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Little futile chronic back of the cupboard / 2

My little black dress is the queen of Minx. Always a bit mysterious, still somewhat remote, under pretext of its dark color distinguished it claims. She always has a condescending air to ogle its congeners of the closet, even if it is more often than others. She does not care. She knows she released a holiday or for an evening that is both chic and sober which she loves.

Because it is a real digging machine. She never appear with boots a bit flabby, nor with thongs neglected. No! , She has class! It glides on satin low it touches the lace band and perched on high heels and thong serpentine or patent leather pumps and tapering. She shivers au fond de l'armoire, se remémorant les sorties raffinées et parfumées où l'on remarque la délicatesse de son galbe sur les fesses et la hardiesse de son décolleté savamment découpé.

Car c'est tout un art d'être une petite robe noire. Il ne s'agit pas d'être trop courte, au risque de tomber dans la vulgarité ordinaire qui dévoile les culottes au moindre mouvement, ni trop longue pour ne pas ressembler à une tenue de gouvernante des années 50.

Ma petite robe noire est à l'abri de ces écueils, fort heureusement. Elle est un brin sophistiquée, un poil snob, un soupçon bourgeoise... mais elle sait bien que c'est elle que des mains avides retroussent sans tralala dans les voitures ou les ascenseurs. Et rien ne lui plaît tant que de jouer les gourgandines qui font semblant de résister.

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My recipe for avoiding a murder before Christmas (because it's ugly!)

J'entends déjà vos remarques amusées et perfides, alors épargnez-moi vos sarcasmes et vos railleries je vous prie!

Oui, et re-oui, je suis allée faire mes dernières courses de Noël ce samedi, malgré mes bonnes résolutions gravées dans marble of November, November damn passing too fast and was ringing the bell of my recent purchases. Once again, November has been the coach, grinning like a madman, leaving me to deal with honeyed December 1, enlightened and slippery as an eel.

Taking head-on this day shameful proof of my laxity and my lack of anticipation, I get my daughter to 50% responsible for this fiasco because they are his gifts that we choose together. It must be said that the damsel has a rich social life and time and had so far no time to devote myself.

Hush I tell you! Useless make fun of you in addition to my lack of maternal authority!

In the vast library of my town, the vendors themselves as professors from the Sorbonne and always seem absorbed by metaphysical reflection before their shelves of books. It takes some courage to dare ask them any information and we begin to whisper in a university library as a trollop in front row of pearls and twin-set color camel. But no matter, since we find what we want. At the checkout, a customer is located astride the two queues history to go faster than everybody and I let her do in front of me by hiding my envy to strangle behind an angelic smile. When he left, I gratifies a "goodbye Lady" who makes her thunderous return with a look suspicious to me. My daughter asks me if I know, what I say "of course I know it is THE leader of connasses!"

Later, looking for a necklace (not too sophisticated, but rank it anyway, especially not gold, not granny, original, not like everyone else, then it is a bit expensive this one ...) to my beloved daughter, and having the feeling of having done three times around the city in the opposite direction clockwise crazy, I off at a shop at incredible volume, filled with jewelry that we make winks shameless. My daughter and I have a bug flutters a few seconds before the saleswoman who, besides his look of cattle caused by a dripping kohl, displays five piercings on his face. Glups, I watch my daughter to her cheeks rosy from the cold and finds a beautiful Madonna. The worst part is where we find the coveted necklace and a little I would dance the Sirtaki to thank I do not know that!

The girl's eyes makes us neurotic cocker gift box worthy of a workshop for disabled children but how can blame a poor creature holed everywhere? I feel a little old but it does not matter at all!

Ending in a clothing store that looks like a market stall, I find myself repeatedly having to help my sisters small to grab a sweater, jacket, scarf placed out of reach. I verify that I have not inadvertently put on hold vendors to the point of entry to be confused ... but no, I just measure 1m75 and this feature should make me look like some sort of scale.

Summarizing quickly my purchases to 17 hours, I see with satisfaction that I accomplished my mission, but at the cost of a stubborn temper, lack of tolerance close to zero degree, and I must admit, an incomprehensible attraction for combat sports.

"It will take a Viennese chocolate" suggested my daughter?

sitting together in Socrates, the white leather banquettes, we undress like onions, peel after peel, ignoring the din and loud conversations. Our exchanges are to summarize our purchases, in a sort of torpor and quite satisfied sickening to think of it. But we're good!

chocolates arrive and it's ecstasy. Sparkling, fragrant, hot, topped with a hat and light whipped cream dusted with cocoa.

It mocks our cream mustaches and we close our eyes to slurp gently in half the fabulous drink. Bliss, drowned in chocolate.

forget the queen of the slut, the salesperson hands gourds and dwarfs who see me as a stool ... I forget my desires and violent offenders ... I forget my desires of martial arts.

For a bit I start singing "I Wish You a merry christmas"....avec clochette et tout le toutim!

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illusory walls


Parfois je ne sais pas trop ce que je fais dans ma vie.

Elle est trop grande pour moi, même si elle me gêne aux entournures souvent. C'est un paradoxe étrange, je ne sais pas trop quoi faire de son espace et pourtant elle me ligote aussi efficacement que le linceul autour de la momie. Je suis une momie dans ma vie, oui, c'est ça, un corps immobile sur un tapis roulant.

Parce que j'avance, sans pouvoir stopper la course qui m'emmène je ne sais où. Parfois j'ai l'illusion d'un arrêt, quand I sit on a bench in the eyes lost myself on a gravel driveway. The time seems to lead while I compare the roundness of the pebbles, their colors degraded, their irregular curves. And I tell myself what good is this profusion of minutes spent on anything this big gravel of the driveway. My emptiness is stifling and the slightest movement sketched liberator who would only succeeds in moving my feet leave footprints stupid and idle.

I think with horror that he would take a catastrophe, war, cataclysm, that my life finally takes the flight must être le sien.

Je pense avec effroi que ma vie ne prendra jamais son envol.

Pour masquer ma honte je m'affaire et tourne en rond dans ma vie, je donne l'impression de savoir où je vais, je donne l'illusion de savoir ce que je fais. Pauvre mascarade bien rodée. Je me heurte à des parois de verre qui s'effacent au moindre contact et font reculer les perspectives.

