Harold And Kumar Bottomless Party Scene Clip

Debut novels (catching) - by Adrienne

Debut novels (Exercise # 15) - Adrienne

it comes to writing lepremier paragraph (about three hundred signs and spaces) of a novel yintégrant the following:

- a skyscraper
-
a cat - a packet of flour
- a subway ticket or a ticket for cinema
- a man and a woman (their characteristics are free) that will be croisentsans

Exercise must be repeated three times.

- opting every time for a perspective different narrative: first person, second person or third person singular
- by choosing each time a genus recognizable romanréaliste novel by science-fiction thriller, satirical novel, romand'horreur, etc..

************

the side of my house

Longtempsje went to bed early. Sometimes, no sooner had I closed rideauxsur the skyscrapers of the city and gave one last caress my cat, my eyes would close so quickly that I had just enough time to tell me: "Tomorrow, it I'll have to buy me a kilo of flour, there is no demadeleines .... " And half an hour later the thought that it was time melever and take the subway would awaken me and I had not stopped in dormantde make reflections on what I had seen that day, cesréflexions but had run into a bit special and it seemed quej'étais myself that man or woman that I saw every day on the platform, reading the same newspaper with the same pace, and yet had encorejamais had a look for each other.

the stairs

Yes, celapourrait start well here, so, in a way a bit heavy and slow in this neutral place that belongs to everyone and anyone , where the man and woman secroisent without seeing where life of the skyscraper has an impact, remote etrégulière. Of what goes on behind the heavy doors of the apartments, onne perceives most often echoes that exploded, a cat meows, a flour paquetde tearing, we open a bin to throw an old subway ticketde found at bottom of a pocket when we are looking for a handkerchief.

Letter 1

You see, Mabon friend, it's not just the socks and pompoms and since that left your tuas convent to the city and its skyscrapers, you need dequelques sub in your crosshairs, not for the quest, but t'acheterun cinema ticket! You have your harp, your artwork, your books, as aucouvent, but you also have a cat! You have your room, your office, a jolisecrétaire and sometimes you can put the Office the hands-free MèrePerpétue that is there to scold you when you dropped a package defarine.

My chèrebonne, we told you so often that a girl should remain in the convent jusqu'àce she should marry, you can deduce that this lady who came voirta mother, and this elegant whiskered gentleman who cross it was niunie new maid, or the cobbler! Agree that you voilàprévenue!

Malibu Grand Prix Go Kart For Sale

It Must Have Been Fun (versions 1 and 2) - by Martine B.

Version 1

Lou did not visit sagrand mater. The sight of all these forms the old super depressed. It sedemandait if to eighty years ago, it would be crazy enough to play Auten as Mamie was still. He hated the practices of another run like madmen temps.Pourquoi enplein sun so they could indulge themselves in any sport in a healthy and conditioned, assistéd'un personal robot that continuously monitors your blood sugar and heart votrerythme? Not quite frankly, he did not understand this generation ...

One Sunday a month at her parents leconduisaient Green & Blue, the residence for seniors where athletes lived sagrand mater. It was an old golf club that had been left abandondans the 2030s, at about the time the exercise to the general airétait fallen into disuse. The old clubhouse is now a bar jusde fruit, restaurant dietético-molecular treatment rooms where officiated a myriad of physios and a sallepolyvalente used mostly for balls, because this little mondeavait yet nimble leg. On the old route had been constructed houses, some shops, a beauty salon and uneentreprise funeral. Everything was organized so that residents have pastrop out of their golden retirement.

Louavait horror of having to embrace the friends of her grandmother, as if that sefaisait yet to embrace the people! Their body odor the inconvenienced and had a holy scared of catching a skin disease. But the worst was when they began to radotersur their past, because they thought it would interest the guys, as they said in their old language. Thus some semainesauparavant they had spoken to a strange place, school. He is past avaitdécouvert not working quietly alone at home on his desk as he did touch, but he had to go into a sordid endroitassez where children were called "students . Onréussissait to bake in a good thirty per class (room minusculedénuée of electronic equipment) and they were carrying bags that weighed a ton when ilsextirpaient related objects, paper. On the finest they copied Deslignes of words using a pen sort of dirtied their fingers. Qandil were wrong, it was toutrecommencer. Reliésétaient Other objects of "books." To read, you had to take each sheet between sesdoigts and turn to scroll the words, a waste of energy tempset Lou had thought. A middle-aged person was also there, and after she scribbled Grandfather tempsen of time on a wooden rectangular black or green Quiétis fixed on one wall. She also got angry when the group devenaitbruyant, and threatened to stick them, but they had already airscotchés on their chairs, so why add more?

Lou remembered a documentary film he visionnépour his history project, in which a humiliated Mr. Perez unepauvre daughter because she had not completed a work called duty, we pourlequel ; scoring. She had been humiliated Supreme, a zero out of twenty. Why twenty elsewhere? Nowadays, all celan'était possible. Lou was planning his own work days and faisaitses exercises at their own pace: they are not forced either to accelerate rythmequand he was tired or slow it down if it was going well. When avaitatteint skill level he passed to the next, simply. Loun'avait never saw the supervisor because he was moving when that was not enfantne objectives or had damaged his office touch, and very studious and Louet Careful with sonmatériel.

In this film, many other détailsavaient intrigued the young boy. The "students", although qu'entassésdans this room did not seem to suffer. They even had air biens'amuser, especially when the adult's back was turned. Some desmessages consulted on their i-phone and answered it, others were chatting off the record, there were also who were holding hands under the tables. Lou avaitégalement observed many échangesde glances, followed by endless giggles. He had promisd'en talking with his grandmother.

