I Have Osteoarthritis

Pixia ... to celebrate one hundred players congratulations cousin! GIANNA

How Long To Eyebrow Burns Heal

Your body and your smile

I am lost by your side

Hidden from your body off

Mighty warm

I drown out road

To protect and prevent crying

The train of the day flying

disrupts the cat horrible tearing

pulling traps

With the bursting strength, fast and darting

invests it even before I can see

Cancel its existence

But this makes me cry

Because in reality I have to deal with that monster

I wish

I want to see

Your face gives me a warm laugh enticing that sfotte

My love you're cheating

In the booming rock bottom

The monstrous cat grins and draws me to if

* * GiorgiaM

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Does Halle Berry Have A Weave

There are no words

This evening I suffered so much the news coming from the world, I'm in agony with which it clearly is going to hurt. From close by, in my island where all the factories close and workers are left without bread to eat at my house that my partner does not know if you ever start again to resume a regular salary, inflated by the news of the premier news and blennies Thieves with rich megalomaniac villains erected in its support, from the northern states of the African continent whose population has rediscovered the importance of their dignity, from the Middle East where the bombs explode and dismembered hundreds and thousands of people, in places where poverty has always claimed victims in silence to avoid disturbing, not to mention who is to blame, from animals that are continuously protected and massacred by the cosmos goes mad for the echoes of pain in our souls.

I am really scared, and I feel helpless.

Image Of Puppy With Impetigo

I WANT A MAGIC understand you

I will treasure your silence, always listen carefully

every word, you tell me your eyes, take this fleeting moment

of each of your smile, even mentioned,
suffer with you if necessary and will not let you
never alone, because I want to understand you
.........

will cover the steep trails
of your darkest thoughts, you will tend

when you feel a hand sink in quicksand
dell'introversione, I'll be your

Ariadne's thread to save you from the labyrinths that creates the mind,
because I want to understand you .........

When one day I finally say
with a look that will shine in the dark
"love, now that I can get."
will be my day of celebration which drink

opportunity to sing with the heart and the Ode to Joy
really do not understand why is granted,
but I understand you want at all costs ........

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At the deepest and most tender of my heart, there was a small seed

you day after day with your tears


and light radiated from your beautiful eyes you
did germinate. Now that tiny seed

has become a very hardy plant, which will soon blossom

give her flowers and fruit, orange blossom white
will
that weave skillfully
to crown our dream of love.
Magic that will last a lifetime
you and I say "yes" and will be forever.

Was Ross Kemp In The Army In Real Life?

Kings of Leon

some time wanted to learn a bit 'music of the early Kings of Leon, given that their fourth album "Only by the Night" was a nice surprise.
Yesterday I was at Crane, I toured the Fnac and I found the box with the first 3 albums to € 18.90 and I could not resist.
Thanks to rain and traffic this morning I could hear the first album "Youth and youg manhood" in 2003.
L 'album is more raw and rock, with sounds very 70s (which I love).
's tribute to the rock of those years is also evident from their looks.
This is my favorite piece: the official video



A live version

Fluffy Cuffs In Baggage

The Walking Dead

If a comic book come to 'the eighth volume, 48 episodes and over a thousand pages is still able to glue the pages and be amazed, then it is a comic book to be read. In
'introduction Mauro Uzzeo , comics and television writer, has tried to warn me not to read this eighth volume, do not hurt me, to explain that in fact that volume I would not want to read it! But The Walking Dead addictive and the temptation was too strong, so I opened the book and as usual I could not tear myself away until I came to 'last page.
In the end I closed the book, saying "you can not, can not have done it."

Robert Kirkman, the author ', has no mercy for his creatures.
no superheroes in its stories, but all men are absolutely deadly, nobody, really nobody, is safe. Never.
Kirkman is capable of deceiving us, to amaze, even after 1000 pages of a history of zombies. Although
say that The Walking Dead is a story about zombies is like saying that 'Hamlet is a ghost story.

the first volume had already spoken here, but after 8 volumes I think I can say something more.