Mais quelles perspectives?

Je suis enfermée une fois pour toutes. J'ai peur d'appeler et que personne ne me réponde.

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And to think I almost missed it!

I must admit that I want to embrace the kind of Fnac (I like to imagine a man, do not ask me why) who has arranged the book by Dan Fante "Greetings from the big bartender" in my field of vision when, despite my recurring defamation on the sign of brutish pseudo-culture of my city, I wandered through idleness or ease between plasma screens and boxes mesmerizing "Succeeding as scrambled eggs a Head. "

At this stage of the circuit, taking in nets Fnac clever marketing, I was to find "really cool" Ceramic censers simmer 1000 recipes stews miniature listening to the latest album by Diam's: I know the fight against organized commercial lobotomy sometimes!

And then, moved by a remnant of an ideal literary , my eyes drifted to this book whose author was telling me something vaguely (but I confused with his father John, what a tart I do!), I bet today that I launched signals as powerful as the songs of sirens, something magnetic and unbearable at times, like when a guy puts you out to the buttocks.

This collection of poems is striking style, the texts are short, craggy, jagged edges while. The words are aligned in wobbly pyramids, cubes building ready to fall. It is a book about life of mediocrity, failure, death, love, alcohol, the sex, writing, nothing really new and yet every page I'm a slap or a sinking heart as desired. And I'm jealous and admiring both make me around by my reading with much enjoyment.

Dear Editor
[...]

The next time we meet

pignouf dear to subhuman publisher

and that I will submit a text

I might be jumping on your desktop and pressing the barrel of a gun

between your eyes apart

qu'on ait une conversation authentique

sur ce que je fais en tant qu'artiste

à savoir

me découper la bidoche et en recouvrir de morceaux saignants

la page afin que le premier venu

sous réserve d'être suffisamment ouvert ou intéressé pour connecter son esprit

with mine

could see inside my

heart
Believe it or not

my editor

heart

I did nothing to shake my latest collection of short stories

clashes with your program next year [...]

I can tell you: Read this book!

It would be too easy.

I like you encourage them to stroll at Fnac or elsewhere, hoping that like me, you see this divine rude that you will hand in the ass!

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We walked on the tag!

I'm cheating the tag and I confess.

Him he did something totally blocked, and it must be said great, I read in small sips a Coke as glossy. (This is good but it stings)

Take a stroll through there , history finally understand the meaning of distress calls from NASA engineers in movies: "Atlantis Respond here ... Houston, we do welcome you more ...."

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Sorry ... I cheat the Tag!


Do we pack it! The trick in English gilt on the left is nothing but junk, scrap metal prices in a faux gold medal moving around the canvas like a boomerang madman, a usurped title of excellence ... in short, something as precious as silver paper around the chocolate!


Jack the pirate , which has seen moderate for my taste tags, or just because he knows it, requires me to participate in this crazy virtual round self-proclaimed excellent blogs (because yeah, our blogs are excellent, shit in the end!), and under this false pretext justifies entrusting 7 unknown information about yourself. It's a bit normal you might say to try to unravel the mysteries hidden all these great bloggers!

's true what a blog is like a small house. It makes it neat, we decorate, we filled it with notes and pictures, and as it is a model home, the door is wide open and waiting for a guestbook on the console of the entry note that visitors their impressions.
readers coming back to the desire and inevitably begin to imagine the owner, to search hollow words, according to fantasize sentences, to guess the watermark text.
But it is precisely here, the blogger simply scattered in these texts-like moving or funny or sad or burlesque or fanciful or serious or sensitive or cultural or analytical ... It's all him, more naked than if he walked around naked, it was more transparent than glass. He wrote "I" and swore that he composes a character and exposes secrets deep in the third person singular.

But the tag, remember Jack, Tagged brothel! It is not difficult anyway, you can play the game just once!
Pfff ... I prefer to cheat! Circumvent the tag on the left, the bamboozled, do send it collapses faster and languish in a crash of metal rain-cling-cling-cling dilicling (yes, it's fake medal !!)...

All I want is show me your eyes.
All I want you to guess in your texts.

And thank you to Jack for having inspired this post ... even if I shot torpedo sank the tag he had kindly addressed.

Kates Platground Wiki

Its oh so quiet. Little futile

A cone of light cut on the wall, ceiling projector screened. Beyond the picture window, emanates from the city a glow faintly orange, pale imitation of the aurora which splash in other lands. I live in a country that knows no the absolute darkness, a city with streets of bombed spotlights.

I passed the stage of painful raise your cries motivated by the desire to pretend that I do not hear you, leave the annoyance of warm quilt and torpor of the night. I have a little cold feet and tried to forget.

Wedged in a chair, listen to your greedy sucking accompanied little sighs of satisfaction. Your eyes do not leave me and your scrutiny could make me believe you think about some existential problems or are you trying to read my thoughts. Occasionally, hiccups disordered raises your chest and recalls that a few minutes away your anger was at its height. A tear remained attached to your eyelashes, little remains of your tears, glitter of water that eventually turn me into a marshmallow.

I funds altogether, and I do not care to become as sticky as syrup of grenadine.

The moment is common, banal renewed, I do not always see it with this intensity. I am sometimes distracted by wandering thoughts engrossed, involved in a conversation, absorbed in a reverie of some sort. This course, attentive, but caught in the repetition of daily life: preparing baby bottle you rocking to soothe your cries, listen suck ensuring the flow of milk, satisfy your hunger and ensure your well-being through gestures. Love is always present, attention also intend too.

I do not know why this night, however similar to others, is inhabited by a solemn grandeur . It seems to me immense and a density of velvet, a bit like when you realize the oceanfront of all possibilities of our existence, until dizzy.

You're so small in my arms, so serious with your eyes the color of the sea that seem to absorb me, so strong in your weakness, that I dizzy before this masterful drive life and happiness evident up out of breath ...

And little by little, I see your eyelids flicker, your body gets heavier and you sketches smile sated.

The city sleeps in full light, or can not sleep, I do not know. The city resembles a precipice decorated of Christmas lights, I'm at the edge and somehow I know I can not fall.

