& Les Athenians Nana Mouskouri - Vole, Vole Farandole 1969
We both have lovely memories But! fly, fly, fly a joy
But we better get back
Lalaïlalaïla laïlalaïlalaïlalaï
lala lala lala laila laila Lalalalaïlaï
Oh! fly, fly, fly, medley
The sorrows we
Fly, fly, fly, and then go
Although we are often hard
you and me To live is difficult sometimes to two steals But
, steals, never flew
All the love I have for you
Lalaïlalaïla laïlalaïlalaïlalaï
lala lala lala laila laila Lalalalaïlaï
Oh! fly, fly, fly, medley
The sorrows we
Fly, fly, fly, and then go
Lalaïlalaïla laïlalaïlalaïlalaï
lala lala lala laila laila Lalalalaïlaï
Oh! fly, fly, fly, medley
The sorrows we
Fly, fly, fly, and then go
Category: Music
Tags:
NanaMouskouriLesAthéniens
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Monday, February 28, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Design A Tech Deck Online.com
Costas Dourountzis - Nana Mouskouri - "Siko Chorepse Koukli Mou" on Germ ...
CostasDourountzis
CostasDourountzis
Baseball Centerpieces Ideas
Nana Mouskouri - "Poios taxe Kanei ola Ayta"
bellecourse la lalala
Yesterday' s dreams
Like birds in the winter
Have gathered together
And flown to the sun
Yesterday' s promises
Like shells in the ocean
All shattered and broken
Like yesterday' s dreams
bellecourse la lalala
Yesterday' s dreams
Like birds in the winter
Have gathered together
And flown to the sun
Yesterday' s promises
Like shells in the ocean
All shattered and broken
Like yesterday' s dreams
Category: Music
Tags: a href="http://www.ul5.com"> Thursday, February 24, 2011
Littlestpetshop Advent Calendar
Nana Mouskouri - Yesterday's Dreams
Nana Mouskouri - Lieder, die die Liebe schreibt - MyVideo a href="http://www.ul5.com">
Beyonce Thighs Measurement
Nana Mouskouri - The Power Of Love
Who cannot seem to give And the soul afraid of dying
That never learns to live
When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been too long
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong
Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the sun's love
In the spring becomes the rose
Category:
Music
Tags:
NanaMouskouri
a href="http://www.ul5.com">
Best Dorms In Ut Austin
Costas Dourountzis - Nana Mouskouri - "Greek medley" on German TV (1983)
Nana Mouskouri & Georges Zamfir - Milisse Mou - 1975. - Muziek & Entertainment - 123video
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Nana Mouskouri & Georges Zamfir - Milisse Mou - 1975. - Muziek & Entertainment - 123video
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Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Lyndsey Dawn Mckenzie Piss
Nana Mouskouri - The Rose 1981
Nana Mouskouri & Mort Schuman - Duo Lake Maggiore - 1970. - Muziek & Entertainment - 123Video
Nana Mouskouri & Mort Schuman - Duo Lake Maggiore - 1970. - Muziek & Entertainment - 123Video
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Apo Vs Pms On Clonazepam
Wordiing Of Holograph Will
& Mort Schuman - Le Lac Majeur Duo - 1970. - Music & Entertainment - 123Video
Nana Mouskouri - If It's So Easy - 1981. - Music & Entertainment - 123Video
Nana Mouskouri - If It's So Easy - 1981. - Music & Entertainment - 123Video
How To Register In Home Made Trailer In Ontario
ximeroni, Nana Mouskouri jag32 - Music & Entertainment - 123Video
Nana Mouskouri - Hallelujah - Clip - Slide. - Music & Entertainment - 123Video
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Nana Mouskouri - Hallelujah - Clip - Slide. - Music & Entertainment - 123Video
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Smirnoff Ice Flavors Watermelon
Nana Mouskouri - If It's So Easy - 1981. - Music & Entertainment - 123Video
Music & Entertainment
By: Rudolf54
Duration: 02:00
Upload: 21/02/2011
Views: 47
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Music & Entertainment
By: Rudolf54
Duration: 02:00
Upload: 21/02/2011
Views: 47
a href = "http://www.ul5.com">
Japanese Travesti Movie
How Long Does It Take For A Tail Bone To Heal
How Much Does It Cost To Rent A Industrial Unit
Nilda Fernandez
Last Friday Bruay , Catalan Barcelona blackmailed the living memory of American Indians: the Innu Nikamu '...
