Tag: chronic

    The Cut

    It was a good one offers, then it did not look for to negotiate. It changed two of the five currencies for one of the ropes, was said farewell briefly and it took its way. Moments later the cow of more healthful appearance walked for house guiding, with a discrete smile in the face, imagining the reaction of the woman and the children when seeing the animal. The remain of this passage does not need no type of detailed description, since it is imaginable and previsible. children and the woman did not believe its eyes when seeing the gold year-old calf. Learn more about this with Hikmet Ersek. The family had certain increase in its income with the sales of milk, and the children had of what to feed itself almost every day.

    She did not make difference for the cow. At that time, it she made the same things that make now, however without hands human beings who remove its milk, acariciam that it briefly, and without infantile hands that to the times had a joking touch excessively a little aggressive. It continued feeding itself of the green grass, fertilizando the same, sleeping, lying down themselves under the sun. A small area covered in the deep ones discovered a time after of the residence, that costumava to cover the cut firewood daily, and then started to use that as shelter. It did not understand why the family did not appear certain morning, after a night especially agitated and barulhenta, and nor if she asked on this. Not wise person why half of the house was jammed by its object of comment. Not wise person why all the old inhabitants more did not see, felt, they heard or they breathed. Not wise person what it was war. She ruminated calmly in its place, with the fixed eyes in the engine that could be considered nomadic, without if mattering with much thing, without I fight for deceased, without related thoughts the conflicts. But after all, who could blame it? It was only one cow.

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    The Passion

    Penalty that the singer of the program in question makes a ritmado refro, that more leagues to the exibicionista movement of its ndegas (in the expression ' ' bundalel' ') of what the intention to follow the melody and the melody, in this in case that, still it is, to the times, spoken Where it is the harmony, therefore! Conclusion: this is clearly a music? Good, the media made with that this possible music and this singer blew up the success stops, more for the flavor of the rhythm of what simply for something idealized; that is, more for the intention of market of what really for what he is constructive, to create an ideal or a sensation, that is, more realistic our return. That homesicknesses of the great singers who still thought about passing ideas, to change a moment, an attitude and to divide themselves enter the passion and the love for what they made of form that had still clear (e, today, rare) intentions of inconformismo and even though to give value what we called and learns to understand on the man. Singers these whose melodies if had become classic and for which I can take off the hat. But every year singing phenomena appear and plasticized. Let us remember musics now you recycle passing, specifically in some letters that already had been plays in the garbage, but that it left, in a personal and observed comment, many girls until pregnant; factor initiated probably for the practical motivation the impulsive one to the sex. The letters that they had marked time in this low sentimental level they had been: ' ' Insurance tchan, mooring cable tchan, insurance tch, tch, tch, tch, tch' ' ; ' ' I go to pass cerol in the hand, go yes, I go sim' ' ; ' ' Mine, your hair is of the hour, your corpo violo' ' now ' ' Today it is party back in mine ap (…) Teso, Seduction, libido in air; in my room it has people until making orgia.

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    San Francisco

    In the day where I will be myself, or better, to die, I want very I cry, however few candles, a star already has proper light (it is my ego). I want that the current mayor smiles and until gargalhe on ' ' I defunto' ' , therefore it would not support demagogy, but I want mine three days of I fight, with right the flag the half mast. I will not need carpideiras, therefore the widowers will be as much who the tears will make to overflow the river San Francisco (ta pretension). In the day where I to die, want that they silence the horns and they sing for the streets my songs, declaim my verses and they spill a thousand compliments on my corpse (Fool illusion). I want that my enemies hold the handle of my coffin and play sand shovels on my hollow, therefore I want they curse that me until the last moment.

    My friends will even though go for the way counting my causos, floreando my life, placing color where at moments I was black sheep (until friends they tire). In the day where I to die, want that cachaa either distributed of favour, after all, who it lived tipsy of verses has that at least embebedar those that to reach had never obtained me. I want that the formadores of opinion supplicate a thousand plagues against my corpse, then, who does not obtain to curse what it is in the face, at least does not go to arranhar my tomb. I want a epitfio thus: ' ' It died, but he continues insuportvel' '! I want that the bars never close before ' ' saideira' ' interminable and that the bohemians sing until waking up the inherent deafness. In the day where I to die, want they dress that me of black color, after all, I want to seem lean and esbelto.

    Who knows comes one to receive anja me? But of the skill that the things walk, I find that I will erase the light and I will close the door. My health is of iron and is stubborn until pra to die. The death alone to reach goes me if I to want, vixe, was to turn side pro and I almost fell. Sarav, my father! Vade backward! Oxe! IT IS MARKED

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