Restroom Masterbation

chronic back of the cupboard / 1

My jeans walking around on my butt with the nonchalant that it provides sufficient certainty to be an essential part of my wardrobe. That tells you whether a lease since it is the minimum!

It simply restore suppleness after every wash, which tightens a bit, and to skate like an old piece of furniture that blonde touches the fingertips. It draws its strength from the passage of time and softens, turns in the machine wash out, shots that straighten iron, rubbing that éliment. He likes old, wrinkled, past a hole ... he even likes it!

He notes with irony, the son of months, that felt or shrink sweaters, shirts with collars amounted, t-shirts that gape awry, the white drunk, pearly buttons that are lost, purchases heart that shot out of style ... This ride has finished to worry long, which he also marries well with a sweater with a suit jacket. He has a natural class that holds over the lot of ordinary clothes.

And you yourself do not be fooled when the jeans on the buttocks and inhabited by a feigned indecision I ask: "What I put my jeans?" You say, 'nothing,' s is perfect as it "...

What you draggers you and my jeans!

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The dirty hands of Ali

Ali's hands are dirty. In dirt that he alone sees, which is resistant to washing, brushing, scrubbing and a dirt invisible but more tenacious than oil film drainage. His hands disgust Ali. He looks with suspicion, articulated appendages of flesh that fool everyone but not him.

The drool running down his chin, mingled with scraps of food or bad drugs dissolved. Saliva dry of mouth, we must rub a little clean. Dentures soaked in disinfectant solution, it must be viewed in the mouths parted and wet, among the remains of snags black and irritated gums.

Clean bodies, skins unknown, the bulges, wrinkles, sweat and sour, the excoriations, cut nails, grate the skin from your feet.

Sometimes shit dripping dark veins and draws on the thighs. The urine soaks into the heavy layer thrown to the bottom of the bag. Skin abused by bedrest crack, blushed, hollow, necrosis, suppuration, to eliminate as many secretions, day after day.

ulcers flow and pierce dressings.

Styling oily hair, wash their skulls covered with yellowish crusts, clean the comb full of dandruff.

is the daily hands of Ali, even gloved, well washed and rewashed, keep a memorial layer of dirt all day. And Ali does not see it.

Who can he tell his disgust? He, the caregiver for old people and little old ladies who expect everything from him. Yes Everything! The old do not care physician and the medication that they know now, are only retardants suffering and death. But what happened to Ali, who comes to deliver a night stinking, heavier layer bonded to the buttocks. Ali makes the water flow warm, that mass, which changes, umbrella, which installs comfortably, which applies a cream light fragrance on the cheeks. Ali, who wipes the slurry dripping mouths awkward. Ali knows that even the ladies hair like duchesses, braids or curls ordered. Ali, who knows any body in distress and which comes every day to redo that old age has defeated in the night ...

Ali riveted his trade in the guts. It feels good. They like his old decrepit as old walls that do not want to end up standing. He knows the value of an indefinable smile, a sigh, a thank you.

Only his damn hands to taunt him remember the price, betray his thoughts maculent of dirt accumulated the least of his thoughts. His hands are both evil men who whisper to him the obvious: "you stop telling stories Ali stops all conceptualize, whether you like it or not, we are in a mess from morning to evening, this is our fate, that our grief, where do you see the pride and contentment? ".

Ali has dirty hands.

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Balades jaopnaises # 05

Sat motherfucker will you make money, chevy, and pizza
Sat
Rat bitumen salamander shit, bird of happiness

Samantha Samantha Oh!
At the end there that your kisses that take
Bitch suit of lights!
Oh Samantha!

Amazing, no?


Nb

U Do not Have 2 be rich 2 be my girl

U do not have 2 be cool 2 rule my world

Is not no particular sign I'm more compatible With
I just want your extra time and your Kiss

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The combination of hugging your breath hanging

We miss the time. It is close to never lie, feelings heart full of love and words muffled mouth full. So it feels smeared, nausea unclear, an overflow that would end up vomiting. We hate to throw yet. It seems that we will die, the intestines of love upside down in the bowl, a magma flottouillant sentimental silliness. But nothing comes. So we missed.

My mother moose clumsy, uncoordinated effusions that leave me banned and ice. His arms m'enlacent as they did not know how, still a bit rigid members that surprise my shoulders. Abandonment does not happen, I stay right, dominating his head, enclosed in thin wings. I patted his back to shorten the grip, or brand of pressure with my hand on my thin skin joining the forced embrace. I am ashamed. I would like to cuddle. I would become a soft Turkish delight. But languor was never part of our relationship. It comes at a time when I miss it more. Late. A setback.

The days of drama have left our bodies apart, as if frozen by frost, incapable of any impulse toward one another. Misfortune could free our arms as he freed our tears, he could have broken our silence respective domes. The misfortune has left us and the other one away on our sas security transparent, so remote, so alone.

As for the happy days, they gave rise to furtive kisses in effusions fragile, but our members are unable to express joy or pride, bogged down by lack of spontaneity, held by too much self-control.

It was missed, we miss, we do find more I think.

My mother carnal solitude is like a bubble tight impenetrable.

So I conjugate verbs: eat, kiss, embrace, support, câliner, caresser, se frotter, soigner, laver, serrer... Je conjugue à l'infini et au présent. En espérant n'oublier aucun temps.

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Segou - J

Days to inserting beads ... (see! Uh input I guess the joke will be determined randomly ). I have not had time to write while I was in Mopti. Where if I wrote it on my work address, or some mails, and especially my end of mission report. I make sure to chew the work, otherwise the return will be tough.

I returned from four days in Mopti and Sévaré (suburb active Mopti) since yesterday. Again, on the road that goes back to Bamako, we stop in Segou where we will stay a day and a half, time to follow some new projects that start and organize the distribution of school kits (notebooks, pencils, eraser , slate and chalk) to children at an elementary school with which we work. It feels good to be back in Segou. The road is still long (more than 5 hours to 300 km) but the hotel where we stay is a haven of peace on the banks of the Niger.