When not writing, Nilda rotates around the world, from Cuba to Moscow from Brussels to Lausanne ...
Album Castelar, he sets to music the poems of Federico Garcia Lorca ...
And when he left a short time, he played King Ferdinand of Aragon in the rock opera Anne de Bretagne ...
androgynous voice and integrity are synonymous with Nilda: 'I am an artist for life and for life ' ...
Last Friday Bruay , Catalan Barcelona blackmailed the living memory of American Indians: the Innu Nikamu '...
When not writing, Nilda rotates around the world, from Cuba to Moscow from Brussels to Lausanne ...
Album Castelar, he sets to music the poems of Federico Garcia Lorca ...
And when he left a short time, he played King Ferdinand of Aragon in the rock opera Anne de Bretagne ...
androgynous voice and integrity are synonymous with Nilda: 'I am an artist for life and for life ' ...
Anbesol Is It Good For Toothache
Costas Dourountzis - Nana Mouskouri - "Till The Rivers" (UK, TV-Show section ..
French Wrapping Paper
Costas Dourountzis - Nana Mouskouri - "Let It Be" (UK, TV-Show part 1)
MultiMrzzz
CostasDourountzis vocals with Nana Mouskouri (1985). Live in Australia (TV show). Youssie Allie: classical guitar, Claude Alvarez-Pereyre: acoustic guitar, Carl Faimali: bass, Jacky Bourbasquet-Pichard: drums, Jo Pucheu: percussion and Michalis Kefalas: bouzouki. Category:
MultiMrzzz
CostasDourountzis vocals with Nana Mouskouri (1985). Live in Australia (TV show). Youssie Allie: classical guitar, Claude Alvarez-Pereyre: acoustic guitar, Carl Faimali: bass, Jacky Bourbasquet-Pichard: drums, Jo Pucheu: percussion and Michalis Kefalas: bouzouki. Category:
Music Tags: Costas DourountzisguitarKostadinosNana Mouskouritv-show
a href="http://www.ul5.com"> Monday, February 21, 2011
Can Female Doctors Inspect Penis
Nana Mouskouri & Le Groupe Les Athéniens - Tous les Arbres Sont en Fleur ...
alepoythree
hopakos1 the
KALOGEROPOYLOY XENIA
MALOUCHOS VASILIS
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alepoythree
hopakos1 the
KALOGEROPOYLOY XENIA
VOURTSI MARTHA FERTIS JOHN (1st Appearance) DIANELLOS LAYRENTHS LINAIOS STEFANOS
NOTARA SAPPHO SANTORINAIOS COSTAS MALOUCHOS VASILIS
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Women Sitting Wrestling
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Telephone Service For Disabled
You should write.
He said you should write.
So I sent her, finally here and he said yes.
I think as much, but he thought.
But writing, eh, stop and go sketching frankly, with a brush or trowel, but we ve finally, to caress paper. That it weighs in the bag, it occupies your hands and eyes until the meeting at which coffee will be no need, with that woman who ask you what you read, or that man, precisely, who would have bought the Similarly, there are 8 days, but that has not really hooked, as if we spent our time hanging on the pages, harpooned by the stories of others.
Sewn, all the time, the white thread of destiny invented songs lying around and you cut into. (This is very important nicks. It allows you to see the inside, the outside so when we are inside. Of course, at the time of the incision, there is this surprise, the pain sometimes this time of withdrawal. It's fast, a notch, because that is exactly the opposite of wear.