Sunday after Grandma had explained his youth Quedan the main interest of boys and girls were deséduire of the opposite sex. We knew we liked to quelqu'unquand you heckled incessantly. It followed a kind of adjacent verbalequi lasted a while, then one day you could not you passerl'un other. Then you kiss, and it was the débutd'une great adventure that made you enter the world of grands.Mamie and Grandpa had known so on schools of the university. Lou's mother was born a few years later. Ilse asked how, in fact, a question still to be elucidated. Now it was still easier, onpratiquait IVF according desétudes forecast needs of industry and finance. This avaitéradiqué very simply another problem to which he formerly avaientparlé his parents, the unemployed. Those who did not comply with cesméthodes had reproductive choice, but their children were doomed Ades menial jobs, like nursing for example. (There are a few rebels avaitencore refractory medically ill.)

Wherereasons people met this totally random, they said they loved each other. Ilsécrivaient texts to express their feelings, or they reported the devive voice. Being in love lesgens put in a strange state, Mamie said they had the "upside down". 'Well, it would be nice!' Retorted Lou. But Mamie avaitrépondu him that this made them happy, and she knew nothing better.

Alone at his desk the next day, Lou had trouble concentrating. It necessit to rethink the words of his grandmother and said that finally, have fun ondevait past.


************
few days after the release of version 1, Martin writes that by rereading, she has remorse and sent me version 2, by asking me to substitute one for another. I replied that I publish the two so that everyone can enjoy changes. After all, there is a blog where the writing is moving and not static ... So far it is way!

MW

***************

Version 2:

Lou did not visit sagrand mater. The sight of all these forms the old super depressed. It sedemandait if to eighty years ago, it would be crazy enough to play Auten as Mamie was still. He hated the practices of another temps.Pourquoi run like madmen enplein sun so we could engage any sport at home in a healthy environment and conditioning, assistéd'un personal robot that continuously monitors your glucose levels and cardiac votrerythme? Not quite frankly, he did not understand this generation ...

One Sunday a month his parents leconduisaient to Green & Blue, the residence where senior athletes sagrand mother lived. It was an old golf club that had been left abandondans the 2030s, at about the time where the general physical airétait fallen into disuse. The old clubhouse is now a bar jusde fruit, restaurant dietético-molecular treatment rooms where officiated a myriad of physios and a sallepolyvalente used mostly for balls, because this little mondeavait yet nimble leg. On the old route had been built houses, few shops, a beauty salon and uneentreprise funeral. Everything was organized so that residents have pastrop out of their golden retirement.

Louavait horror of having to embrace the friends of her grandmother, as if that sefaisait yet to embrace the people! Their body odor the inconvenienced and had a holy scared of catching a skin disease. But worst was when they began to radotersur their past, because they thought it would interest the guys, as they said in their old language. Thus some semainesauparavant they had spoken to a strange place, school. Lou was formerly ainsidécouvert is not working quietly alone at home on his desk touch but needed to travel to a sordid endroitassez where children were called students. We managed to bake in unebonne thirty per class (room devoid of any electronic equipment), andit would be carrying bags that weighed a ton, which ilsextirpaient related objects, paper. Of the more flexible they copiaientdes word lines with a kind of pen they dirtied the doigts.Quand they were mistaken, it was toutrecommencer. Other objects reliésétaient books. To read ilfallait take each leaf between his fingers and turned for fairedéfiler words, a waste of time and energy had thought Lou.Une middle-aged person was also there, and she scribbled time time Surun rectangular wooden board black or green on a fixed Desmurs. She also got angry when the group became noisy and threatening paste them, but they déjàl'air taped to their chairs, so why say more?

Lou remembered a documentary film that had its visionnépour History Project, in which a humiliated Mr. Perez unepauvre daughter because she had not completed a work called duty, we pourlequel obtained a score. She received the ultimate humiliation, a zero out of twenty. Why twenty elsewhere? Nowadays, all celan'était possible. Lou was planning his own work days and faisaitses exercises at their own pace: they are not forced or accelerate alorsqu'il was tired, or if slow progressing well. When avaitatteint skill level he passed to the next, simply. Loun'avait never saw the supervisor because he was moving when that was not meeting its objectives enfantne or had damaged his office tactile and Louet studious and very careful with sonmatériel.

In this film, many other détailsavaient intrigued the young boy. Students, qu'entassés well in cettepièce, did not seem to suffer. They even seem to have fun, especially when the adult's back was turned. Some of the consulted messagessur their i-phone and answered it, others were chatting off the record, there avaitaussi who held hands under the tables. Lou was also observed numerous regardscomplices trade, followed endless giggles. He had promised to parleravec his grandmother.

Sunday after Grandma had explained his youth Quedan the main interest of boys and girls were deséduire of the opposite sex. We knew we liked to quelqu'unquand you heckled incessantly. It followed a kind of adjacent verbalequi lasted a while, then one day we could no longer without each other. Then qu'ons'embrassait, and it was the beginning of a wonderful adventure that you faisaitentrer in the world of adults. Grandma and Grandpa had known way, on the benches of the university. Themother Lou was born a few years later. He wondered well how, indeed, still a matter elucidated. Now it was still more simple, we practiced IVF basisof studies looking besoinsde of industry and finance. It was eradicated in a very simple problem once anadditional which he had talked his parents, the unemployed. Ceuxqui did not comply with these methods of reproduction had lechoix, but their children were doomed to menial jobs such as nursing fromLondon example. (There were a few rebels auxmédicaliments refractory to fall ill.)

Wherereasons people met this totally random, they said they loved each other. Ilsécrivaient texts to express their feelings , or when they declared devive voice. Being in love lesgens put in a strange state, Mamie said they had head upside down. 'Well, it was êtrebeau!' Retorted Lou. But Grandma had replied that lesrendait happy, and she knew nothing better.

Alone at his desk the next day Lou had trouble concentrating. It necessit to rethink the words of his grandmother and said that finally, have fun ondevait past.

