day 3, and fairy shrimp
know of anything sexier than me playing bass?
No. There's nothing sexier than me playing bass.
there any reason why not come and see me play this Friday?
No. There is no reason, because they see me playing is sexy.
is no crackpot and come see me play this Friday. You will feel slightly erotic home, I promise!
Friday December 3, 1923 pm, Fiesta Juan Carlos (Benzedrine ao vivo, pool, drinks and music for the rest of the night) in 3769 Cabrera (Cabrera y Medrano). Entry: 3 pesinis.
can see the sexy afichecito I did in http://www.benzedrine.com.ar
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Sunday, November 14, 2004
What Does A Ohio State Driver's Licence Look Like
dicembri
On Friday I went to the presentation of Sarna (last comic book-slash-Carlos Trillo and first Saenz Valiente-drawing-in the museum of cartoon and caricature Severo Vaccaro). Besides them, there was the maestrísimo Ferro (a whole living hero cartoon) and I asked the three that I draw and sign a math test where I took two and a half, I had the chance in the pack. It was nice and fun.
After that, Victoria and happiness.
Today, stirring, I found a story he had written between the third and fifth grade. I think the slogan was to use the characters in "The mountain was a party" (one of my favorite books) and include a dialogue. I think I was a bit obsessed with the word "Chamigo." Lo and behold what I wrote, in verbatim:
"Sapucai OF THE RAIN" One day I was
Don
Toad, the louse that lives on the head of Nandi and Rhea clear. They were also the small Tapir and Monito. Don
Toad had a reputation for knowing a lot was sitting under a tree in the rain
Monito "Don Sapo do you know we can do during this shower? Don Sapo
"I was thinking M'hijo. Monito
: - But you know, what can we do? Don Sapo
"NO.
Everyone was wondering what to do. For an hour they were thinking until he broke the silence and clear as he was not going to break the silence with Sapucai did louse. It was something like: "uiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiija"
All the great astonishment asked these things that are here:
Rhea: - Eh Chamigo louse! What about such Sapucai? Tapir
- Chamigo louse! What? With that Laro did Sapucai as earth moving and land covered me. Monito
- What Chamigo lice?
Louse: "It occurred to me that we can do together.
All: - What?
Louse: "What we can do is ee ...
Louse: "What happens Chamigo writer who does not write?
Writer: "Wait, Chamigo louse.
Writer: - I know what I'm going to write!
Louse: "We can wade.
It makes me happy to see that, over time, could master the grammar and, eventually, I lost that state of wonder: the rain, the monkeys and writing.
On Friday I went to the presentation of Sarna (last comic book-slash-Carlos Trillo and first Saenz Valiente-drawing-in the museum of cartoon and caricature Severo Vaccaro). Besides them, there was the maestrísimo Ferro (a whole living hero cartoon) and I asked the three that I draw and sign a math test where I took two and a half, I had the chance in the pack. It was nice and fun.
After that, Victoria and happiness.
Today, stirring, I found a story he had written between the third and fifth grade. I think the slogan was to use the characters in "The mountain was a party" (one of my favorite books) and include a dialogue. I think I was a bit obsessed with the word "Chamigo." Lo and behold what I wrote, in verbatim:
"Sapucai OF THE RAIN" One day I was
Don
Toad, the louse that lives on the head of Nandi and Rhea clear. They were also the small Tapir and Monito. Don
Toad had a reputation for knowing a lot was sitting under a tree in the rain
Monito "Don Sapo do you know we can do during this shower? Don Sapo
"I was thinking M'hijo. Monito
: - But you know, what can we do? Don Sapo
"NO.
Everyone was wondering what to do. For an hour they were thinking until he broke the silence and clear as he was not going to break the silence with Sapucai did louse. It was something like: "uiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiija"
All the great astonishment asked these things that are here:
Rhea: - Eh Chamigo louse! What about such Sapucai? Tapir
- Chamigo louse! What? With that Laro did Sapucai as earth moving and land covered me. Monito
- What Chamigo lice?
Louse: "It occurred to me that we can do together.
All: - What?
Louse: "What we can do is ee ...