It splits the casing and they cry a little, it's typing.)
He said you should write and of course, I'm driven with a pirouette. Is what I could tell myself that I had spent my Saturday between a library and a sports shop and there was no two places are more conducive to understanding how it was impossible to write.
one hand, there were these cells and batteries, tireless, crammed in precarious towers, all these people who wrote like the old Jew who ran in the ghetto of Lodz, crying " I have the answer! I have the answer! that the question? "
And then the other, there were all these people who had time to deal with their bodies and it was nice to be there, look out, because the store does gives more plastic bags, then have their hands full. And you can invent their lives, as invited at another, at supermarket checkouts, watching what they bought. Even if Nothing is really appetizing, gluttony, it's not yogurt with blueberries, that's life there is around. Like this girl, pretty and pale, February 14, which had deposited on a carpet roll of wrapping paper and a pot of wax. It's all very cringe at the stories of Saint Valentine, it was these two little items on the gray of the treadmill and in the hands of the tired cashier.
This sports shop was the same. there was this elderly couple who went out with two small folding metal, and then this mother with a dance attire for this little girl she jeered without tenderness, of those mothers who want to do everything well for kids at heart She does not even know if they support them, those who go skiing and have forgotten the lipstick, the one who comes in to fill his afternoon and contemplate length sea kayaks out orange and blue paper.
And then this tiny child who calls the voice and gesture his first sunglasses she can put herself, who goes up your nose, walking again with five degrees of heel with each step, with the label stroked her cheek in his jacket that always seems to have it fly away with it.
I did not dare tell him the friend that I did not create heroic and adventurous life, that maybe, finally, I had loved it, the torrents of words and events that leave you breathless until the middle of the night, these lives Overseas real still so ardently, so fully drawn you always carry a little further. But that, to invent, that I walk away from these mundane lives, that is as valuable mine in their vagueness salutary in their trash alluvial these lives to live.
He told me that I should write and I know I could never root out the name of what, more than any other, a life outside the tiny world of rumor.
He said you should write.
So I sent her, finally here and he said yes.
I think as much, but he thought.
But writing, eh, stop and go sketching frankly, with a brush or trowel, but we ve finally, to caress paper. That it weighs in the bag, it occupies your hands and eyes until the meeting at which coffee will be no need, with that woman who ask you what you read, or that man, precisely, who would have bought the Similarly, there are 8 days, but that has not really hooked, as if we spent our time hanging on the pages, harpooned by the stories of others.
Sewn, all the time, the white thread of destiny invented songs lying around and you cut into. (This is very important nicks. It allows you to see the inside, the outside so when we are inside. Of course, at the time of the incision, there is this surprise, the pain sometimes this time of withdrawal. It's fast, a notch, because that is exactly the opposite of wear.
It splits the casing and they cry a little, it's typing.)
He said you should write and of course, I'm driven with a pirouette. Is what I could tell myself that I had spent my Saturday between a library and a sports shop and there was no two places are more conducive to understanding how it was impossible to write.
one hand, there were these cells and batteries, tireless, crammed in precarious towers, all these people who wrote like the old Jew who ran in the ghetto of Lodz, crying " I have the answer! I have the answer! that the question? "
And then the other, there were all these people who had time to deal with their bodies and it was nice to be there, look out, because the store does gives more plastic bags, then have their hands full. And you can invent their lives, as invited at another, at supermarket checkouts, watching what they bought. Even if Nothing is really appetizing, gluttony, it's not yogurt with blueberries, that's life there is around. Like this girl, pretty and pale, February 14, which had deposited on a carpet roll of wrapping paper and a pot of wax. It's all very cringe at the stories of Saint Valentine, it was these two little items on the gray of the treadmill and in the hands of the tired cashier.
This sports shop was the same. there was this elderly couple who went out with two small folding metal, and then this mother with a dance attire for this little girl she jeered without tenderness, of those mothers who want to do everything well for kids at heart She does not even know if they support them, those who go skiing and have forgotten the lipstick, the one who comes in to fill his afternoon and contemplate length sea kayaks out orange and blue paper.
