Throat Hurt Really Bad

Happy Birthday 'Moms'

I woke up in a good mood, eager to give my gift for Mother's Day gift that I even asked my mother to give him the night before because I do not wait, I want see his reaction immediately.

Since the early hours of the day, we hear the songs on the mother, across the street, it looks like all the houses have agreed to put the same frequency. I did not stop to tell the neighbors, mothers of friends that I met today, happy Mother's Day '. Now it draws a smile on their faces, it brightens their eyes.

the middle of the day, I called my mother on the phone and I overheard her voice troubled, I realized she was crying. Each year, my mother could not help but cry remembering my grandmother, the importance it attached to this feast, its requirements and comparisons she made between the gifts brought by her children and by his stepdaughters. Mamie loved this holiday, and we all knew, it was a childish pleasure of reminding us. Today she is gone but his memory remains very alive in our hearts.


hung up the phone, I overheard two little tears that have escaped

involuntarily My eyes, I could not describe the exact nature of her tears. Were they tears of appreciation for, thank you god, my mother is always by my side? Were they tears of sadness because I miss Grandma? Tears of guilt because I am fortunate to be surrounded by people who look at me with eyes full of love, eyes so maternal? Tears of compassion because I have not stopped thinking about those people who no longer have the fortune of having their mothers nearby? Tears of regret for those little children who have not known arms as warm as a mother?


A subtle blend of all these feelings at once, adorned with a melancholy smile, that's what I felt at the bottom.

A great thought to all who are far from their mothers is a godsend to have it all ready, it's a blessing to know you can still hear her sweet voice.

May those in the afterlife to rest in peace.

May those who are watching their children away from there or they are, whatever the distance separating them, one day they will meet.

May God preserves all the mothers of the world.

Good day to all moms.

Happy Birthday

my mom.

Christrening Card Messages

If Courbet painted the origin of the world, myself, I wish it was less dark

Skip alleys of Paris, Seine along their dark eddies gold everywhere breathe the gas that takes you and carries you and a dream, dream, there is the word.

I dream, I dream. The Louvre stands as a ghostly vision as he demonstrates the excessiveness, the demagoguery of a few handfuls of men. And be there, amongst the gardens of the Carrousel, keep the eyes a wooded landscape, fresh, exuding luxury, idleness, as far as imposing prestige and do nothing if not contemplate any scents, rumors alienable in Paris there believe Finally, the owner of this palace, but also possessed the power that once residents of the premises. I daydream at reviving the philosophy of time, then the light period succeeding the dramaturgical we know only too well because she has raised the pride of our nation. Louis I, my subjects them or my guests, I will. Being alone maker of this unique assured of the nonexistence of God, since God is me, sweet delusion of invulnerability, greater expression of stupidity.

I dream, I think. That in my size I'm not above a grain sand. That without my conscience around the world I have nothing to envy to the animal. Devil! I am animal, the herd so brilliantly portrayed by prehistoric Piestre this Cain oil on canvas paintings from the refined, highly civilized Orsay, these men and women, beautiful as the old, the mother as much as his cherubs on the stretcher frames, the couple and slaves, can not you see it in any draft of an organized society? The return of the hunt, hunting what? Primary accomplishment of the most basic needs. And this band hierarchical! How many people have lived and unless we deign to reconsider their memory? Wild beasts, then, what have I to the animal except those original requirements, these reflexes such instinct, this common source, in fact? What do these men before in history so that we looked similar to the demonic creatures of myth?

I dream that I dream I think. If just writing to tell you about me that I am no animal, either: much I am no animal. Yet! ah! But I feel deep in my heart a spirit, a force that shakes violently. A scourge that stubbornly silent since the investigation first. I tremble, I sweat, I cried and my heart and my roof break. Skip alleys of Paris, along with their brown Seine whirlpool gold everywhere breathe the gas that will afflict you and whistles and a dream, go to the origin of the world , black renieurs our eyes, hirsute by what is the hidden obstinately. Scream, run, deafen herself pulse pounding at the temples, out of breath air blank effort essential to the seething heat the skin pores, the language originally drowned in saliva tasty and disturb the landscape through the lacrimal wind ... I think of my destination, I dream my prey future, I think of my hunting.

I thought I was dreaming that I was thinking sweet utopia ... The freedom of not having to do what we must do.

I thought I was dreaming that I was thinking about a sweet utopia, the nightmare of our fathers thinkers. Animal or not, my mind is different, I note, for his insubordination, and all his kind. I walked on my knees in the morning, got up on two for the zenith, before they attend a show third. However with bipedalism divine, my head as the sun approached me that I am repeatedly severely burned. If the student who thought it exerts in the beheading, why do we still believe?

For the writings of Plato we learned not to design for real the illusions of the world. Nevertheless, our pride we did by diving into the history as Greek repugnant lie and we have taken for real materialism of the intellectual, and that is what we will lose.

Journal , Sebastian Asran Zala Charles

What Type Of Extensions Does Rihanna Use

illumination in a park

hopping from one swing to another, laughter filled teeth, PAF! A cat that licks the paste nervously in his corner, the riders who set their rhythms to the sound of their music, Bang, the nth ball that just fun ...

A slight wind is suddenly fly off the hat of a girl short to catch up, fly is the sketch that was on my bench and I finished 10 minutes instead. Suddenly he arose to his feet, his feet, she, but what is it?

At first I saw nothing, just the aura that surrounded his being, just the aura that drew the sun around his body, his face suffused by light. She bends, take Gently my piece of paper, remove dust religiously landed on it, watching with interest my drawing looks in my direction, moving in my direction, slowly, she comes forward to light my bench!

Disturbed, I look left and right, forward it to me really. Nervously, I cap my hair with my hand, I adjust my posture, I put a few sheets of paper scattered on the bench, I take my pencil, I buried my head in my notebook with an interest in disguise, a false air seriously ... "Excuse me, but I think it belongs to you! .

I lift my head and I meet his gaze hypnotic scent intoxicates me, his voice bewitches me, I manage to stammer a few words: "Uh ... who?? me! Euuh ... "She laughs heartily, and his laughter echoes in my ears like a hymn to joy, like a sound from elsewhere, as a call to happiness. "You're the only one with a pencil and a notepad here, and it can only belong to you I think! In fact, I congratulate you, your sketch is beautiful, the colors are so real, the scenery is beautiful, it looks like I've seen but where? I do not remember ... . She tends

my paper, I extend my hand and I touch my mechanically sweetness incarnate, silk humanized, the velvet in all its beauty ... "Thanks, sorry to be tired ... Thank euuuh. ... Excuse me ..." She I smiled and said "But it is I who thank you, I hope you do other designs as beautiful, and I would have the chance to see them ... one day ... goodbye Mr. Painter Park, see you soon ... maybe .... "
She throws me a glance and then turns around and leaves. It starts already! I am everyone its long and graceful movements, I think I hear the sound of her dress that touches the ground, the impact of these bracelets in his arms, I really enjoy the view of the dance of the wind in her hair, kiss the piece of paper who sent me to my seat, I still feel hope sniffs her perfume, I blessed to have the wind blowing in my direction, I pray for that 'soon' come true for the random returns his steps toward the bench again.