Louse: "What happens Chamigo writer who does not write?
Writer: "Wait, Chamigo louse.
Writer: - I know what I'm going to write!
Louse: "We can wade.
It makes me happy to see that, over time, could master the grammar and, eventually, I lost that state of wonder: the rain, the monkeys and writing.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Big Red Bumps Back Of Tongue
fuckedupvegetal @ 2004-11-10T20: 17:00
Why I can not, ever, assume that I have to study? Assume that, for once, I care. No study, not the piece of paper, what matters is time. And how not to feel the weight (heavy and suffocating) in time can make me happy. Out of it (being out of there), the school is basically the only thing that is passed. It happens slowly and unbearable, but it happens.
happens and I know I know I should have to accept it at all.
Tomorrow I have a biology test and I can not study for more than half (and carrying a heavy history about the subject.) Exit
Why I can not, ever, assume that I have to study? Assume that, for once, I care. No study, not the piece of paper, what matters is time. And how not to feel the weight (heavy and suffocating) in time can make me happy. Out of it (being out of there), the school is basically the only thing that is passed. It happens slowly and unbearable, but it happens.
happens and I know I know I should have to accept it at all.
Tomorrow I have a biology test and I can not study for more than half (and carrying a heavy history about the subject.) Exit
Tuesday, November 9, 2004
Tweezerman Eyelash Curler Review
fuckedupvegetal @ 2004-11-09T16: 05:00
school and know that out there there's a world full of Vicky feels too good. Will have the door and you begin to enter the embrace of slumber. Because there are some hugs to sit with timeless slumber slumber time melts like cheese melts favorite cheese I have never had a win.
I have wanted to feel things and I like that. I hope things feel, I say. Expect some of the summer. Feel that the summer will give me something ...
As wandering look upon a bed and sleep. Sleep
thousand sunrises. In two weeks
Temin school.
I'm happy.
school and know that out there there's a world full of Vicky feels too good. Will have the door and you begin to enter the embrace of slumber. Because there are some hugs to sit with timeless slumber slumber time melts like cheese melts favorite cheese I have never had a win.
I have wanted to feel things and I like that. I hope things feel, I say. Expect some of the summer. Feel that the summer will give me something ...
As wandering look upon a bed and sleep. Sleep
thousand sunrises. In two weeks
Temin school.
I'm happy.
Wednesday, November 3, 2004
Cysts In Groin/crying
a red shirt. talking heads: 77
Vicky and I walked the city. It's hot, I have worn legs and hugged a lot. In the midst of all that I can not stop feeling that, somehow, I move. If not talk about progress. Forward or backward is more or less the same, what matters is moving.
And we move. Sorry we walk past, my legs tired and hot.
Sometimes I'm scared to stay still. Do not move again, I say. Last night I felt almost fleetingly. A long time ago that I was wrong.
course today, especially when we eat ice cream (especially when we eat ice cream), everything looks clear and I'm there, moving near the center of the wheel. Near the center one moves, slow and quiet, but moves. And is not alone.
must have to do with it.
And with the city. (I can not detach from the city, they knew?)
Oh, I forgot: we knocked on 3 December (www.benzedrine.com.ar). Come and bring friends there, the place you pay us, after party and the entry there are just three pesinis.
Vicky and I walked the city. It's hot, I have worn legs and hugged a lot. In the midst of all that I can not stop feeling that, somehow, I move. If not talk about progress. Forward or backward is more or less the same, what matters is moving.
And we move. Sorry we walk past, my legs tired and hot.
Sometimes I'm scared to stay still. Do not move again, I say. Last night I felt almost fleetingly. A long time ago that I was wrong.
course today, especially when we eat ice cream (especially when we eat ice cream), everything looks clear and I'm there, moving near the center of the wheel. Near the center one moves, slow and quiet, but moves. And is not alone.
must have to do with it.
And with the city. (I can not detach from the city, they knew?)
Oh, I forgot: we knocked on 3 December (www.benzedrine.com.ar). Come and bring friends there, the place you pay us, after party and the entry there are just three pesinis.