And then this tiny child who calls the voice and gesture his first sunglasses she can put herself, who goes up your nose, walking again with five degrees of heel with each step, with the label stroked her cheek in his jacket that always seems to have it fly away with it.
I did not dare tell him the friend that I did not create heroic and adventurous life, that maybe, finally, I had loved it, the torrents of words and events that leave you breathless until the middle of the night, these lives Overseas real still so ardently, so fully drawn you always carry a little further. But that, to invent, that I walk away from these mundane lives, that is as valuable mine in their vagueness salutary in their trash alluvial these lives to live.
He told me that I should write and I know I could never root out the name of what, more than any other, a life outside the tiny world of rumor.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Whats Your Cm Like Days Before Your Period
You make the picture ... A great need
One of my first pieces of a teenager, I remember, I had taught my grandmother. Tender age of twelve, she had pegged at the soul, the passion of the text, which, in the wee hours of a light chick, saves you from the narrow life and destiny set.
This text, short and everything I write, said the encounter between a young girl ... and a sick child. There was question, already, to tell stories to care.
My grandmother gave me the text with a half smile: "You make the picture, she tells me.
Today, I make pictures. And I keep in my head, take snapshots, each time I hear of a child.
Sometimes it seems to me that my depth of field is much greater than I can not see them, it is in the way adults talk to me about him I can see the composition, the lines broken supports.
I could never see ST. There is so little there. His time of schooling in this class of integration is so short, so often prevented by these moments where he runs like a top, to escape the harassment.
He uses everybody, he tries, sticks, grabs, and rejects in turn. You a class apart, pushing a seasoned professional to the limits of his patience and above all, it seems, since he stopped playing cluster bombs, filling those around him, an intense compassion. What is not given to everyone. ST
Because, frankly, it accumulates in the biography with a chainsaw. Born with a handicap of severe psychiatrized mother and father never identified, he saw accidentally break the only link he had established firm with a first host family. He did not recover. Grandparents are very old they can, but can with one breath so short. It is so worn there. A
these handicaps, he joined that of being born in a period which saw the collapse credits offered for the daily care of these children who are injured from contact with reality.
So while the departmental structure in charge of disability has made a wonderful decision guidance, no structure has room for him before ... Bah, say 18 months.
So we tinker. ST wanders, an IME, normally scheduled for two days of smaller, home to a child three days or drop-in center emergency, which he saw so many people that go in the Salle des Pas Perdus , he who is both.
That is what is revealed in this meeting, while the team of children's home, almost humbly, ask the school if she does not attend school half a day longer.
is where I press the shutter button. Because clearly that's not that ST needs. He needs that we take this shot very quickly, accusing all the contrasts, without the details. And in this maelstrom, it is emphasized in broad strokes what is so acute for those who do not know: this child is mad about not being able to land somewhere and it is being drowned. Nothing will have meaning for him if the faces are constantly swirling around him, if he can not empty the bag he lugs around a bed to another.
I sent the photograph to the house of disability. And I did the rage in my heart, because any solution urgent for ST is going to deprive another child, equally needy.
One of my first pieces of a teenager, I remember, I had taught my grandmother. Tender age of twelve, she had pegged at the soul, the passion of the text, which, in the wee hours of a light chick, saves you from the narrow life and destiny set.
This text, short and everything I write, said the encounter between a young girl ... and a sick child. There was question, already, to tell stories to care.
My grandmother gave me the text with a half smile: "You make the picture, she tells me.
Today, I make pictures. And I keep in my head, take snapshots, each time I hear of a child.
Sometimes it seems to me that my depth of field is much greater than I can not see them, it is in the way adults talk to me about him I can see the composition, the lines broken supports.
I could never see ST. There is so little there. His time of schooling in this class of integration is so short, so often prevented by these moments where he runs like a top, to escape the harassment.