Alton Brown Cocoa Brownies

"I remember" - by Adrienne


In brown lescitations Perec, ennoir, my variation on its themes.


2I remember when I was seven or eight years my aunt had a Mercedesdécapotable blue and I was surprised that we want to give argentpour a car that had only two seats.

4 Jerne remember in 1990 we took our Romanian friends see auHeysel celebrations on the occasion of 60 years (and 40 years of reign) of King Baudouin etqu'il weather was beautiful.

42 Jerne remember that in 1968 I confused the "Iron Curtain" with the "Iron Gate", which was on the other side of town oùj'habitais, so I expected to see Russian tanks going to Labouchere's uncle Marcel, the following Saturday.

54 I remember that Voltaire was an anagram of Arouet L (e) J (eune) By writing V instead of U and I instead of J.

87 J e mesouviens that my father once said that he had in his childhood latoute first edition of Tintin in the Land of the Soviets but qu'ill'avait loaned to a friend who did it had ever made.

95 Jerne remember that in American movies of my childhood, everyone parlaitle French, cowboys like the Indians, and that I am astonished me what day when I Having doubled in a western German.

101 Jerne remember the tennis matches that were present at the sea with my onclequi was all excited at the idea of meeting Jackie Brichant.

105 I remember "Baby Cadum.

101 Jerne remember that my father had a cousin who had splendidesmoustaches Paul.

112 I remember that Colette was as a Fellow of the Belgian Royal.

123 I remember the violinist Ginette Neveu estmorte in the same plane as Marcel Cerdan.

125 Jerne remember that I wondered what was that this stain on the front deGorbatchev.

138 Jerne remember that we saw pass a Tour stage, while vacationing inFrance, and people shouted "Go Eddie" as hysteria.

145 Jerne remember that I saw Bathing Beauty Esther Williams with and that I asked myself how she could stay so long without breathing sousl'eau.

152 I remember that Warren Beatty is the small frèrede Shirley McLaine.

161 Jerne remember my grandfather never missed any film with Mireille Darc because he was sure

sooner or later she was walking naked.

167 Jerne remember we sang "Only You" with the Platters and "Gigil'Amoroso" with Dalida.

177 Jerne remember that our teachers we spoke at least once a year of Sputnik even when there was not born when it was launched.

187 Jerne remember at 18 or 19 years my brother was such a fan of Patrick Dewaerequ'il had to have been perm curls and push it even s'étaitlaissé kind of mustache.

196 I remember Marina Vlady is the sister of Odile Versois.

210 I remember Fausto Coppi had a friend who was called the "White Lady"

211 Jerne remember I was twelve years old when I discovered Nutella in uneamie. We were great in pots kw, less expensive, but sansnoisettes.

230 Jerne remember my father telling at the end of the war, allemandeavait a bullet shattered the window of the family millinery.

242 Jerne remember he told me that in May 1940, when the whole familleétait poised to go into exile, his father suddenly changed aviset decided to stay: my father was very disappointed, he had his bag audos with the sausage for a picnic.

259 I remember that Charles de Gaulle étépour me a street name before that of a politician.

265 I remember Lee Harvey Oswald.

282 Jerne remember that Maurice Chevalier sang, rolling the R and I necomprenais why, given that Fleming was not.

291 Jerne remember when he was little , my brother loved filmsde Jerry Lewis and Dean Martin , and even those with Chariot.

301 Jerne remember playing Sidney Bechet Petite Fleur .

313 I remember Bourvil.
I remember a skit in which Bourvil ilrépétait several times at the conclusion of each paragraph sapseudo-conference: "Alcohol, no, ferruginous water, yes!"

329 Jerne remember in The Household Carolina (Michel de Ghelderode) jejouais the role of Columbine, but my parents did not even come see me dérangéspour.

346 Jerne remember that Provence had told my father that the best pastisétait Casanis, so for him it was "a Casanis or nothing."

363 Jerne remember the movie Kubrick, A Clockwork Orange , which caused me descauchemars for many years.

364 Jerne remember my joy when a friend of my mother gave me any sacollection de la Comtesse de Segur.

Jerne remember 382 paintings by Emile Claus who had been exposed to Ostend.

416 Jerne remember that the best friends of my parents had a "Peugeot" and I wondered where it was going to end because chaquenouvel purchase only increased the number: 304, 404, 504 ... but then they are passésà Mazda.

451 Jerne remember Orson Welles when he said "Rosebud ..." in the film CitizenKane.

469 I remember when she sang Brigitte Bardot Sidonie aplus a lover, But I do not fear anyone on a Harley-Davidson or Lafin summer

Ala request of the author, the publisher has left as a result of this work quelquespages white on which the reader may note the "I mesouviens" that reading them will, hopefully, inspired.

Tips On How To Be A Successful Bulimic

Adrift ... Tabish Khair

A Drift

Last winter, Sieur Alain Giorgetti launched the project a bit mad with an online magazine, A drift , offering a patchwork crew and enthusiastic to take with him leaving for a trip ... amazing literary Number 1, Building beautiful monsters , has been online since last month; drift proposed docking port for a text excerpt from Gay Science :

At the seaside - I do would build no house (even my happiness requires that I do not have) But if I had to do, I would like as some Romans, the build up in the sea, I am pleased to share some secrets with this beautiful monster. ( Nietzsche, The Gay Science / § 240 / Trad. Alexander Vialatte)

Many contributors have agreed to take part. Alain Giorgetti brought together so many contributions, and the result is a measure of expectations. A magnificent work of Captain (O Captain!)

Gustave Dore Leviathan .

What Happend If U Take No Medicin For Herpes

A: Deuxans Montreal

Two years ago, in February 2009, I arrived àMontréal.

When I look back now, I feel a sentimentmêlé amazement and obvious.