Tuesday, November 2, 2004
Is Diazepam Safe During Pregnancy
fuckedupvegetal @ 2004-11-02T16: 05:00
The heat does wonderful things about me. Sometimes I wonder who is so very permeable-emotionally-weather. Sudar, crossing a street and shopping. The reality is felt in the heat density. I like density. The framework of reality, say, the framework that gives reality to things. There are trees, clouds and a Japanese sandals coming in the door of the supermarket and I like that. That is reality and I like it, makes me smile, or something. Take
grenadine and soda again to make sense. I try to do in the winter, nothing. Wear winter scarves and pajamas (blue) is fun, but somehow it is not.
Today I smell bad, but it creeps me the reality (I like it, yeah, I like).
And the day has things. It seems not, but have things. I woke up sweating, with the sun on your face (or tail, actually: I was surprised the day sleeping on their backs), the pants that have turned to using a softer fabric, ate sandwiches and Vicky called me stuck in Cortázar. Christian
Ferrer speaks on TV and a bad odor.
summer I like to smell, feel in their bones and trousers stuck to the legs.
I wish I could say things, but today I can only speak of what is heavier than air and it makes me happy.
The heat does wonderful things about me. Sometimes I wonder who is so very permeable-emotionally-weather. Sudar, crossing a street and shopping. The reality is felt in the heat density. I like density. The framework of reality, say, the framework that gives reality to things. There are trees, clouds and a Japanese sandals coming in the door of the supermarket and I like that. That is reality and I like it, makes me smile, or something. Take
grenadine and soda again to make sense. I try to do in the winter, nothing. Wear winter scarves and pajamas (blue) is fun, but somehow it is not.
Today I smell bad, but it creeps me the reality (I like it, yeah, I like).
And the day has things. It seems not, but have things. I woke up sweating, with the sun on your face (or tail, actually: I was surprised the day sleeping on their backs), the pants that have turned to using a softer fabric, ate sandwiches and Vicky called me stuck in Cortázar. Christian
Ferrer speaks on TV and a bad odor.
summer I like to smell, feel in their bones and trousers stuck to the legs.
I wish I could say things, but today I can only speak of what is heavier than air and it makes me happy.
Monday, August 9, 2004
Antenna To Hdmi Converter
london calling (to the underworld)
saw those days that seem almost empty? Or rather, full of nothing. I avoid it. Read Whitman. Carpe diem. But no. Not so. I continue as usual, filling my evenings had not drawn my ideas on paper with ink smell, not having studied for the civics test that I take tomorrow, no spitting all the music I have (or expect to have) in and not writing.
I still like always, although I must admit that it (the bear jam, positivist my ego compels me to admit it). Now leave, at least, to come all these wonderful people to fill a bit in the afternoon. When I get bored of emptying all, let me be filled with dreams, kissing, breath (breathing is important), music, pictures, texts and stories.
course today, nothing. Should study and no one would come to play at home. Or drink milk. Then I get bored of me empty all day and need (or I like to think I need, that that matter) to write my life to the world.
Now I'm going to water a small plant and dream about my trip to London. I am leaving on Saturday and I have tickets to see sonic youth (and, if cheap enough, maybe I'll see you tiger). Anyone know of something nice to do out there?
(the afternoon passed, and, as usual, I go to daily. Sometimes, only some or perhaps all, you own what happens. I like to feel that way with just a few lines written .)
(missed this more than I thought.)
saw those days that seem almost empty? Or rather, full of nothing. I avoid it. Read Whitman. Carpe diem. But no. Not so. I continue as usual, filling my evenings had not drawn my ideas on paper with ink smell, not having studied for the civics test that I take tomorrow, no spitting all the music I have (or expect to have) in and not writing.
I still like always, although I must admit that it (the bear jam, positivist my ego compels me to admit it). Now leave, at least, to come all these wonderful people to fill a bit in the afternoon. When I get bored of emptying all, let me be filled with dreams, kissing, breath (breathing is important), music, pictures, texts and stories.
course today, nothing. Should study and no one would come to play at home. Or drink milk. Then I get bored of me empty all day and need (or I like to think I need, that that matter) to write my life to the world.