He uses everybody, he tries, sticks, grabs, and rejects in turn. You a class apart, pushing a seasoned professional to the limits of his patience and above all, it seems, since he stopped playing cluster bombs, filling those around him, an intense compassion. What is not given to everyone. ST
Because, frankly, it accumulates in the biography with a chainsaw. Born with a handicap of severe psychiatrized mother and father never identified, he saw accidentally break the only link he had established firm with a first host family. He did not recover. Grandparents are very old they can, but can with one breath so short. It is so worn there. A
these handicaps, he joined that of being born in a period which saw the collapse credits offered for the daily care of these children who are injured from contact with reality.
So while the departmental structure in charge of disability has made a wonderful decision guidance, no structure has room for him before ... Bah, say 18 months.
So we tinker. ST wanders, an IME, normally scheduled for two days of smaller, home to a child three days or drop-in center emergency, which he saw so many people that go in the Salle des Pas Perdus , he who is both.
That is what is revealed in this meeting, while the team of children's home, almost humbly, ask the school if she does not attend school half a day longer.
is where I press the shutter button. Because clearly that's not that ST needs. He needs that we take this shot very quickly, accusing all the contrasts, without the details. And in this maelstrom, it is emphasized in broad strokes what is so acute for those who do not know: this child is mad about not being able to land somewhere and it is being drowned. Nothing will have meaning for him if the faces are constantly swirling around him, if he can not empty the bag he lugs around a bed to another.
I sent the photograph to the house of disability. And I did the rage in my heart, because any solution urgent for ST is going to deprive another child, equally needy.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
What Should You Make On Your 9 Month Anniversary
Eire
Last time I had dressed visiting my daughter . I did this year, this thin alibi.
But it was too insistent, too often.
I returned to Ireland. Promise me rain, wind, fog and ditches, I do not care. I'm going to Ireland because I can drive five hours and fifty kilometers, and because I can think of the beginnings of the world.
Because it is the only place where it is not ridiculous to shoot sheep.
Because it is a country that man has not completely appropriate, because it tolerates the indifference of the granite and the strength of the sea
Because I wanted a carrot cake's and tea and also a seafood chowder and a Murphy.
Because I have a command of socks from Penneys and if you know what that means is that you're gone.
I'm going with a sleeping bag in my car, a play-list and a map of morkitu rough enough to be able to lose myself. A Canon
, dreams and a little about yourself if you want.
The boat is called the Oscar Wilde.
An excellent opportunity to remember the motto: "I can resist everything . Except temptation."
Last time I had dressed visiting my daughter . I did this year, this thin alibi.
But it was too insistent, too often.
I returned to Ireland. Promise me rain, wind, fog and ditches, I do not care. I'm going to Ireland because I can drive five hours and fifty kilometers, and because I can think of the beginnings of the world.
Because it is the only place where it is not ridiculous to shoot sheep.
Because it is a country that man has not completely appropriate, because it tolerates the indifference of the granite and the strength of the sea
Because I wanted a carrot cake's and tea and also a seafood chowder and a Murphy.
Because I have a command of socks from Penneys and if you know what that means is that you're gone.
I'm going with a sleeping bag in my car, a play-list and a map of morkitu rough enough to be able to lose myself. A Canon
, dreams and a little about yourself if you want.
The boat is called the Oscar Wilde.
An excellent opportunity to remember the motto: "I can resist everything . Except temptation."
Monday, February 14, 2011
Is There A Spell To Turn Me Into
Lilly Wood and the Prick
Another Lilly for Valentine's Day!
irresistible melodies carried by voice incandescent Nili ...
Victoires de la Musique 2011, Nili and Ben will be in Lille on April 15 ...
This is a love song !
Another Lilly for Valentine's Day!
irresistible melodies carried by voice incandescent Nili ...
Victoires de la Musique 2011, Nili and Ben will be in Lille on April 15 ...
This is a love song !