I dreamed of living in North America since quej'y had spent a year as a teenager. I love Montreal since lapremière time I had set foot for the first time in 1999, thanks Sachs Disease and multiple invitations to permit quim'avaient back almost every year.

When I arrived, I was very happy, but those quim'ont hosted here (friends, colleagues CREUM) told me to plusieursreprises: "You will perhaps be disappointed. "

It's been two years since I live here and I'm pasdéçu at all. I feel at home in this city in this country.

Moreover, I live in Montreal released biendes respects. My researcher status, even if modest and temporary, has opened many doors and opportunities. In two years I puassurer two charges of course - one (fall 2009) Clinical Ethics, the other (in the winter semester 2011) of literary creation. I wrote deuxromans ( The Choir Women , published by POL in 2009; LesInvisibles, to appear in Black River in May 2011). I publiéplusieurs dozens of articles and columns, including half a dozen enlangue English. I lead a writing workshop currently "Ethics etFiction" and it told me the other two, one at the festival "Metropolis Blue" in Montreal (end April 2011), the other the letters Facultéde Tours (end of March 2011). I attended a dozen colloquesen as contributor and made a couple of conferences (Three ouquatre Skype!). I assure three columns: one monthly medical passeportsante.net on the site, the second and cultural monthly lesjournaux in the group "Centre France" (in the Sunday edition, faceà page "Books ;), the third medical and bi-monthly consumer magazine in the Quebec health "Protect yourself".

I can not write regularly for "Rover Arts, the Montreal Blog Anglophone cultural. I have postétrois articles on television last year and since then nothing. It reflects my sansdoute relative disinterest critical for the series. I continue to watch (I like it, I like reading and going to the movies), but I do not have much to say. In any case, not at this time.

Paradoxically, I feel at least as "busy" as I was in France, but much less tired. Laplupart of my activities take place in Montreal (Well, I'm going to next lasemaine Chicoutimi and Sherbrooke in March, but it's still timely). I passebeaucoup time on the bus and metro (40 minute journey between domicileet office) but I read a lot more than before (the TGV from Paris The Manset, I fell asleep ...).

I read a lot more. Toujoursbeaucoup write. I feel I think more. Librement.Plus more clearly.

Beginnings is a great break with nombred'habitudes, objects, people, behaviors. This is not nécessairements'isoler bent. It is, put some counters. And if things pourcertaines is scary and difficult for others it unebénédiction.

Two: Resolutions for 2011

It's never too late to take bonnesrésolutions for the year, so here's mine:

- Finish the novel I'm trying to write depuissix months.

- Stop check my email boxes tousle quarters of an hour

- Finish the book on family medicine

- Write three articles in English even if c'estdifficile

- Finish the written version of the conference Surla sexuality of medical students that I gave a fortnight ago

- (and published)

- Read a novel and short stories in English (I nelis as books of humanities at the moment)

- Collect all items of this blog for a book that enfaire be entitled "My life at the keyboard" (premièrepensée) or "Occupation: Writer" or something else (suggestionsbienvenues)

- Spend less time watching the series (maisj'ai nice to have greatly reduced my consumption, I can not descendresous biweekly) and more time to do or see movies with my boys (but there are so many !)

- Enter the big book on ethics in medical lesséries I dream for a long time (but I would first have to catch up with House, MD and I buy lessaisons of ER ... And I miss that I review everything.)

- Make a little more exercise - but it takes dutemps Reading and writing and, frankly, outside of walking (I do every day) and swimming (cold and there's no piscinetout close) ... Well, PJ has just given me a bike for my birthday, but have to wait ilva March or April to get back.

- Write more regularly (once a week) on this blog. Plus, it does not seem really desirable: it may cast off time for other activities and in any case all leslecteurs nurse of this blog would be unable to follow, moreover pluspersonne not send me texts for exercises.

- When I am permanent resident of Quebec, apply for a grant writing assistance of the Canada Council. I less ashamed to be here when I lived in France, where I always found it improper to ask for public assistance or residence as a writer when I was already earning a good living. I felt that I was taking the place of someone else who had more need than me. Here I do not have that feeling. Probably because here I do not feel privileged. But just a writer among many others.

- Establish a program of work more régulierchaque day. Genre: reply to correspondence between sunrise and departure theoffice; read on the bus and the subway (it already); h30et write between 10 noon (between noon and one, the members of CREUM lunch together, and we parfoisl'un of this work and it asks between bites of salad desandwich or tofu), written between 13.30 and 18.30; read lemétro and the bus to return; work between 20.30 and 23.00; solve lesproblèmes intellectuals of the day in a dream during the night.

Yes, it would be a dream.

Should I just check the rest in this beauprogramme. The remaining material that's life ...

Go. There are more than.

Mar (c) tin

Kiddie Interconnected Dual Sensor

51 bis, rue Sainte Anne

New ticket to discover http://www.voircicontre.fr/cuisine/

you soon,

How To Tell Scorpio Man

, Soothe the dust ...

The title of the beautiful novel by Tabish Khair published by Editions du toad is strange Soothe dust ... Dust is raised by the bus that connects to Phansa Gaya in Bihar state: for the "calm", a gesture endlessly reproduced by the merchant mithai, whose shop, beside the road, offers travelers the comfort of sweets, these tilkuts with sesame paste and wrapped around a kink wooden pole. The constantly repeated effort aims to freeze the small tornado triggered by the passing vehicle. It does not protect the crushed sesame paste which set the basis for the treat: the man knows that's impossible. But the world must regain its original arrangement, each grain resume its place, to somehow resist the threat of disorder. Pathetic attempt:

With skillful gestures, the man plunged his hands into the bucket and waved to spread arcs of water around him. The drops fell on the dry dust of the roadside, on the splashing in the first, and then forming a real lasso, lassos of water, hoping the man would force the dust to remain at rest during the early hours of the morning traffic.