The four days were pretty stressful Mopti. First, because it was hot, 40 degrees on average every day with dust. Secondly, because life is dear to Mopti compared to the rest of the country. Finally, because the mentality of Mopticiens is not easy to live. Mopti is a city for tourism thanks to its proximity to the Dogon Country and its famous cliffs troglodytes (Edouard Baer is a priori went through the program "Go into the unknown" seems to see it !). And Tourism Fails little to the city as soon as a toubab wanders (the name "slang" white shot of Doc, since the time of settlement doc. were white) it is docked to it that. And I hate in this way be mistaken for a pigeon. In this regard, a wise guy tried to sell me something I do not identify 'm back and I had proposed in prices of "friend" to 22 000 FCFA (about 33 euros). Except in reality it is 4 times less. Finally, I pulled for 5000 FCFA

... This feeling of white that should benefit, as I have many or more felt than in Bamako Segou. In Mopti, when you query the partners with whom you work, rather than talking about the project, they leave you a list as long as my arm of grievances should be resolved well. Very rarely you speak spontaneously partners or project success. It is always to ask, to beg for something. This is a perfect example of the duality of the gift. More accustomed to give it without consideration, the more people accustomed to receiving everything free.

For what is the work per se, it continued to unfold according ders of various meetings associations partenaires et même des institutionnels. Je suis dorénavant pote avec le Directeur du centre d’animation pédagogique de Mopti (DCAP), l’équivalent chez nous du recteur d’Académie… Ca fait plutôt bizarre comme rapport . Mais une importante partie de mon travail à Mopti consistait à faire le point avec notre référent sur place, qui est un mopticien à PU depuis longtemps. Et c’est le profil type du mec relou dont je vous ai parlé avant. Lorsque je lui ai demandé comment le travail allait, il m’a sorti une suite de revendications les unes après mes autres. Rien sur le contenu des projets, les nouvelles perspectives… Que des esquives à every attempt at explanation. It's a proud person, well inserted in Mopti, but that is humanly unpleasant. In my turn with my colleague, he made a list of commitments that must be met by the end of the year. He should stick to it. He does not feel it tightrope. But he'd better play the game  course I'm in worship ... Anyway, I'm glad to be back in Segou, where work is in excellent (of course "disposition" is a name which Malians use and abuse!) And then you have
say that in this region of Mali, Islam is Islam practiced harder, more rigorous, Koranic schools are numerous and talibous (little beggars who are "sacrificed" by families to the marabout (= name of the Imam in this region) which treats children in dire conditions and reduced to two activities: learning the Koran by heart without even knowing how to read or write and begging to survive) are all over the place. In short, it's a heavy atmosphere that I am not unhappy to have left.


Tomorrow morning, return to Bamako before the final stage of stay in Mali: the Bafing in south-western Mali, and is one of the few regions of the country to accommodate wildlife.

I hope to write one last time by my return.

Segovia Greetings!

My Daughter Has A Broken Capillary Under Her Eye

12 Mopti - D +3 D +7

That several days I had no news. The gossips at work to say it is an illusion on my work schedule there ... my family say I did not give more than Paris ... while my friends think I am committed to Red Cross Malian J In reality, we must instead consider that the internet connection in Mali is a precious commodity that I have not had much opportunity to be able to connect for reasons other than work.

What happened? Always up meetings Thursday with associations in Bamako. I think I've already pretty river with these meetings, so I spend J by cons I got to know different "way of life" Made in Mali. First Friday, where I went to the bush mobile school program in Siby, a region 50 km from Bamako. During the day, I met the four villages in which we operate. Each time a welcome worthy of a minister. And there first situation, or how to feel uncomfortable. This recognition that the villages and their inhabitants seem to show you disproportionate. Yet they are truly grateful. Usually Malians are very hospitable. As you come in addition to their sides, they express their gratitude beyond measure: welcome by an honor guard, dances and songs, speeches that move. It's touching, but their desire to share as it is put me uneasy. I felt embarrassed about all this recognition for simple actions to support education that we have with them. I did everything to not appear to be the white angel. It is destabilizing. Fortunately, it was enough to feel comfortable. During these four visits, I had the privilege of receiving a hen and two roosters gift J Tied by the feet, these gentle birds did not agree to serve as offerings. I could not refuse ... Slim J Good confess more, I gave a couple to our driver in Bamako. The big cock, I took him to the guest house thinking to leave the pension time of my week in Mopti and Segou. However, he should know that to be disciplined, a cock should be accompanied by a female. All night we broke the *** singing to lag larigot. And then the second situation, or how to feel guilty of dying prematurely J At dawn, a cry of the cock stood out from others, it was the last ...

So I went Saturday morning to Segou, the rooster will wait to frozen 'my return next week. And the road to Mali, it is long. To reach Segou, you must walk about 240km. But those miles, they are much different than I normally do. Besides the miles I'm usually in France are the gyros and two-tone blue ... Who said wanker J ? Talk instead to my mother who took away the 206 ... So those miles Malians are very different. They are on roads with holes, full dodger, and together with a broom bus engaged in a competition all the time: that is the flaw? or who has the most rotten and bus ride armored? The old Mercedes of the 80s who swarm the roads Malian arbitrate everything. And then the third situation, or how to feel alone in Mali. Just when your engine starts you let go and you do not know where you are. It is thus 40 degrees when the car starts to graze. Helen finds driving the dashboard shakes and expresses a lot of lights unknown. Stopped on the side of the road where cars travel at more than 120 km / h , it casts a worried look under the hood. The radiator Argghh smokes ... ... The engine is hot, too hot, as after a good heat stroke (not to be confused with insolation, rescue friends! No I'm not sucks!). The signs, classic hot sweats on skin with signs of dehydration, high temperature, and circumstances of major effort. Of course in this case, it is at rest, is monitored and hydrated. Signs of discomfort disappeared, we advised the victim to continue his effort more moderate and well hydrated until the end of the road. No lie, see 4X4 immobilized on the side with one engine overheating and no milestone to show us where we were stranded, it puts a little bit of pressure. Especially since the laptop does not pass through this area ... nice

Stop a half-day à Ségou et tempête de sable et de pluie ont fini de parfaitement la refroidir. Je ne vous gratifierai pas d’un : et là, quatrième situation, où comment revivre les derniers instants antédiluviens J En plus j’en rajoute un peu avec cette référence biblique… Kass-dédi pour mes parents ;)

Je suis désormais à Mopti jusqu’à jeudi matin. Et coïncidences de ces quelques lignes, je loge à l’hôtel « Y’a pas de problèmes » ! Rien à redire effectivement.