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Does Cold Weather Affect Ethernet Cord
B. and his mother.
It
fatigue everyone. He moves, he talks, he laughs and he cries more than any other. Some teachers endure it, throw it much. One or two, like the nurse, like a sigh, because it is a lively little boy and tender, sometimes rushing to the hospital, shocked to the nth observation. Whoever takes patience to mop, nose and untangling the hiccups in the object of his concern is rewarded by a true, a radiant smile pixie.
B. Ritalin is for three years and the medical school of the little boy who has attended seven schools before college is empty. I do not know who prescribed or on what basis.
It is time to ask to meet his relative. In this case because the father lives elsewhere, this will be her mother.
When I arrive the following week, she is already there, talking with the nurse that I appreciate so much. The air absorbed, voluntarily smooth it with the listener does not think the air is already no less full of instruction.
The mother speaks. Everything. Unbridled, uninhibited, with humor and empathy, but she talks like a tidal wave rises uncontrollably. It overflows, it carries whole blocks of history, it fills in the cracks, it permeates every corner, it is very informative and drunk.
What strikes me most is not so much to catch in less than a quarter of an hour, the reasons for removal in September, the business man who exhausts, the rigidity of the violent father who melts the kids and the absence of neuropsychological development prior to Ritalin.
No, what strikes me is the attitude of B, perfectly placed in the stream of words from his mother as a kitten under the blows of language. His hands do not move, it does not fiddle with the objects in my office, do not squirming in his chair, playfully lifts a finger to slip a remark. His mobile face reflects every word of this mother that so obviously loves. He gets excited she can not even reveal to me, while pretending he ears, that this pregnancy has been there not to be desired. Her eyes shining in the corner, as if to say: 'I've caught well, eh! " She smiled.
Yes, this interview is high in all kinds of emotions, but there is no shadow of a manifestation of hyperactivity in B in the presence of his mother. I whipped in mind the image of these preposterous premature born in noise and shrillness, which are the sounds of lullabies pump machines with alarms for choruses and silent padded and protective back home screaming.
These, to the astonishment of everyone, go back to sleep to the sound of vacuuming.
Despite everything that can hurt me or confuse me in the torrent of words from his mother, the unexpected silence of B. whispers that it was his bath and feeder paradoxical protection.
It
fatigue everyone. He moves, he talks, he laughs and he cries more than any other. Some teachers endure it, throw it much. One or two, like the nurse, like a sigh, because it is a lively little boy and tender, sometimes rushing to the hospital, shocked to the nth observation. Whoever takes patience to mop, nose and untangling the hiccups in the object of his concern is rewarded by a true, a radiant smile pixie.
B. Ritalin is for three years and the medical school of the little boy who has attended seven schools before college is empty. I do not know who prescribed or on what basis.
It is time to ask to meet his relative. In this case because the father lives elsewhere, this will be her mother.
When I arrive the following week, she is already there, talking with the nurse that I appreciate so much. The air absorbed, voluntarily smooth it with the listener does not think the air is already no less full of instruction.
The mother speaks. Everything. Unbridled, uninhibited, with humor and empathy, but she talks like a tidal wave rises uncontrollably. It overflows, it carries whole blocks of history, it fills in the cracks, it permeates every corner, it is very informative and drunk.
What strikes me most is not so much to catch in less than a quarter of an hour, the reasons for removal in September, the business man who exhausts, the rigidity of the violent father who melts the kids and the absence of neuropsychological development prior to Ritalin.
No, what strikes me is the attitude of B, perfectly placed in the stream of words from his mother as a kitten under the blows of language. His hands do not move, it does not fiddle with the objects in my office, do not squirming in his chair, playfully lifts a finger to slip a remark. His mobile face reflects every word of this mother that so obviously loves. He gets excited she can not even reveal to me, while pretending he ears, that this pregnancy has been there not to be desired. Her eyes shining in the corner, as if to say: 'I've caught well, eh! " She smiled.