Now I'm going to water a small plant and dream about my trip to London. I am leaving on Saturday and I have tickets to see sonic youth (and, if cheap enough, maybe I'll see you tiger). Anyone know of something nice to do out there?
(the afternoon passed, and, as usual, I go to daily. Sometimes, only some or perhaps all, you own what happens. I like to feel that way with just a few lines written .)
(missed this more than I thought.)
Tuesday, January 27, 2004
Pin Needles Early Symptoms Of Hiv?
'm half in love with all the girls I Meet
heat gets into the skin of one, under one's skin, the skin of one, between the skin of one, until the heat becomes one's skin. Sweat in the heat inertia of watching television, playing cards with my brother or talking about London architecture my Mamu (while on TV are Gaudi and his holy family ... gaudí not, so this is the work continued growth in the screen ... architecture as something organic, breathing trasnpira like me) .
is that yes, my parents and my brother, Nico, came back. Italy and London, where my sister lives with david laura. It's so good to see the house alive again, to breathe and perspire. Because we are sleeping house my brother and I slept until three in the afternoon is that, a house sleeping. While there were moments of waking, and I doing lemmon vicky foot, santi and I playing metal slug, Jorge and I are talking about chess, and willie juani wine talking, playing songs of lying to juani and, above all, vicky cook. Above all that, the apron and pots in their eyes.
Those moments were the vigil and the dawn of the house. But the rest, the rest was sleep and sweat. And sweat asleep is not sweating. Sweating is now, the fan making noise unnecessarily (too lazy to get up and point to where I sit), the tele very low, belle and sebastian in my head and memories of sweating a lot better. Dance, move, sweat.
Anyway, now the sweat is good sweat in silence because beds are filled with people who also trasnpira, but asleep. And not transpire as I sleep. Right now, sweating escucahndo writing and the fan, I feel I am part of something else. Or that the thing is that this home. Or that this house is more for me than I feel. The architecture ...
One thing that is not me, perhaps it or (if they joined forces and encouraged me) we are. We may not be more than sweat, some whisper that I remember and the fan noise. And I like that idea. When I get to believe in the beauty, almost certainly feel very, very similar to how you feel now my sweat and odor. And I think we
is no longer the analogy of it and I think now we are all people I love. She, naty, jorge, bere, mer, agus, my old mail, juani, santi, lau, dew and, interestingly, more people than I can remember now. That's good. We are now in my sweat, my bad smell my desire to reveal and fan noise, a lot of people I love and who they are and they in relation to me.
And what am I in relation to you.
heat gets into the skin of one, under one's skin, the skin of one, between the skin of one, until the heat becomes one's skin. Sweat in the heat inertia of watching television, playing cards with my brother or talking about London architecture my Mamu (while on TV are Gaudi and his holy family ... gaudí not, so this is the work continued growth in the screen ... architecture as something organic, breathing trasnpira like me) .
is that yes, my parents and my brother, Nico, came back. Italy and London, where my sister lives with david laura. It's so good to see the house alive again, to breathe and perspire. Because we are sleeping house my brother and I slept until three in the afternoon is that, a house sleeping. While there were moments of waking, and I doing lemmon vicky foot, santi and I playing metal slug, Jorge and I are talking about chess, and willie juani wine talking, playing songs of lying to juani and, above all, vicky cook. Above all that, the apron and pots in their eyes.
Those moments were the vigil and the dawn of the house. But the rest, the rest was sleep and sweat. And sweat asleep is not sweating. Sweating is now, the fan making noise unnecessarily (too lazy to get up and point to where I sit), the tele very low, belle and sebastian in my head and memories of sweating a lot better. Dance, move, sweat.
Anyway, now the sweat is good sweat in silence because beds are filled with people who also trasnpira, but asleep. And not transpire as I sleep. Right now, sweating escucahndo writing and the fan, I feel I am part of something else. Or that the thing is that this home. Or that this house is more for me than I feel. The architecture ...