A bientôt !

Diola Keita

(… euh c’est pas de ma faute si on me donne le nom à la fois d’un grand empereur africain et le nom d’un bon footballeur J Euh je parle du Keita de Barcelone les mecs !)

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A Telegram

Un souffle imperceptible rythme nos vies, petit métronome régulier et discret aux effets plus puissants qu'un ouragan . C'est un souffle de rien du tout, le genre ténu et léger qu'en temps normal nous négligerions ou ignorerions. Un souffle à l'apparence fragile, transparence et vol aérien de plumes.

Nous le guettons, nous l'écoutons, nous nous berçons de sa régularité reassuring. We find ourselves no longer perceive it sometimes when we take or recklessness when our ears are deaf or tired, so we're looking silently as required by unseen son, the heart beating a little too fast, eyes closed permeable and all the senses. Shortness of breath we closely watch the gentle hiss of air that comes and goes in you, relentless mechanical life. And we breathe we, pianissimo, too pleased with this incessant miracle, this tiny swell that lifts your chest.

Of course we will hear less and less, of course we tire of its banality, of course its automation we blazer.

But for now, this new breath mingles with ours and beating the rhythm with our breaths intertwined.

Life boils down to a breath and we breathe in unison.

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- Bamako

Troisième jour à Bamako. Le programme est toujours aussi chargé. Et pour la première fois j’ai vu la pluie. Quel soulagement. Il n’a plut que 10 minutes, mais à verse. La pluie est ici providentielle ; elle s’invite without warning and leaves almost immediately. It is impressive as it cools the atmosphere and as it also turns most streets of Bamako in giant mud field.

The day began with a visit to the fourth library in which PU Bamako intervenes library that we had not had the opportunity to visit the day before. After libraries Sikoulou, The Brotherhood, Korofina North is now one of Djélibougou. This is one of the oldest libraries in Bamako, but it's certainly one in which there is more inertia. The lack of a director little invested and a librarian in place as if it was shelved. Our meeting, alongside Yaya was the opportunity to review the adequacy of our collaboration. This is not necessarily easy to distinguish between sincere about those cranes.

The visit that followed led us Helen, Boubacar and me to meet "the Malian Association for physically disabled people." Our interlocutors are physically handicapped who all have the desire to facilitate the integration of disabled people in society. Two courses in office organized with PU helped promote access à l’emploi pour certains bénéficiaires de ces formations. Autre association, autre cause, celle d’une association qui réunit les Maliens rapatriés de tous les pays du globe pour organiser leur réintégration. Cette association a accueilli des formations en bureautique et montage de projets. A la suite de ces formations, l’association a décroché deux financements de plus d’un million de francs CFA de la part d’un bailleur international. Ces fonds permettent de faire vivre plus de quinze personnes autour des activités de maraîchage et de teinturerie.

Enfin la journée s’est terminée par la rencontre avec l’association Woiyo Kondeye, ce qui signifie « Area aid and trade for women "in Songhai language. It is an association with which we work on projects of health and nutrition, office (as usual) and assembling projects. This association occurs mainly in organizing kitchens. These kitchens allow women trainers to train other women in the basics of child nutrition and hygiene. Thus, the action in favor of this association has a real multiplier effect to a large audience of women. And it also projects a sense that one wants to help.

Impacts, Impacts, impacts is my BOSS will be glad to hear: pVoila is for this busy day. Promised, in my next post I'll stop propaganda about our projects in Bamako and I will speak more of the city and its inhabitants.

Kamba (A later in Bambara)!

Qualifications To Work At Mac Cosmetics

D +2 - D-Day

It's Tuesday evening and I write this first post from my room in Bamako. For the uninitiated I stay with Yaya, a guesthouse run by Yaya Kone in a northern district of Bamako, Korofina North. It's a very nice guesthouse where you can enjoy a little quiet in hell de Bamako. Je suis accompagné par mon téléphone portable qui fait office de musique. Il ne supporte pas bien la chaleur. Ici, pas de mercure pour nous renseigner, mais le mécanisme d’évacuation de la chaleur mis en place par mon organisme, autrement dit la sueur, exprime parfaitement la bonne trentaine de degrés qu’il fait dans ma chambre 

Le décor planté, je peux vous parler de mes 2 jours et 2 nuits sur place. Tout a commencé par un accueil chaleureux à l’aéroport de Bamako par Hélène, la déléguée internationale de Planète Urgence au Mali (oui oui, pour ceux qui ne savent pas, c’est mon employeur… Dans le titre du précédent section, you have a link to the website;)) and by Yaya Zouboye "service provider" for projects in Bamako. This reception was followed by immediate immersion in the local reality. A car parked next to us find a way to embed his bull bars in our bumper, also protected by a bull bar. These two cars hooked to each other by the nose, it looked like two schoolboys caught by their dentures during a kiss. We leave after two hours of talks during which the language of one accused the other of this attachment.

The first comes at night! Not too hot with the fan, not too many mosquitos due to repulsive, and a cinderblock miniature pillow (but not Danielle, there is no Yaya cinderblock home to sleep, but the pillows hard contrast with my feather pillow to Paris ... as for Claire, I know, I have your inflatable pillow, but too lazy to inflate the time ). A good night's sleep and a breakfast buffet later, I went early to the office of Planète Urgence in the premises of the Permanent Assembly of the Chamber of Crafts of Mali (APCMM). I shake a few hands and then I met Boubacar, the referent of Planet Emergency training projects for adults in Bamako.

