Saturday, October 23, 2010

Used Helms Bakery Trucks

Confinement ...

Part 1

Only two fifties and a few pine cypresses surrounding the arbor of outer space, morbid psychiatric clinic of the universe ... he was so depressed too that the ground mingled dust mixed with gravel faded meteorites? Looking more closely, no paranormal phenomenon, no little green men come from Mars or elsewhere. No need to review the training system of the universe, cosmology exact science, then? Like cash?

From our small group pacing, cigarette in mouth, one of us walked to the center not of the universe, but this tiny courtyard ... From the pupil focus in its Iris fantasy worthy of the most beautiful kaleidoscope, our friend Charles had just seen forever etched for eternity on a limestone used for decorative ornament, the first Archaeopteryx. We knew the previous life of our friend, the eminent and distinguished scientist, former researcher at the CNRS, the cynosure of his youth by his peers for his meritorious research ... But, like all of us, he had sunk to the depths of his fall, lost between alcohols and ethereal love disappointed!

No it was not dust meteorites Juche ground, but rather the ashes of our cigarettes, that for a moment permit us to forget our condition, our misery. Caught in the whirlwind of life, love between the dead and work that had been the coach, we were became "die misery," less than nothing, emptied of all thought, naked as worms. ... Some poor wretches!

In those moments between takes medication for me but if not revive me a little relief, was dictating and I kept telling myself this beautiful text ... An old song, an old woman like me in misery ... They are not my words, only the evils that keep me awake sometimes, in this cruel world

On the back dented
From an old forgotten
In a corner Earth,
A bundle of dead wood,
Versant its two edges,
hiccuping on stones
Heavy, heavy is the burden,
heavier with every step yet again.
Menton flush stone
Old misery drags
And wears his wealth,
Winter crushes his arrogance
And the wind plays the organ
With her legs dry
Heavy, heavy is the misery
Heavier still under the yoke winter.
The bundle, with each step
Becomes a little flatter
On the back of the old,
But it does not stop,
And still some wood
A three paces from her home
Lasse, was the old tired, tired
More
yet the return of the day.
By oiled paper,
door, serrated
oozes a wedge of light,
And is the old entrance,
Its heat,
slain his misery,
Burns, deadwood,
You are the gold misery
Heater stronger
What remains of flesh.
But it was still not heavy
And fire petered
immediately clear flame,
And the old forgotten
was returning search
His deadwood misery .
God, seeing and toil and groan,
Both took pity he thought fit to intervene,
"Rejoice, I t'inscris in my book,
Go, I grant you ten more years to live."

between two flashes of lucidity, I thank George for Chelon these verses by the hand and took the granny to take her to another world than where we were confined, where compressed air if we prevented She was breathing ... my pearl, my goddess, my neighbor dormitory, the little old native of Kabylia. She kept her coquetry youth, beautiful silver jewelry that bewitch and give it an air of youth, naive and beautiful as an apple. I imagined in a dream, a young girl in his home province ... It was due to turn heads ... So many questions to which I could not answer ... In singles outstanding!

me finish grind the spirit of dithering over possible ... I had to accompany him to that other world, our paradise ... To us, if it is futile! Forget this nightmare, join our steps towards a better world full of hope, away from the horror in which heads and feet bound, we were! I held him tight against me, my love, my little artichoke ... She was hot, so hot I had loved in those moments, the peel off, and my mother let me sway to the whims of her charms and forgetting chastity and temperance.

It was only dreaming ... The supporters came to surface, power and money! We huddled louder, the better we like it, but also resist the monarchy shifted oh, this symbol CAC 40 stinking money.

It was there before us ... So high, so great that we could see that his white coat! Nurses or prison guard, everything depended on the times ... Robust as a reindeer, flying hair, the hairdresser was not to be part of his knowledge, even for those more intimate, I think!

In his monotone, we threw a big hello ... Nothing really fraternal, so cold! Sorry to bother you good people (hypocrite Judas, I thought), but the humidity falls, I had no voice to answer him qu'abdiquer was not my forte ... We followed the pseudo-caid caregiver, which in our mouths and did not care passionately deliver buttocks and went back to piquouses mouths and pellets of all kinds.

Next
tracking or monitoring the following ... Was it so important? As still having some notion of space and time, we poor devils sore, injured, tired, hurt by this dog's life! Were we in this mess, half-buried for ages or only one year ... Who knows! Unfortunately we had no response.

The shelves of our rooms, we could hear the many sounds of the teeming life outside ... as much or more than the mob that was brewing. France and the industrious worker was on strike, fighting for preserve its rights! The "Little King" trembled at the top of his ejection seat ...

I approached my beautiful, told her: "Look Grandma, nothing is dead ... they live ... Everything moves" ... What does Should we not do, waiting, hoping that before the blueberries grow back?

And we were simple contemplation, no enjoyment, bundled up in our canvas that serves as a straitjacket, not to take the bottle and good times ... Only likely to be the sole obsession that tears us apart inside ... Living, found that freedom than ourselves in our life, had buried in shame, clumsiness or weakness ... We finally find the world of the living and not around an arbor, but a table, surrounded by friends to eat all we profiteroles!

Ranger ... as if to forget our bad memories! In the dusty corner, where he never arise trace our fingers, library closed forever.

Forget ... reborn one day! Medium would I, could I donations hidden shameful ... dare bring to our simple stage directions great theater of life!

MICHEL

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