The Walking Dead is not a story OF zombie, but it is a story with zombies, it has little to do with the TV series came out recently, even from us.
The Walking Dead is a story on people, 'man and his weaknesses, the will to survive and limitations that' man has to give if he wants to remain so.
Zombies are famine,
are the tsunami, the earthquake are
,
are war
are the thing that erases your environment, the twists and forces you to pull out all your ability to adapt to survive.
In a world without rules, without certainty, with a threat always looming outside the window (if you still have a window), what are you willing to do or not do to survive?

Zombies are the walking dead whose sole purpose is to eat the living.
They are slow, they are stupid, but strong and with that 'one goal: to eat.

How pirates but Bennato, you know what they are and know what to expect. Do not betray, do not pretend to be something they are not, do not deceive you, but if they can, they will kill you.

After a thousand pages of The Walking Dead, zombies are reassuring.
Those who are scared of men, capable of real cruelty and malice in order to survive, to defend those they love, but also to get more and more, to be more safer, richer, more full.

The Walking Dead is scary because after all it is a story about us, about what we hope not to be, but we can not be sure of this.

The Walking Dead is a beautiful story, you need to read.

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THANKS!

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This is the flower that has the ball, the pussycat Paola, Pelosetta at all ... I take it to brush and Romeo, kittens Serena e. .. why not? for Sissi, my dog \u200b\u200b

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This beautiful orchid is a gift for all of us by our dear Tomaso THANKS!

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"The Song of manère" by M. Corona

few days ago I read your blog in a nice initiative on reading the last book you read. Anyone who has spoken I must apologize because I do not remember who it was, this oversight is due to the fact that I have no way to browse your pages often because my connection is often not open to me or not let me leave a comment, so from here to delete details from memory is a short step. However I also want to try to talk about something nice, namely the works I read lately. At least those I remember.

The last bed, finished the other day, was "THE SONG OF MANERE" Mauro Corona. I have been given for Christmas by a friend who takes great care about what I like J Once, speaking of "HISTORY OF SNOW" the same author, we compared our reviews to find out that I love writing a lot of Corona as she is a bit 'boring. Oddly enough, given that look like us very much, but so be it.

THE SONG OF MANERE "tells the story of the Holy Crown of Val Martin, a woodsman of Erto Veneto, one of the countries destroyed in the tragedy of Vajont 1963. Born in the late 800 and died in 1945, Santo expatriation in Austria after the man killed in an exemplary manner by which his "girlfriend" Paula Francesca had become "fit". He became rich and powerful man coming to take over the Austrian forests without and then with the Second World War which forced him to flee with his group, even Swiss ones. He fell in love again free from the temperament of a woman who, having betrayed as he had done before, convinced him even more of female fickleness and the fact that all women are "sluts." Saint lived constantly at war with himself, hopelessly in love with poetry and music of the mountains of manère (axes used by loggers), but believes that revenge is the best justice. Designed to work like an animal in a difficult and harsh, where men are hard and strong, enduring and solid as wood that they alone can tame, did not have time to understand the trends of emotion and heart. Only contact with Austrian musicians and writers helped him improve and, over the years, "the elastic memory" which until then was tense and drawn, were let go, prompting him to return to Erto, in the steep narrow streets and steep valleys, men of few words and as dark as soot, to suffer the smells and flavors of his hometown.

seems unlikely that a history of lumberjacks could affect in some way, but the poetry of Mauro Corona in telling visual and auditory beauty of its mountains is exemplary, and he uses a Italian incorrect in the usual way of understanding the grammar and the art of writing, but in continuation of his stories you know that he writes as human words resonate from tree to tree, like the cuckoos sing risvegliasi the spring, like the chamois and run men hard and strong survive in a difficult and almost impossible when, during the winter, the snow softened down or frustrating, the wind cuts diagonally across the falls of ice coming from the sky, people are forced from the walls of solid snow to stay holed up at home. But regularly, the cuckoos begin to sing and return to the warm sun to melt snow in the woods and allow it to work.

In the next post I will talk about "Stories of Snow", often cited in the book above.

If I Have A Cold Can I Take Pepto

The morning started tired and sick, trying to extricate himself from layers of dense fog as to be cut with a knife. A look carefully, beyond the window, it could be seen still alive and almost anything you would want to touch it and shape it, you take the desire to transform it with your hands in something good or at least more nice and helpful. But the fog can not be touched, much less amended So he stood there, like a pall to hide a strange spring that year showed very sad and shy.