Knowledge and amiability made, we begin with Helen and Boubacar our tour of visits to certain partner organizations for which PU has sent volunteers on a mission. PU Bamako is a fifty projects for adult education. That is to say, projects that emanate from associations that express training needs in areas as diverse as office, hygiene and nutrition, accounting, soap, drama, editing project etc.. For each of these missions, PU adheres to three principles: no substitution local actors, not competition, not direct port project. With these three principles, the intervention of PU is summarized in supporting and structuring of requirements and coordination with the capacity in France to enable skills transfer time of a 15-day mission (to those who think that day we learn little, put yourself in the position for 10 of those 15 days you spend your days learning the Word and Excel for example ... we'll see if at the end of those 10 days you don ' have not learned something) ...

Thus, in the space of two days, Monday and Tuesday we visited several associations. Each deserves to be supported, and again the spectrum of skills is broad SMUFJF, APEF, Assurem, INA as so many acronyms that summarize the investment associations in supporting young single mothers, young children in promoting "economic" of women or the exploitation of art and craft trades. During each visit, our respondents expressed their appreciation to host volunteers from previous missions and their desire to renew these missions. Surprising indeed if one wants a bit treacherous. However, results on the field, even modest advances and demonstrate successes, more or less palpable after the various formations. A notable example with the "Association for Supervision and Survival of Mothers and Children of the Street" (Assurem) after a mission on hygiene and nutrition of children 0-6 years, the number of diarrhea has substantially decreased thereby improving the health of children and hygienic conditions of the center. And nurses trained in these councils in turn train other nurses and multiply the effects of the mission. And it is a testimony among others. Nevertheless problems exist on other projects. The key is to identify conditions for solving these problems.

On this point, a visit Tuesday morning from 3 of the 4 libraries in which PU intervenes to support school alongside teachers and librarians shows progress in a few months in the monitoring of projects. In these 3 libraries, a room is dedicated to reading and emergent speaking. It is difficult to monitor the work of librarians and physical conditions on site, including the funds 'librarians' formed after the coming successive volunteers. Yaya Kone, our host in Bamako, following these projects and I noticed that his repeated presence and content of his speech has more open access for libraries for children. And the children enjoy an additional coaching and releases more of their speech.

I hope these first visits, rather tinged with optimism, will continue as long as possible. I also hope that the time taken to read that many lines allowed you to travel with me ... Who knows, perhaps a first step towards solidarity leave for you?!

Inch ' Allah!

Genetal Warts On Black People

Bamako for Mali Back

Hi all,

Expected departure at 16.30, arrival at Bamako airport at 20:10 local time (10:10 p.m. French time). Hey yes, I arrive on a Sunday in Bamako.

I am eager to be there and meet all the people I work with from Paris. Before that I honed in particular by identifying any sign of hair on the skull ... Beware of mocking laughter ... It's just in anticipation of 40 ° C daily during the day as possible and avoid suffering from the heat. Fortunately the nights are cooler.

few hours, some stations RER B and a few tons of CO2 separate me from Mali. I hope you forward as regularly as possible my stay there.

you soon!

What Will Happen If The Dollar Collapses

announced

In just over a week, I take the direction of Africa for the third time, the discovery of a third different country. After Zimbabwe in 2006, Cameroon in 2008, it will be in Mali in 2009, and the first time in a professional setting.

I hope nevertheless make a new personal experience. Go a few days.

Glad to talk again.

Tay Du Ki Movie Online

open parenthesis, stop ...

needed break, stop ...

Blog in sleep, stop ...



soon!

Red Spotting Before Period Is Due

Raz tears

Well, it whining. I restrain myself not to explode, she said me fait chier et je quitte la pièce. C’est facile d’imaginer ses joues mouillées et sa bouche qui tremble. Je connais par cœur aussi la couleur de ses yeux quand elle pleure ; un bleu qui se délave et pâlit au point de miroiter comme des yeux de poupée triste. Je ne suis pas insensible, ni moins compatissant que la moyenne. C’est simplement que j’ai dépassé depuis longtemps mon seuil de tolérance pour ses larmes, et pour pas mal d’autres choses d’ailleurs .

Dans la cuisine, je fais couler de l’eau un moment sur mes doigts et me remplis un verre que je vide d’un trait sans avoir soif. La vaisselle de la veille attend je ne sais quoi dans l’évier and I start to wash: two plates, two glasses, some covered, that I file a cockroach not possible. Something has burnt to the bottom of the pan and I use the green side of the sponge without changing anything. It would have to soak yesterday evening, but that she did not think so. I tell myself that I could think about it too, so I run hot water in to make my job easier later. I watch the red and green parrots wallpaper in wiping my hands. During our first visit, it made us laugh and we had promised to paint quickly. But nothing happened and now the bugs Motley could not care much for my mouth.

I hear him sniff and fly next door. Lacrimal waterfalls are the outcome of most of our discussions. God knows that I coat the slightest understanding of sweetness of my words, the most innocuous of my sentences. But inevitably, the words wade and are locked into tears salty. I sometimes wonder if she has not a kind of small sea in her, flowing through his eyes. But I did not tell him, of course.

When I saw the schedule close to his pillow, I realized it was the wrong start. Six months she had stopped taking the pill six months disappointed. She agreed to hide the calendar in his books when I told him the remark, but I hear him giggle like an idiot every time I'm in it. It notes with a cross all our sessions in bed and I suspect the other of any mixing or clear all. My convictions are the trunk since we sleep with that damn calendar.
Sometimes I wonder if my poor sperm drown before reaching the goal saw the whole fleet it seems into it. Sometimes I want to fill a jar for my sperm is injected it when she wants. Sometimes I wonder if I want to have a kid with a woman liquid. Sometimes I have lots of ideas in the con that I keep to myself.

When I returned to the room she is in a ball on the sofa, his head bent on his knees. His blond hair still moves me. She has a hair of happy childhood, a mixture of honey, straw, sun, buttercup, a matter of watered silk.

I try to collect letters in my head to get in touch with her, but all that comes to my idea is that I should bring the Kleenex box.

Applying Baby Powder Before Waxing

arabesques Holidays

The bedroom window opens to the sky and wrought iron railing cut as a stencil arabesques in blue.

My fingers draw spirals round and soft on your back.

The seagulls wheeling and screaming, I guess their dance and their airy arabesques asked about the wind.

The round belly draws stares and fingers can not help but to graze the surface. They follow the rounded curve and lost in arabesques hesitant and attentive.