One thing that is not me, perhaps it or (if they joined forces and encouraged me) we are. We may not be more than sweat, some whisper that I remember and the fan noise. And I like that idea. When I get to believe in the beauty, almost certainly feel very, very similar to how you feel now my sweat and odor. And I think we
is no longer the analogy of it and I think now we are all people I love. She, naty, jorge, bere, mer, agus, my old mail, juani, santi, lau, dew and, interestingly, more people than I can remember now. That's good. We are now in my sweat, my bad smell my desire to reveal and fan noise, a lot of people I love and who they are and they in relation to me.
And what am I in relation to you.
Sunday, January 11, 2004
Vtv Software Surveillance
fuckedupvegetal @ 2004-01-10T04: 42:00
The other day we rehearsed in Mathias. Vicky came, too. Matias's house is the abolition of order and civilization. It's an amazing thing, this lelna of "stuff." To where you look, "things." Moreover, throughout the house and arranged without any apparent criteria, are stuck in the old works. I love what Oscar does, over the RE has a beard.
I would try to explain or convey what it felt like when we played, but I do not think you can. I should have seen vicky meintras playing bass, lying on the floor with eyes closed ... Later came
Lizandro and began to bake a potato cake ... There is something so strangely beautiful in chopping onions. We played super nintendo (I play bad, but shhhhh, do not tell anyone.) Then go down the table, put the tablecloth. At some point I put a vinyl of the mothers who had Oscar ("burnt weenie sandwich", the English edition is called "burning inventive sandwich, which sounds incredibly well) ... The mixture of vinyl is much better than the cd. This album is a damn crazy. We danced a lot with vicky ...
Later we all went to the table (put tablecloths is strangely beautiful, too) and eat Duke put on a disk that had all the style (eating with the Duke of substance, on vinyl, is to have style.)
not remember in what order, but with a temporary space in the middle, appeared at the door julia and favors. Julia is a woman's love, not the voice if you have or what, but it always gives me a warm feeling hard to explain. And see mercedes always good.
matías Yard cucas filled this super-duper, and surprisingly, I went running. I did have moments of panic terrible (as he hugged em vicky julia said it was cute).
was an afternoon (which was turning into night) too pretty ... Not if the heat was unbearable transmuted into sweat that had nearly everyone (except the girls ... the girls always smell good, not like, but always smell good), walking barefoot, see vicky sleepy while we noises, strange conversation at 3 am with julia on time or what, but it was too good. Today
The other day we rehearsed in Mathias. Vicky came, too. Matias's house is the abolition of order and civilization. It's an amazing thing, this lelna of "stuff." To where you look, "things." Moreover, throughout the house and arranged without any apparent criteria, are stuck in the old works. I love what Oscar does, over the RE has a beard.
I would try to explain or convey what it felt like when we played, but I do not think you can. I should have seen vicky meintras playing bass, lying on the floor with eyes closed ... Later came
Lizandro and began to bake a potato cake ... There is something so strangely beautiful in chopping onions. We played super nintendo (I play bad, but shhhhh, do not tell anyone.) Then go down the table, put the tablecloth. At some point I put a vinyl of the mothers who had Oscar ("burnt weenie sandwich", the English edition is called "burning inventive sandwich, which sounds incredibly well) ... The mixture of vinyl is much better than the cd. This album is a damn crazy. We danced a lot with vicky ...
Later we all went to the table (put tablecloths is strangely beautiful, too) and eat Duke put on a disk that had all the style (eating with the Duke of substance, on vinyl, is to have style.)
not remember in what order, but with a temporary space in the middle, appeared at the door julia and favors. Julia is a woman's love, not the voice if you have or what, but it always gives me a warm feeling hard to explain. And see mercedes always good.
matías Yard cucas filled this super-duper, and surprisingly, I went running. I did have moments of panic terrible (as he hugged em vicky julia said it was cute).
was an afternoon (which was turning into night) too pretty ... Not if the heat was unbearable transmuted into sweat that had nearly everyone (except the girls ... the girls always smell good, not like, but always smell good), walking barefoot, see vicky sleepy while we noises, strange conversation at 3 am with julia on time or what, but it was too good. Today
Free Templates For Card Buggy
antepenultimate music and dance would also be
juani (my brother) went to a hoe, so I got up super-duper late, I heated a Milanese, watching spongebob ate, bathed and got to wash the dishes while listening to music. When I got to track that of the bee nineties I started dancing with the sponge and dishes ... I imagined that scene would have been if you were here, while I danced with the sponge. Charm of everyday life ...
