Topless Driving Tractor

Luckily there is oblivion.

Memories are like pictures. Above love, for example, you can see the tiniest detail.
With each passing day is a whole, almost panoramic. Time after a figure in the distance. So close
love gets in the bones. As if you'd never get out.

But forget ... oblivion ...

Oblivion begins in the small matter of distance no longer means anything. The spoon and jam it is only that, the coffee is not for anyone. And little by little forgetfulness erases small, which is direct.
in those things is where you cut the fibers. You can feel that you can uproot the root. Beyond
time the figure is otherwise. As an impressionist painting, more clearly in the distance.
So bring your blanket oblivion and healthy. Well then is forgotten. Beleaguered, misunderstood, ignored. Forgotten forgotten by men. Healing with the concurrence of time and space, performing ads friction as eternal farewell and welcome ephemeral. Stubbornly ignoring the gnawing memories and wins, honey heals corner forgetful of love, neglect atheist.
There came a day so that nothing remains, will remain when that happens and will more than ever. It is true that there is nothing left. But love does not last forever, the one who gets forgotten when it hurts, is a debt to be paid at the time. We will all pay. Love, when finished, is like a small death, which is within you. There is relief granted by the sloppy blur of days and that's not a chance, something happens deals.

And no one believes he will get it. Neither love stops him. Or death.

Luckily there is oblivion.


People can not die of neglect

But you can forget about death.



Photo: Madame as captain for "Friday's Girls"

All rights reserved. 2009-2010

Can You Mix Koleston Color With Redken Processor

stone fruit trees of stone. Yerma
the land of the disenchanted
I do not like catching
time amid the flat, dry plain
not brought anything to horizon.


Suddenly a drop of rain You make me


to red ...
words escape me and not know what to say.
A much I like my words ...
turns out that you are better to you.
In your mythology of elves and forests.
corner of civility and
of rain and wet earth aromas
I find in the dark for the first time. Diana
hunting at night, Eros
longs in the leafy corner of the road and brings you,
naked light, cosmic.
The blaze could not cope with your absence.
Thousands and thousands of holes through which light enters.
telling us what they see as the very truth. Roar
life
not yet know and which is now be time to discover.
not even see you were leaving all the lights lit.
And from behind a mosaic refracted
sun came out one day, who knows one for that matter.
And I saw crossing the sidewalk, smiling

and I knew it would not be alone anymore.



Photo: Alejandro Campos
Model: Celeste Fauberg for "Friday's Girls"

All rights reserved. 2009-2010

Pierwsza Milosc Dress Up Games

-time Lobo

station is abandoned in the desert. It is a world, a world of desert. No more nothing around but sand boiling, sun no shadow at zenith and the punishing wind and wood veneers. In the middle of the season, an old man. Wears his battered uniform, almost as old as. It has a faded hat and shoes worn. Look at the floor, waiting. God is an old man in his desert. It has thousands of thousands of years.
No one has been in a long time and yet he insists on his faith. Know what you do not know more about the experience. You know very well that everything comes to he expected.


Meanwhile, at another time during the time, I named it. And yet comes in a hotel's image forever. His backpack old faded from his bags as much road. My time of the emotion that has already died and bending of the circumstances that we saw when we were scene and we see now, from the backstage.
I run on the road and do not really know to where. But run I change the landscape y me muestra mas de mi y mas de todo.
Quiero ser el murmullo y la corriente del río que te bañe. Te veo aparecer tarareando, sonriente y sos preludio de alegrías, mas que mujer.
Toda vos, con tu halo, con tus duendes, tus vestidos, tu vuelo y tu serpentina.
Toda en el velo silencioso de tu aura, en el interior de los sonidos y en el calor de la calle.
Un paso de distancia es la diferencia. Un metro mas allá eras una imagen de la ciudad, el murmullo en el aire, los bocinazos.
Ahora, un paso después, parece que el viento se calma y estuviéramos en casa.
Tus ojos me miran. Tu nariz me mira, tus mejillas, tus labios, tus pómulos, tus besos guardados me miran desde las comisuras.

Now that I spent this way, I'm one step closer, but no sound.


All is silent.


lips are announced in the eyes of one side or the other. Kissing lips fingers, freckles, moles of the end of the back, the soft skin behind the knees, umbilicus, eyelids.
That experience, can only be experienced and nothing else.
not justify a single attempt to spend more words to explain it, other than under the precondition of fervent desire to live. Sounds


train elsewhere in other dimensions, in the desert. Get the clock in the pocket of an old god who felt abandoned. One station lost nothing and with nothing else around. There awaits the old man sitting on the bank of the ancien dry under the eaves boiling plate.
Turn your head and look to the horizon. The rails are two black wires in the vastness of bright yellow.
In the distance, a column of smoke, smile, as if someone saw it. As if to demonstrate to the whole universe always knew what would happen. Just

schedule. Just as it should be.



Photo: Butterfly, by captain for "Friday's Girls"

All rights reserved. 2009-2010

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... and while we spoke of Many Things

fools and kings this
He Said to me "The Greatest thing you'll ever learn is just
to love and be loved in return" Nat King Cole


I miss
the sweetness of kisses. I take her in, almost forgotten and dirty. Memory old postcard from other winters. Tarnished memory of kisses, faded by the sun. And rather than push with all my strength, there swamps which no sale. I remember the tenderness that was giving me creeps, burning, rather than tenderness. Not bad. Considered abandoned.
then leave the loading on the dam and I decide to search. I say goodbye at the end of my memory and look for this. And I intend to find in the corners of the tracks, and cobbled streets, the shops and markets. I look at the distance of the bodies and took me to the closeness, support bend my waist and my hands on the cold floor. And that's why I won. Rest of myself as I can and never let a second look at my struggle, to extend the road. I know it is not easy, you know tomorrow as we did and not now. It is also that one does not know anything until he has before that scare which bounce off the feelings inside. Fog is lost in the words of lovers, all different lights. The looseness of the bodies of love can not be imitated with fur challenges and savannah.
It is mostly a matter of time and found is the most difficult to achieve in this world, but also the most wonderful.
is that sometimes one is not, nor would the best time nor the place most suitable, but that is instantly recognizable as the momentum is not measured.
And of course in the middle, totaling more battles lost. But that does not take away an ounce of beauty, to delight in what is presented as a surprise. As a gift of kings, as a serenade for summer, like rain on the plate at the time for siesta.
That feeling, which is strange as forgotten. It becomes just a word, until it comes back. That grin on his face and leaving alone makes one walk in the clouds through life, believing in the stupid unless appropriate. That image is one image that reflected everywhere.
And understanding that the fire remained alive despite the storms. And that begins to tickle the inside.
Give me one night and a wine and other talk more like those we have, where you lose the thread to swim in different ideas all the time. Give a talk more, we bring the glasses and get out to the patio to smoke.
And if you want to let us look again at our eyes and see the ways they went through to get this far again. Even the feeling that clothes in the cold street. In the sweetness of a smile that it withered greens, joining the broken swords, drinking water clasped hands, caressing the time, do not strip. Let us look


then again, in love of all past, you just got. In the millennia

love elsewhere, they touch on my door.


Photo: Lola to "Friday's Girls"

All rights reserved. 2009-2010