The sand slips through your fingers, rain shimmering mica in the sun, arabesques on the skin that fly at the slightest breath of wind sailor.

Keep the memories of these little eddies of happiness, just drawn, just sketched, in endless arabesques.

Myomectomy Patient Can Wear Girdle?

Where shall I put the raccoon?

If I do an endless inventory
From everything I have to do
I might be there again this winter
And you tired severe !

And yet I must get organized properly prepare
For
And do not forget
Sorry to be scatterbrained.

ago to enjoy the summer
Some books to try to doze
naps
And a baby hatch.

I also want to do nothing
lie down and look up at the Dream
seaside
me walk in the heather ...

Words She goes to sleep while I
Sun
And I hope you reciprocate
Fun and wonders.

As for fucking raccoon
It gives me the toil
I do not know where the squeeze
Mr. Prevert, what an idea!

Bel summer everyone. See you soon.

сamila Rodriguez Trans

I can not stand the rain

dripping summer, the streets crying and drown my feet, I persist in dress sandals.
I live in a land of gray skies and trees sad that excuse to be as green sadly bending under the drops. They take a look of circumstance, a tearful and morose air.

It is as if the summer was gone, leaving us incredulous and hung in our wet umbrellas closed to the fringes. The calendar shows dates that evoke the sun-tan lotion, naps shady sea-bathing and walking leisurely. The calendar is a liar.

summer has left us arrogant color flowers, which bend in the rain and rust in places, summer dresses too small and too short, children in shorts that stick their faces against the windows fogged.
We begin to think about the reasons for this sudden disaffection. Have we forgotten to praise the sun when he was there? We would we complained about the heat one day last? Would we want the rain for the yellow grass of our gardens?
We do not know ... We do not even know when it was fine. And we do not know if the summer will return.

So we sometimes make outrageous dreams. Our beaches riddled with drops become paradise of white sand, until blindness. Our sea is gray and purple hue of turquoise as to resemble a lake of lapis lazuli. Our campaign dries like a moth African savannah. Our weeping trees heavy with leaves rustling sounds thin and volatile. Our dreams are to live up to our dismay, the poor orphans of the summer we are.

Summer dripping, the streets cry and drown my feet ... I can not stand the rain!

Will Beer Make Tonsillitis

vs. Fred. Carole Carole

The shower walls were streaked water, tiny rivers vertical zigzagging randomly.

Carole watched their thwarted trajectories whose sole purpose was to die at his feet.
on his skin as water streaked toward the ground, trenches who followed her soft curves. She had hesitated between the gel and the jasmine and vanilla, then opted for the blackberry.

Moss slipped between his fingers and smiled as she soaped her breasts, her two peaks which Fred clung like a rock climbing enthusiast.

Fred. Surely not an ordinary type! He vowed a kind of worship he said to her breasts made for him as well to the size of his palm. It was good the first not to be too small and Carole itself was often castigated the look in the mirror, just to make them aware of their small size.

But then, Fred had acted that the adequacy of her breasts in his own hands was the guarantee of a perfect harmony of torque. And for 2 years, he was not really wrong.

La douche qui coulait en pluie lui rappela leur rencontre; c'était un début de soirée accablé par une chaleur moite qui annonçait l'orage. Le ciel était sombre et des nuages de ouate roulaient en grondant sourdement au-dessus de la ville, se chargeant d'électricité et d'eau.

Carole avait retrouvé des amis dans un bar du centre, un lieu plutôt tendance où le moindre café vous délestait d'un billet de 5 euros.

Elle n'avait pas remarqué Fred avant de se retrouver à courir avec lui pour rejoindre sa voiture, abritée sous sa veste qui s'était instantanément transformée dripping into something that stuck in their backs.

In the car, Fred and Carole had continued to laugh for a moment, breathless, wet, excited by their race. Fred introduced himself as a friend of Peter and Carol had noticed that her makeup ran a little, which was totally false because Carole found herself with an air of Kiss singer when she looked in the mirror. She was devastated and she wanted to lie to him and Fred.

The storm broke suddenly and lightning began silver to play their part evil, like in the movies who want to show men that God's wrath will fall upon them. The car appeared to be under waterfalls, and the streets began to be mistaken for miniature mountain streams.

Carole and Fred remained silent for a moment, locked in their bubble tight and sound. It seemed to Carole that the atmosphere had crept out of the magnetic in the car because his heart beat anyhow. And when Fred took his hands kleenex to help fix her mascara drips from a terrible crash happened outside. A nearby tree had just lost a huge branch that was lying miserably on parked cars.

Carole watched Fred trembling. They did not need a message as explicit.

Then Fred started.

End.

Creta Ur Own Wrestling Belt

Carole had twisted his foot while leaving the elevator, one must say that his golden sandals were awfully high but the first thing which had fallen under the foot before exiting. She had seen the baker looked like an owl in daylight woke, but she was not able to do otherwise with his round eyes.

Returning, she saw Fred in the couch, sprawled like a Turkish Delight, the tousled hair and she had taken upon herself not to pounce on him, because she was dressed like a skank and that she did not ease.
She had noticed marks on the coffee table, round glass, and she thought he should clean it later. For now, she wanted a tea.

When Fred had asked to see her breasts when she told him mine dazed from the Baker looked like a poor owl deprived of sleep, she realized he was not listening, or more, and this irritated him a detail quarter of a second. But no more, because Carole knew the value of things.
And the look of Fred put on his chest was like a warm ray of sunshine just for her. Should not overlook the moments of magic.

Carole particularly liked his bowls red with white spots. She also took care to put them on the sink when Fred got up and stood behind her and embrace her. It was as a still life with his Americanizing bulk tank and she remarked to Fred, who, in his opinion, totally did not care, he absorbed everything he was kneading her breasts. Fred did not know to look sometimes.

The sun had gone around the room and came wandering into the kitchen. He did that every day, pointing to the corner of the window to 13 hours in July, rising like a laser beam that was drying on the dishes upside down or on apricots in a glass bowl.
That day, he fell on gold flakes that seemed suspended in a vacuum, sequins to dance jerkily, which proved to be the sandals after leg Carole maintained that Fred V triumphantly before him. The sun could not understand clearly.
Carole clung to the table trembled in his back.