My daughter is stationed to set a property somewhere in front of him towards the window, beyond the glass, as if he saw something really interesting to justify the loss of even a minute of your time. It is fair to point out that my daughter was a child of 4 years, so small as to have billions and billions of moments of time and to use as much as he wanted, as without the obvious suspicion that the time has an end. A point. An abyss of the unknown, like the one where I fall on that day.

was a child, my daughter, named Adelaide, was soft and plump as you wish it to be all the children at his age, had a small upturned nose to inspire affection and lots of kisses, and big blue eyes that changed tone together with light and shadow, as my long eyelashes, curly hair and blacks like his father. Until just before playing with some painted wooden puppets that I had found in the attic, going back to my childhood, and nothing would have been able to distract that day and all the others except that strange mist. What if he called, at least looking at it so much drive. Adele In fact, as I always called my husband's chagrin, rose slowly and turned to serious the outside. To watch, observe, listen carefully.

I realized almost immediately because of his immobility working on my sewing machine not far from her, always very careful not to leave alone in any room in the house as a girl child. I waited a moment, then called her "Adele?" But received no sign of response. After having requested a second time, I got worried, I got behind him without arousing the slightest attention from her, so that greatly increased my discomfort. By hand, gently touched the hair and I went down to look at her face. Only then Her eyes as blue as the bottom of the sea awoke from an apparent stupor, and with a smile full of white teeth and laughed joyfully "guadda mom! You piccoi piccoi !!!!" Unfortunately when I did not understand what he meant to my daughter, I saw that showed the glass of the window and I thought he was referring to the fog, what you could not see beyond it, I thought simply that his fertile imagination of a child had created something beautiful and wonderful, perhaps a fairy mist. I checked about and without conviction, then smiled and hugged me saying "you, dear, little baby! Smaller than you think a bit '"and then leave and return to my work sewing. She began to play with his eyes still intent on exploring the outside world, less and less interested in those wooden dolls that had belonged to my brother and me so many decades before. I was quiet, however, convinced that his thoughts were simple child's fantasy, so went back to work hard. They spent only a few minutes.

passed like a breath, a gentle breeze and unawareness of time. I did not know, but in those moments rushed into the void.

When I raised my eyes to control it, as usual, she was gone. Adelaide had disappeared from the room and immediately went looking for it in the rest the house. I explored every room, even where entry was not possible because the door was previously locked. Outside in the courtyard, where the static and suffocating fog hung on every flower every stone and blade of grass. The gate was closed and my desperation now through the roof as I screamed his name so as to draw the attention of someone. This one helped me to continue research without finding my baby, my curly Adele blacks and fickle eyes, my little young and imaginative. My husband called from work, not bother to issue a complaint disappeared and I stay here, to look beyond the glass of the same window from which to watch my daughter, now that many years have passed, waiting for spring to come back the same foggy that day. Yes, because in those cases I see again my dear ... Adele is now a small ladybug who returns home beaded with dew settles on the surface of the glass and wait for his mom to see her take her inside, warm, away from the fog , to be a bit 'together. All springs challenge for the vast wall of fog is always directed towards me, from his mother. I am sure that the day that Adele is gone, the window sill I found a ladybug as her ... only less red and pretty, but still tiny, only at that moment I understood what continuously watching and why it had abandoned its games. Adele asked the mist turned into a little ladybug, so she liked it, now I know and I just wait for the fog to see you back at least a bit and cuddle '.

* * GiorgiaM

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this award I was shot by Mirta and I thank him wholeheartedly address Mirta "http://lucenelcuore.blogspot.com"

I am pleased to receive a prize of Neuriwoman the address of this great blog in English and http://www.neuriwoman.com , thank you very much this very kind thought.

I have the pleasure to receive this award from Neuriwoman, the direction of this wonderful blog http://www.neuriwoman.com , thank you profuntamente this gentilezza.

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a dutiful thanks to all who read me and support me with their loving presence .... take this flower and bring it into your blog