Tabish Khair's novel, the first that we could read in French (in the beautiful translation of Blandine Longre ) takes us on a journey amazing, "home" to "home" travel itinerary full of surprises, of chance encounters, whose path preordained adapts to the vagaries of life. The bus, driven by Mangal Singh is a microcosm unlikely event disparate fates intersect. Each traveler carries with him his past, his history text, which appears to disperse into different fragments corresponding to disparate voices, finds its unity in the vehicle that brings these lives for a moment, one where everyone hopes to find his home. Silhouettes, faces, clothing ... Things come together without knowing each other, and yet, the story gradually reveals their identity: the brazen young woman with her child, we recognize Zeenat, the maid whose Irfan, the first narrator was in love, the young boy with sunglasses plastic, which carries with him a beautiful sari varanasi, Chottu is that the reader has met in Patna ... Different narrators take over the story, some in first person, as Irfan or controller. The alternating narrative voices, in a complicated ballet at first, but the choreography becomes clear as you go. Thus, the novel bursts into a multitude stories, confronting us with all social classes, but also to all records, from drama to comedy, nostalgia for tragedy. A colorful mosaic of these chips comes together, like a society that is both composite and, somehow, attached.

From these fragments enrolled in short chapters emerges a unified world through movement, colors, smells, sounds, anything that presents itself to everyone equally. Indeed, if life does not offer all the comforts, the same opportunities, all can smell the scent that rises from the river, collect the swish of traffic, watching the flight of birds ... Tabish Khair gives a key to the language of feelings. It is particularly important chapters in the second person, whose identity remains unclear of the protagonist - he is an inhabitant of the building where Chottu was the home of Mrs. Prasad in Patna:

The night deepens. You're lying on your bed. The usual noises coming up to you. Knowing even a precarious world thee known that this reassures you. Dogs bark at vying for a district another, a truck goes sometimes growling, someone sings in the grip of the night - a drunkard or a peasant who comes home late - the doors open and close here and there in the building, faucet drip tirelessly in the kitchen of Sharma. If it was colder or warmer, you'd hear the creaking of piercing something that stretches or shrinks inside the walls.

While it is difficult to know if you go somewhere, if the home that we regret and we wish still exists, it is possible to decipher the signs that returns the world. Tabish Khair's writing is a great sensuality, it feeds on sounds, scents, colors, awakening in the reader the impression of feeling, seeing, touching, tasting the same, because the kitchen is in the novel an important place. In the beginning of the novel, one of the main characters is Mian Wazir, cook, or rather head, bringing his art to perfection. In the chapters that evoke Wazir, the narrator, Irfan, also remembers his love for Zeenat, the servant of the neighbors, which he perceives the presence merely by the smell it gives off a heady perfume for him, but the scent coarse according to others. Towards the end of the novel, a young man, he passed the teetars , partridges, remembers that their flesh is delicate but assumed that he never ate.

But the smells, sounds, tastes the same, are fugitives, and fail to fix this busy world, the image of that bus that will eventually stop inappropriately. Identities are also blurred in this changing country, where the original organization in caste is officially challenged - but not really in the soul. Mangal Singh wanted to be a writer, he drives the bus. Irfan Zeenat wanted, he let escape. One who calls himself Parvati was a man, a eunuch, she changes her identity to escape the existence of proscribed she led. Rasmus, the firangi - Europeans - was born of an Indian father, but he does not speak the language very well from its origins. Moreover, the language is also central to the novel. Blandine Longre, for his translation, has chosen to retain the terms that pepper urdus Hindi or English used in India and Tabish Khair chosen by (a glossary is placed at the end of the book).

What is "home"? A fixed place, a landmark that we would last forever? In this uncertain world, no home is stronger than the memory that is preserved:

I in me my memories, this house of, say, sixty-nine pieces. I saw for the first time the world I've tried to describe through the windows of these rooms in clutter, the pieces all pell-mell - as in a bhoolbhoolaiya , as in a house that grows and that was demolished over the years, as one of its mental states (when we dream, that one remembers that one or meditate), when there are no breaks in the way things crumble or ebb. My home my fragile, confused, monstrous, who have never been confined by Yahan ke Ammi, Ammi's house, or our ghar , although I always carried their burden.

Thus the novel is an attempt to fix the world in words that constitute it, the interlacing of these voices, these languages, built up a world sustainable. The kaleidoscope is organized into a mosaic with iridescent colors blend to create a world where everyone finds his place. The journey can be completed, the fates remain suspended - the reader to contribute to this construction by imagining developments possible: it is also integrated with the work, a small piece of this assembly, including registering to turn his emotions, feelings, gathering those memories that will help build these walls more solid than stone, those of memory.

Tabish Khaïr, Apaiser la poussière, traduction de Blandine Longre, Editions du Sonneur, 2010

NB : en lisant le roman et en rédigeant cette note, je n'ai pu me sortir de la tête un morceau que vous pouvez écouter en suivant ce lien . Il me semble que Cornershop a eu plus de succès en Grande-Bretagne qu'en Inde, mais ce sont des sonorités qui me rappellent des souvenirs à moi aussi...

                                                                                                                           

Respiration Higher In Reptile Or Mammal

Stuck on the pleasure principle - by Isadora

A text you sent me.

All reactions are welcome.

MW

******** **********************

Like the household well.

Like the sun coming into my apartment in cepet space for me, like me.

I have someone that does this for me: who arange, cleaned, perfumed, prepared, cooked. With love. Who is there when I veux.Qui hand when I want to be alone.

I do not have someone who does that for me.

I have both.

I do not make a accounts.

I do nothing.

But I like that I thank him.

I prefer to be thanked.

So I prefer to have done.

But I rarely want to do.

is laziness.

I belong to somebody, but I do not want mepossède.

I have someone, but it seems that this is paspossible.