If it was passed without that you exist, if today had been before I met you, sure (very sure) would be stopped washing dishes and inert, all gray. And would having you afraid of women. Now Playing
underworld and I shake my head too silly as I write and try to dance with you.
When I was eleven dancing. I was eleven, I like Peter Gabriel and dancing. My brother had a videotaped concert, put it on TV in the morning, before going to school and I started to dance in a hilarious way.
After that stop dancing, no, I forgot.
Later, a few years later, you appeared you and I wanted to dance again. Like dancing, writing, doing historietitas. Do not know how, let alone why, I had forgotten all that.
Today-and today it since I was waiting on a ladder or grab you hand and went running from the violent noise-and I have eleven years.
Now Playing Piano Man by Billy Joel (jijijiji)
juani (my brother) went to a hoe, so I got up super-duper late, I heated a Milanese, watching spongebob ate, bathed and got to wash the dishes while listening to music. When I got to track that of the bee nineties I started dancing with the sponge and dishes ... I imagined that scene would have been if you were here, while I danced with the sponge. Charm of everyday life ...
If it was passed without that you exist, if today had been before I met you, sure (very sure) would be stopped washing dishes and inert, all gray. And would having you afraid of women. Now Playing
underworld and I shake my head too silly as I write and try to dance with you.
When I was eleven dancing. I was eleven, I like Peter Gabriel and dancing. My brother had a videotaped concert, put it on TV in the morning, before going to school and I started to dance in a hilarious way.
After that stop dancing, no, I forgot.
Later, a few years later, you appeared you and I wanted to dance again. Like dancing, writing, doing historietitas. Do not know how, let alone why, I had forgotten all that.
Today-and today it since I was waiting on a ladder or grab you hand and went running from the violent noise-and I have eleven years.
Now Playing Piano Man by Billy Joel (jijijiji)
Friday, January 2, 2004
Infections Brazilian Wax
The state I'm in
recently (and lately I mean an indefinite but relatively long segment of right temporal - auqnue I refuse to accept the idea of righteousness in time) I'm feeling like dawn. Yes, Dawn. Not talking about waking up early and go to school, work, start playing the jeuguito civilized person, stop dreaming and start being what we are not. It is dawn, a natural phenomenon and every day, completely alien to me, but it is not dawn. I speak of the verb, the act completely personal and intimate of dawn. Not a fact, but rather something that is a certain mornings. One comes to life at once but not stop dreaming. Maintain the flow of time dream. And the curtains have a slightly different color, the coffee smells better, waking up in the bright sun, white strangely before noon.
The smell of orange blossoms of bright light in the morning, that.
Also, smell the chance, but that is another matter.
Dawn. Ser Ser
morning. Lift
blinds. Light through curtains. Frosted Flakes milk. Smelling cinnamon.
Love ...
... That must be it.
recently (and lately I mean an indefinite but relatively long segment of right temporal - auqnue I refuse to accept the idea of righteousness in time) I'm feeling like dawn. Yes, Dawn. Not talking about waking up early and go to school, work, start playing the jeuguito civilized person, stop dreaming and start being what we are not. It is dawn, a natural phenomenon and every day, completely alien to me, but it is not dawn. I speak of the verb, the act completely personal and intimate of dawn. Not a fact, but rather something that is a certain mornings. One comes to life at once but not stop dreaming. Maintain the flow of time dream. And the curtains have a slightly different color, the coffee smells better, waking up in the bright sun, white strangely before noon.
The smell of orange blossoms of bright light in the morning, that.
Also, smell the chance, but that is another matter.
Dawn. Ser Ser
morning. Lift
blinds. Light through curtains. Frosted Flakes milk. Smelling cinnamon.
Love ...
... That must be it.
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