the forest Onomakoen. It was found that traces of blood but no body. It was 20 years ago. The player
Shamizen taught me some songs. We sang in bed together. It still reaches a kind of intimacy with each other that we can even sing with her. This gives a sense of closeness, a mysterious rejuvenation around the message rather direct intercourse. As we sang, she looked into my eyes. Though I know it recently, I could not help but feel good about it. But something was missing. While I was singing softly, she passed her hands through my hair. Then gently, she kissed me and slipped his hand up my back. Then slowly I passed my hand over her firm breasts and soft as snow. She took me gently by the hair and took me down. We had stopped singing, having opted for a more direct message. So little afterwards, I went and I left the player Shamizen and I did not know exactly where I was.
Always the same dream in a city, it's dark and I am the footprints in the snow to reach the drops of blood. This same dream, finally, is as strange as it starts to become reality this dream. As if my dream became a reality. As if my reality was becoming a tale, whose meshes are formed by the dream. Disentangling fact from fiction. The train spirit to fly, the snow too. Snow returns to heaven. There are more clouds. And when we look in the lake: "There's something missing." I kissed him
gently on the shoulder. My mistress had a taste of snow. She turned with eyes full of tears. "Because you're going!" she told me. So I kissed her, and all the wooden walls around me turned into stone. When I kissed her, I saw her face open like a cloudless sky, blue and orange rain falling its dry hair and money. I kissed her, as if not it goes away, as if to prevent it from starting when she was gone, orange color, like the violin that grew slowly in my hands. I spent the archer on his cheeks quivering ... Why? Why ... Water flows from the apartment when it is snowing outside? He reigned in the room smelling corpse. So I kissed him again, but my lover turned into puddle and slipped between my fingers, leaving as attendance sheets wet salt to taste.
"There's something missing." I went back to the snow woman, because I knew she would be there. The leaves were falling like autumn on the white snow turned red. I approached the young woman ... there was nothing more to say ... It was a bit like there's no history. The beautiful woman in the forest, the ghost of my own wanderings past entanglement that can not get out "of the misery in which I am." We plunge into the snow as it plunges into the void. We can talk of blood on the snow, the beauty of scarlet on the background white. There is something missing in this story is missing something.
I both feet in the snow to go back to the lady of the snow. She was gone. She will not return. She had probably never existed elsewhere. All this is just fiction, like the walls of this chamber who have flown at the same time in the dark like this woman who has broken water in the middle of my lonely bed. The snow reflected the red lights of emergency beacons. But here, the path was more marked. All this is false, everything is broken, all is lost in the literary device of snow environments. Moreover, Onomakoen was not really a winter landscape. It was in midsummer. I did not have 45 years. Shamizen And the player was not really Japanese.
I had only one solution. Walking on the small wooden bridge, which separated two small islands, I leaned over the fence to gaze at the frozen lake winter. I then climbed over the fence and jumped into the water. The ice broke my fall. The lake was deep. In the water I turned to see the light of the moon through the hole left by my body. I let myself sink to the bottom, leaving the cold finally petrify every part of my body, my skin becomes very blue. Nothing doing yet, nothing to do. Something was missing.
He began to snow.
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