Like the idea of giving myself to him, but as I only prendpas really, it does not cost me much.

I look around me and it is clean, neat, clean.

I do not like the weather take me too long.

I take the time to choose the right thing, resign and order to create beauty in me, around me, by me.

I do not think it is incompatible with taking Ietemp to do my job.

I hate to be anguished by the thought of what I both business.

I do not have a knot in my stomach the idea of êtreattendue for a course, a paper, a work, production, notes unebête obligation.

I do not feel the ball away in a autreangoisse when I see a name that is displayed or not displayed on monécran on my phone.

I do not think about love when I should work.

I do not think about work when I want love.

I hate to think about money, and having to win.

I like to be invited.

Like you pay for me.

Like it gives me gifts.

I like to be beautiful for a man.

I love being a beautiful man.

I do not buy something to be beautiful, pourlui please, and it is not there.

I do not do anything to please her, as onessaierait to sell.

I love when he gives me something to be beautiful, pourlui please, and it is there.

I like to be wooed and pampered.

I do not feel an expectation in return.

I do not feel the reproach, frustration, ladéception, anger in his voice, gestures, glances of those who offreet who does not, except my joy.

I do not have to grant favors in exchange oftheir my attention, so I do not do it.

I do not feel guilty.

I do not decide to be Free and regret reversde medal.

I do not like when they kiss me and I do ressensrien, otherwise my embarrassment, my neutrality, my indifference.

I do not like when their hands rest on my body my only etque vibration is a movement to escape.

When they insisted that the unrest and rising.

What I invent complicated for their household peined'amour-esteem.

I do not like the sadness that overcomes me when the absence Dedes overwhelms me vacuum.

I do not the fear that seizes me when I montreson want me, it asks me to decide and I do not know.

I do not like when he gives me the choice and that I listen to my fautalors envy.

And in all lucidity I am forced to admit quenon, I do not want.

Like when he leaves me no choice and forces me to ledésirer.

Like watching me when he does not.

I love when it is understood that it is.

I do not like when he leaves me no choice quemalgré all, no, it does not come.

I do not not say a word, as consent, resterfroide, freezing, or mechanical, and he does not notice.

I do not guess it does not so desire or not there achez me there for him.

I do not like it do not stop when he says that Jene'm not there, present.

I do not wonder if he noticed or not.

I like to be taken.

I do not, in the pleasure of being taken Quesera imagine the horror of the same gestures, a little more brutal, much more violent, much less granted.

I do not like this fear of the thin boundary that separates a non Leou, envy of a nightmare.

I do not have to tell me so luckily I felt n'airien.

I hate to imagine what it would be if I had felt.

I like to dream available to anyone.

I do not cross anyone and afraid.

I hate being this pristine and stunning ice quandmes musings lead me to lust most assumed.

I do not like not dare.

I do not like waiting an opportunity to venture.

I do not like having to choose between my momentspour make an image, an identity, a character.

I like to think that there is someone with whom I turn Atour all dimensions of myself, my desires, my fantasies, that quim'unifie operates my synthesis, and wants me sweet, perverse, bluntly sexual, sensual, leather, satin, cotton, lace, eyes fiery, laughing eye, disturbing, reassuring, all the women in me, because I like so êtreune woman.

I do not like not being a man.

I hate not being able to penetrate all women, touching their breasts and kissing their mouth.

I hate not being able to be penetrated if I stroke unefemme.

I do not like not being able to penetrate.

I like being penetrated by him.

I love I feel, completely.

I love take me.

I do not be afraid to scare her.

I do not have to calm myself when, greedy, voracious, jebrûle unable to absorb it in me.

I do not like and feel the rage rising in me, cettedouleur exquisite the pleasure to die, when I take it in the mouth, inside me, under my hands, in every way possible, and that this Mondesir is not exhaustive, and that this desire is at an impasse, it can not find a way out, he exploded in me that I want to cry, scratching, biting, kissing, cuddling, the pampered, begging him, and that it mepossède it, he is my master, because then it holds the key, that of monenvie, it does not make me, and I no longer belong.

Like her looks painful.

I imagine, to believe the space of a moment qu'ilsouffre the same disease.

I like to think that his bite is the same reason.

I love when he enjoys.

I do not like that enjoyment is the end of cettesouffrance.

I do not like when he goes away, appeased, and it revientplus, or too late.

I do not think he needs me less than I of him.

I do not make my desire to want him.

I do not desire only him.

I desire only him.

I wish someone other than himself.

I desired.

I feel thrilled.

I feel alert, in expectation of an object surlequel fix this desire and pride myself volatile annoys me and makes me smile, moving, dancing, charm.

goodbye and I love being surprised, as a first time.

I always meet him once.

I repeat the same actions as a thousandth time.

I feel eternal breath odor.

I love him as a centenarian.

I love when he holds me tight and I feel like unarbre rooted, finally.

Like surprise looks like rencontresfugaces unknown and promises a thousand possible stories, the germ, which neseront not and we imagine in a country of words, books, where one starts and envoyage one finds a thousand unknown lands.

I wish all men dream as a story.

I love watching the sky, and Paris, and the sea, and trees, and feel, and breathe, and leave the outside, its landscapes, its warmth, sesparfums, his depressions, its bright, its storms, its colors, invading me, open up, take me, take me, take me.

I love my books.

I look at a book and feel my breathing sesuspendre in the promise of happiness, reading ahead, let cedesi embrace me, enjoy the wait, watch, touch, flick, based on pourfinalement .

Or to open it. And let me touch and go in uneétreinte with words, images, evocations, memories quis'éveillent their passage, hopes to open a eye, dreams that seforment a moment, and dissipate the cloud defeated.

I love and I do not have to hurt so much beauty.

I love and I do not feel the urgency.