Yes, this interview is high in all kinds of emotions, but there is no shadow of a manifestation of hyperactivity in B in the presence of his mother. I whipped in mind the image of these preposterous premature born in noise and shrillness, which are the sounds of lullabies pump machines with alarms for choruses and silent padded and protective back home screaming.
These, to the astonishment of everyone, go back to sleep to the sound of vacuuming.
Despite everything that can hurt me or confuse me in the torrent of words from his mother, the unexpected silence of B. whispers that it was his bath and feeder paradoxical protection.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
How To Reset A Number Lock
In casual conversation and memories
"You know Ireland?-
No. And yet, what memories!"
There are phrases like that. Depending on whether or not it is ready to respond, they will pierce you or scotchent. It started running through my head, with such aplomb of evidence, that I could only try to let lurking in your home.
There are places in which we discover at first glance they carry your memory, it was these books that are course.
There are all these songs, these pieces which the source reveals the warm registered in us as in invisible ink, tattoo invisible emotion finally appointed. The tables that look and say, shit, I lived there, I still am.
And then we stop these people so quickly staring to go ambling with them, surely, without haste and without warning, because basically, we know them very lengthy. Because it takes only a few words to stretch a grammar common merely dormant for want of employment.
"You know Ireland?-
No. And yet, what memories!"
Does this phrase has not always been?
"You know Ireland?-
No. And yet, what memories!"
There are phrases like that. Depending on whether or not it is ready to respond, they will pierce you or scotchent. It started running through my head, with such aplomb of evidence, that I could only try to let lurking in your home.
There are places in which we discover at first glance they carry your memory, it was these books that are course.
There are all these songs, these pieces which the source reveals the warm registered in us as in invisible ink, tattoo invisible emotion finally appointed. The tables that look and say, shit, I lived there, I still am.
And then we stop these people so quickly staring to go ambling with them, surely, without haste and without warning, because basically, we know them very lengthy. Because it takes only a few words to stretch a grammar common merely dormant for want of employment.
"You know Ireland?-
No. And yet, what memories!"
Does this phrase has not always been?
Monday, February 7, 2011
Difference Between Pregnancy Breasts And Pms
Pen factory, stone and other fine
I almost forgot, but this blog is five years since two days.
I never thought that the road is so varied.
I never thought I as lightning strikes to both partial geniuses but so expressive.
I never thought I'd laugh so much, I have so many fibers connected to yours.
Thank you all.
I almost forgot, but this blog is five years since two days.
I never thought that the road is so varied.
I never thought I as lightning strikes to both partial geniuses but so expressive.
I never thought I'd laugh so much, I have so many fibers connected to yours.
Thank you all.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Insurance Complaints Alfa
meetings would still not push the little plug too far.
Internet is well known, it is full traps. Lots of photos of children available to lust. The LOPPSI tells you.
And it's true.
is on the net via Georgette and wire Bladsurb Twitter, I came across these photos: Heels size 29
As you can see, some could bear, Wholesale The printed below:
The trick, stupidity, nothing, Madame la Marquise is that these photos is not in the subsoil of the computer that a perverse foaming we find them, but in the supplement "Gifts of Vogue France."
And it does not even mention misery, sometimes of human sexuality. It speaks, monstrously, of complacency and loot maquereautage of mothers on daughters.
I'll give you a point, given a respectable colleague: it's not p0rn ∞. We saw no zézette. You will grant me another: if you saw one, we would not have wanted to write for Vogue. We'd be writing to the Prosecutor of the Republic, period.
So we wrote a little letter to Vogue opened it was full of medics to sign. 190 at last count.
Just a reminder that there is a before and after the onset of puberty. And what if, already, excessive sexualization of very young adolescents, it sucks and it is paid for by disorder of self-representation, do so before the first coat is to abuse.
But that was not enough, although the dive group of pediatricians and doctors Education put together, it has made a nice surge of brotherhood not con.