She fleetingly thought back to the coffee table that we should think about cleaning up later. And then she fixed her smiling Fred, without understanding why he clung more firmly to his ankles. His shoes princess flashed in the kitchen.

continued ...

Can We Take Tea In Fasting

Fred

When Carole joined Fred wondered if she was dressed as he saw her skin. By blinking his eyes, he noticed a white skirt that was a little wide measure 2O centimeters and a tank top with American flag which did not cover the belly. He said that little girls could afford to wear such clothes, especially the American flag.

It munching a croissant, waving a paper bag over his head and disappeared into the kitchen.

Fred was strange this morning and said that his girlfriend Marylin was a kind of brown.

In the kitchen, Carole had had two cups red peas and Fred thought of vaguely evil mushrooms.

She had stalled his buttocks on the corner of the table while waiting for hot water for tea and mechanically swung a leg that ended with a gold stiletto sandals, the remains of their evening, completely incongruous in this kitchen. Fred glimpsed fleetingly Carole entering the corner bakery climbed to his feet in gold. He would have liked to see it.

He approached and slid the tips of his fingers on his thigh, without intent, just to make the reality of the moment. Carole continued her rocking motion and he felt his muscles playing under his hand. He went up high on her thigh until you feel the lace of her panties and almost literally spread the floor when she kissed him on the cheek, a kiss sound that said a thousand things at once, so much more obvious than any statement or embrace. Fred seemed to be glass so that girl sometimes disarmed.

Carole smiled at him and he clutched at the table so as not to fly because of the helium that went through his veins. She got up to pour hot water into cups and white polka dots drowned in tea. She began to drink occasionally blowing his slender fingers glued to the tiles, aligning words that Fred did not understand too much and did not care for now.

He took advantage of a pause to articulate without that no sound out of his mouth "I-WANT-SEE-YOUR-BREASTS" and the flag flew from the States towards the sink without a ripple .

Carol sipped her tea as if nothing had happened, the spoon against her cheek, breasts to attention. Fred found them an air at once perky and cajoling, as if trying to round them to forget the two points that dark flashing towards him. The simplicity and beauty the moment he jumped to his throat.

Then he bit into a crescent based in winking at the left breast of Caroline.

continued ...

Fortiguard Web Filtering Disable

La nuit à Neverland

I have only one thing to say: I am against
opening Michael Jackson on Sunday!

Pl2303 Xp Driver Installer

47°4'0''N - 6°37'0''E (47.0667 - 6.61667)

Straight the place and the rain that ruminates
Straight waves shaking and red halos
whispering in the rain that balks return
Envy sinkholes boredom of the days of wine

And if we no longer understand And if
must understand
And if there's nothing to think just go and die like an old dog with his sentence

Straight town in the silences and the useless yet
Straight walking and breath that s' And back lengthens

Back

Cheats On Pokemondeluge

Comprenne qui veut...

What is this music, what is this song, this heart lilac ...
Rounding blood red petals
that hit screens
For sheer lunacy and crazy snapping broken
I moved away
No express no coffee or black hat marble for your words
Just a melody
But which one? We who remain without
we just have to keep talking
Around fires

Chic Hairstyles For Petite Women

Balades japonaises#04

At the airport, she made her way to confirm board then went to the cafeteria. The waitress poured him a coffee. She hesitated before the stunned look of Pamela. This latter ended his discomfort with a discreet smile which marked his return to normal and dried her eyes wet.

A young man ordered the same thing. Again the waitress did not understand and became impatient. When she heard "French" she relaxed.

She pushed in front of this new customer a cup of powdered sugar, a little milk. He thanked her. Pamela watched by stealth. The man seemed absorbed in reading a magazine. On the cover a 1958 chevy impala reminded him that the neighbor of her parents.

a moment she heard creaking of the swing, and the sound of the fountain on the lawn. She felt a moment the scent of cookies from his mother. She saw the prom dress unearthed at the bottom of the old dressing and foreign songs she hummed sometimes.

She put a note on the counter and made the sign she invited her neighbor. This one raised an eyebrow, "muttered a thanks and a little weak resumed his reading. Pamela says that she finally much better alone.

silence and solitude ...
She got on the plane, humming the Your emotional Eric Luna Parker

Amazing, no?

NB: The Pacific is too dark
like your moods Eric
of melancholy in groundswell
you surf ces récifs
mais le courant te ramène vers le macadam Eric

Toshiba 440cdt Usb Treiber

Balades japonaises # 03 (lose control)

La bière tiède avait coulé sur le tapis. Au milieu des chips écrasées et des cacahuètes en vrac. Les pieds posés sur une boite de pizza refroidie et comme mangée par les vers, je ruminais. J'avais toujours le téléphone à la main. Je l'ai jeté à travers la pièce. Il s'écrasa sur le mur. Un grosse partie de la coque ricocha et tomba sur la chaine stéréo récupérée la mois dernier chez Old smithie avec l'argent de l'Impala.
Elle se mit en route. Je sautai du canapé et lui filai un coup de pied. Elle hurla plus fort. La musique couvrit le bruit torn plastic. The speakers dismantles survived ...
I found myself at the end all of a sudden at knees at Salem with Enimem . Id still Vant ins for both .

Amazing, no?

NB: Lose yourself in the music, The Moment You own
it, you better never let it go You only get
one shot, do not miss your chance to blow
This Opportunity Comes Once in a lifetime yo

Angel Of Death Payton

Balades japonaises # 02

Julio put his racing on the counter without seeing that the employee sitting on the stool did not see it coming. He coughed, pretended to take a packet of chewing gum on the shelf, but nothing worked, nothing seemed out of its torpor.
Then he stared at her. She cried. Gently. As we cry and we're going to the injured until the middle of the desert in a Chevy Impala 1958 of preference.
She wept while listening to a song. He heard the buzzing of My Immortal by Evanescence in headphones hidden under her long black hair raven ...
Are we really in this world, wondered, he explained.

Amazing, no?

NB: I've Tried So Hard To Tell Myself That You're Gone
goal though
You're Still With Me I've Been Alone All Along Along Along Along
...