I love and hate being touched to cry vouloirsauver beauty in all its epiphanies, not to support him to die, nepas bear all that is passing, timing, movement, ephemeral, instant relief.

I love and I do not feel like screaming, hitting dumarbre, seize, make marks in the real fault to maintain it, make it permanent dele, touching Being and not the movement.

I love and I do not cry in front of the task, because it is tragic, it is doomed, and yet làseulement is the meaning, the only possible meaning in the work , creation, procreation, birth, love, desire, knowledge, knowledge, science, kneading material, words, streams of color, achieving the pure form, surpassing the imperfection which is charged on any subject, all reality, all sensitive all existence and find a way To make advenirautre thing, something perfect, which would deliver us from anxiety unmoment, this anxiety about the relentlessness of death and fate, reaching to find a joy, a laugh, what, cruel, carnivore, provoking, mocking, whole, full, spontaneous, childish, naive, lucid, sad, huge, tender, in a caress, a kiss, a comforting, forceset resume again, again, again, again.

Isadora

In The Deep End Kate Cann Read For Free

Romain Verger, Big Dipper: desire and eternity ... The descent into Hell

Then I saw you adjust your breath
the beasts
your word to the size of the body breathe

extract the last saliva quartz.

Romain Verger First donated the stone

The first novel by Romain Verger Hotspots , transported us into a world where everyday life was gradually replaced by the strange, in a thrilling journey where the human was based insensibly Ocean. The relation of man to the universe, its possible merger or not with the nature that rejects it, absorbed or digested, his loneliness, his uniqueness, his desperate attempts to become her own refusal to conform, are themes that haunt the novelist's exceptional work. And his three novels are they cause a constellation mysterious and exciting, a whole both disparate and consistent as these texts are linked to the enigmatic beauty. The second Big Dipper , guide us on unexpected paths, both linear and cyclical, leading the reader into a surprising move: begins a journey taken between temporality and permanence, much like those stars that seem immutable but whose light reaches us from time immemorial, perhaps already dead when we perceive the brightness.

Could this be the dawn of time? Already, the dawn is gone. Its sweetness that installs clarity gradually evaporated in the brutality of an eternal day. The man leaves the darkness of his cave to face the relentless white landscape of ice, expelled as a matrix that can offer him nothing. Arcas, the sole survivor of a clan Paleolithic stands before the horizontality of a world buried. This body, unique vertical element, seems to offend the refined nature.

Personal Photo

Death also fled, abandoning this mineral alone. In the cave where he took refuge, sleep it is not given, as to prevent the neglect, but ignorance of the fate of his book fantasy enabled by the flames of fire that licked the walls tormented shelter. Depletion of reserves is born a "great hunger" which is not turned away in his dreams: a dream world is gradually replacing the intolerable reality. His feverish dreams resurrected his tribe, he followed the women admiring their skill in the art of preparing meals, Era, the companion disappeared, her son finally ... In his dreams, he can touch them again, reliving the beautiful love under the waterfall, find the love of things forgotten. But the contact of flesh, even in a dream, revived the hungry, and caresses become biting, love is turning into greed. Gradually, Arcas is stripped of everything that made him a human being: his body falls asleep, his desires are fading, all sensation disappears. The journey he undertakes journey aimlessly in a glacial landscape, keeps it in the living world:

Days in advance in the ice while slipping under the horizon itself, in rotating always returning to his original point. There was something foolish to chain lengths of these landscape, swallow them one after the other, without knowing either the purpose or reason: at most it seemed to him that its not decided on the survival the world that this land which was started and would end with him and that the second when his body let go, the world would cease at the same time, for he was alone and walking without this object, this wandering white, he had finally gratification higher: in every area of space captured in each plain sight loss in each stride, he drew the certainty of having extended the world, to be transplanted into new territories, new extensions, such as sewing room after room of huge crust.

Human-animal, that is to say, still driven by a desire: I would invite the reader to refer to the article by Jean-Clet Martin appeared in number 73 Chimera (1). This work preserves his humanity, or at least life in him, distinguishing it from the landscape of ice that snapped tree trunks, brush, rocks ... The whiteness and the cold made him a being of purity, deprived of any carnal attraction: neither hunger or sexual desire. Arcas seems doomed in this race under the sign of a star, punctuated by stops inhospitable but that it survives because it no longer feels the need for comfort. Only living element, standing before the infinite horizon, he hopes for nothing. Until the unexpected encounter with the splendid animal, the Big Dipper, which reinstates death in this universe heat, odor, softness ... But confrontation is also a threat to which man submits without fear. He is saved, then drawn into the world of animals. Now the bear is a presence, she breaks his solitude and returned to life. Then everything becomes possible, appetite and desire can be reborn; human and animal recreate a link aggregate, and the bear, a giant white body, the goddess of flesh, becomes a female figure that unites Arcas. The fun is possible again, even multiplied, since the man now lives in unison with stones, animals, the universe.

Grotte Chauvet altar bear skull.

time then freezes in the whiteness of the animal that affects the landscape traversed, it merges with outer space, a nirvana of forgetfulness of self and others, the body does being one with the world.

Filled with the neglect of his family and himself, he crossed the weather, sleet, an immense time, unknown, the fanatic, although the idea of him frozen in time, had taken thickness he imagined the earth to his body he cracked, as is walking on, within, in white. That's what he should know what he had taken so far to seek in the depths of this beast.