So we put an online petition, because the regulation of these infomercials, it is as thin as the gap between some pieces of fabric on these girls and criminal. Because at
height of a child, we are asking for 3 or Chuichi Vogue, it has the same effect when an adult's hand makes you cross legs a little higher, yes, like that.
Because he must not believe that a child of 8 years is not about sex. He just need to make representations to the longest distance possible, until the body starts to say it's time. It is an active process, which costs some energy. Because it is not easy to ignore how we make babies to 8 years, when we know so well to 3.
is hard enough so that one does not leave the luxury industry to toy with the pretext that we must continue to sell jewelry that are tired of being ugly in the Emirates which did in can be more rich.
So in this petition, we ask that you stop selling children's skin before one has the highest. You have the right to sign it by clicking here , and the right to publish the link.
An ultimate precision for those who spend too rarely in the vicinity to know who is Anita and what it preaches: humanity fuck, sometimes as she wants, often as she can. Sometimes, artists speak our vulnerability, ambiguity, risk, unrepresentable and troubling disorder. Often at their own risk.
There is no advertising cursed waiting in rooms without fire recognition that they will in ten years. Their works exist only in their immediate monetization.
These pictures do not speak of childhood, or art, they do not speak of this property so intimate and disconcerting of sexuality. They talk about orchestrated excitement, coldly, to make the dough.
PS: A huge thank you and gazelle horns en masse for Alain Korkos @ If in his brief
Internet is well known, it is full traps. Lots of photos of children available to lust. The LOPPSI tells you.
And it's true.
is on the net via Georgette and wire Bladsurb Twitter, I came across these photos: Heels size 29
As you can see, some could bear, Wholesale The printed below:
The trick, stupidity, nothing, Madame la Marquise is that these photos is not in the subsoil of the computer that a perverse foaming we find them, but in the supplement "Gifts of Vogue France."
And it does not even mention misery, sometimes of human sexuality. It speaks, monstrously, of complacency and loot maquereautage of mothers on daughters.
I'll give you a point, given a respectable colleague: it's not p0rn ∞. We saw no zézette. You will grant me another: if you saw one, we would not have wanted to write for Vogue. We'd be writing to the Prosecutor of the Republic, period.
So we wrote a little letter to Vogue opened it was full of medics to sign. 190 at last count.
Just a reminder that there is a before and after the onset of puberty. And what if, already, excessive sexualization of very young adolescents, it sucks and it is paid for by disorder of self-representation, do so before the first coat is to abuse.
But that was not enough, although the dive group of pediatricians and doctors Education put together, it has made a nice surge of brotherhood not con.
So we put an online petition, because the regulation of these infomercials, it is as thin as the gap between some pieces of fabric on these girls and criminal. Because at
height of a child, we are asking for 3 or Chuichi Vogue, it has the same effect when an adult's hand makes you cross legs a little higher, yes, like that.
Because he must not believe that a child of 8 years is not about sex. He just need to make representations to the longest distance possible, until the body starts to say it's time. It is an active process, which costs some energy. Because it is not easy to ignore how we make babies to 8 years, when we know so well to 3.
is hard enough so that one does not leave the luxury industry to toy with the pretext that we must continue to sell jewelry that are tired of being ugly in the Emirates which did in can be more rich.
So in this petition, we ask that you stop selling children's skin before one has the highest. You have the right to sign it by clicking here , and the right to publish the link.
An ultimate precision for those who spend too rarely in the vicinity to know who is Anita and what it preaches: humanity fuck, sometimes as she wants, often as she can. Sometimes, artists speak our vulnerability, ambiguity, risk, unrepresentable and troubling disorder. Often at their own risk.
There is no advertising cursed waiting in rooms without fire recognition that they will in ten years. Their works exist only in their immediate monetization.
These pictures do not speak of childhood, or art, they do not speak of this property so intimate and disconcerting of sexuality. They talk about orchestrated excitement, coldly, to make the dough.
PS: A huge thank you and gazelle horns en masse for Alain Korkos @ If in his brief
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