The mortification suffered becomes a source of a desire to merge, but she can not live at the cost of loneliness and fading. Thirty five thousand years later, alone among men, Mâchefer reproduced voluntarily, this harrowing experience and soft. All his energy turns paradoxically towards laborers from exhaustion, he saw as a source of strength. It is to resist the effects of hunger pain and his body is battered pushed past the limits of resistance. Arcas as he lives in a cave, a mineral subsoil and humid where light barely penetrates. Every day he began a journey through tunnels and alleyways, which leads to the gallery where he watches every day on animals frozen in an appearance of movement. Sometimes, to achieve this, it also passes through large areas of the city pale in the snow. The whiteness of her empty fridge opens in a blast of ice that reassures Echoing the purity he hopes. Humans who populate the world does not interest him: he lives for himself, focused on this asceticism. The only figures who sign up for a time in the landscape are feminine: mothers obsessed with food, whose body seems made only to the extremities, which engulfs and expelling it, reduced to a digestive tract.

His physique revolved around an early prolapse, as if shaped by a childhood omnibuccal mind, his body had adapted to his needs in a flexible tube wound infinitely expandable , terminated at both ends by two interchangeable mouths.

This frightening mother splits in two Women: Mia, ogress, she-bear that feeds Mâchefer, filling her sex-hungry food in quantity, in a strange courtship of the gift and the sinking; Ana, an older woman spreading across strange plants and fragile, making the basement lair of a plant where Mâchefer soon nature would impede his movements. Each of them has something the bear. One is a goddess hideous that it makes a weird cult idol of flesh to be fed, the other around the man recreates a natural kingdom. The existence of clinker is shattered by an unexpected event: Mia disappears from his life, leaving him a monstrous child which she gave birth in the basement, as if spitting out all the food absorbed.

Jackson Pollock, Birth (1941)

The birth of this baby to the huge size, whose face was deprived of eyes adorned with a scarlet mouth made to swallow, appears to separate the man from his hunger. While her appetite disappears, focusing exclusively in appalling infant whose destiny seems to be eating, digesting, and produce smelly secretions. While it seems unclean, but the filth that spread are those that come over the body of a father that has been the cause. Bear a child, which splits into a filthy plush offered by Ana

Similarly, the belly open a thousand times had definitely lost its stuffing and dragged his misery, his stinking envelope from one corner to the another bed because, after being filled and filled, stitched and sewed the bear offered at the sight and smell his adult abandonment, surrender all the more repugnant that ill concealed identity olfactory inimitable made grease, hair wet, moss, armpits, cheese crusts.

The focus remains fearful Mâchefer denies everything. While the child enjoys, growing up to become a gigantic, man gradually disfigures the body's refusal to voluntarily reaching this decorporation suffered by Arcas. Its climax occurs when the body finally reduced to a skeleton, melts to create support for the world. The two men are joined by their amalgam mineral world, the whiteness, the strength of the intangible. They freeze solid, creating a bridge between time and space to eternity ...

NB: Read First donations Stone is attend a double birth (at least): the birth of poetry before the words on the walls of the Chauvet tormented, but also the Big Dipper ... I can only encourage the reader to see this poetic, beautiful and moving, where Romain Verger found the breath of the man whose body is gone but the spirit remains in these traces poetic contours, these scratches . It also discovers another gift: that of the author for other forms of art (drawings who register their routes in the book are his ...

Giacometti's Man Walking, 1948

Romain Verger Big Dipper, Quidam Publisher, 2007

Romain Verger First donations Stone , unannounced, 2003

It will also benefit from reading the very interesting and personal chronicle Tavern.

I want to thank the bartender in passing that led me with great persuasion in this plunge into the work of Romain Verger.

And yet beautiful chronicle of Nikola on Paludes ...

(1) The animal, which the word itself suggests, appears first as animation. It is invested with a movement that is not stone, a movement that does not just fall like when a body descends, driven into a hill. Instead, the animal moves from the inside by a force whose own mechanics can not account, she has a knowledge of movement outside, do nothing better than dealing with the inertia of the body he was actually moving.

Cletus Jean-Martin animal spirits in Chimera No. 73, 2010

Motorbike Jump Birthday Cake

Japan Onirique (Exercise # 16 - 1) - by Alexander H.

For years I dreamed of going Japan explosive mixture of ultra-modern and traditional as preserved. One of the most immediate reaction to my arrival at the airport was my frustration as illiterate. Reinforced by the fact that the scenery is unusual: no endless desert, beggars invasive or strange animals. Just curious if these facies in a setting not so different after all. Of course, it was out of Tokyo to better understand the unique Japanese. See women in kimono complete painted white, their delicate pendants planted in small cleverly developed a bun, skirt and uniformed police officers wearing white gloves to traffic, sad or office workers seized in gray suits me because the journey was finally time also.

This trip was a sort of pilgrimage to the bottom. I wanted to see Hiroshima martyr, the cherry blossoms and beds of pink floral snow, watching the red and black toris whose feet were washed by the sea, go immerse myself in a tub of warm mud and daydream about the possibility can perhaps become famous in this country where the fashions and fads are so unexpected. I wanted traverse the archipelago in every corner. From the onslaught of the cold northern Hokkaido to the stifling heat of Okinawa residents whose longevity has earned it the status of Crete Asia.

loved and abandoned myself to this insularity , trying vainly to melt into the population but is also evident that a separate beacon.

Me then returned in memory of those beginnings cinephile who touched me particularly vis-à-vis Japan. These films lately ... It's so subtle in fact the subtlety and delicacy that seemed to define this country so unusual. I loved to watch his old. Behind every wrinkled face, gray hair in each, I found a bit of Mrs. Koide, this old woman born from the imagination of a Welshman, living in seclusion, but his farm had been the heroine of Valley of the Fireflies in his youth, keeping his secret forgotten youth, rolled in a movie poster which time had spared.

is also looking at the simple yukata elders. I thought they represented the equivalent our berets.

What was perhaps most tangibly miss this song would be so special cicadas Japanese, so haunting appeal in four stages, more diverse than ours. I was surprised also to the lack of trinkets referring in all the tourist shops, because I had never heard this song elsewhere. I would voice the protest of Amaterasu.

therefore be understood the voice of the rising sun ...