Here we are a bunch of years ago (70 or so, see the wall back there), my brothers, Benito, Viviana, and me. Missing the smallest, our spoiled, Ximenita. 
Friday, August 8, 2008
Rose Quarter Seating With Rows Chart
Here we are a bunch of years ago (70 or so, see the wall back there), my brothers, Benito, Viviana, and me. Missing the smallest, our spoiled, Ximenita. 
Lidocaine Block For A Brazilian Wax
My favorite historical Judas.
is interesting. Judas, Judas despised, is the only one in my opinion, he deserves some respect in all these stories of sin and torture: Judas loved his people, to every man, woman and child to suffer, that as much as he loved with human love to the suffering, hated with equal force to those who What made them suffer was this enormous humanity that should do it unless the son of God. Loved his people, who came to Jesus through that love. For Jesus was bringing promises of salvation, freedom, justice. And he joined Judas but before long, saw nothing but business as usual, promises, beautiful words and no action. But still, for the sake of his people, neglect to give Jesus one last chance, if Jesus was really the son of God, if he really was going to fulfill his promises of salvation, justice, freedom, then he was joined by the people Quie to shake off the yoke of the Roman Empire enslaving, and his word would have the strength to convince the council this How else could raise the dead and to multiply the loaves, I could not convince a group of priests scholars of these words? But he had to take him there. Jesus never wanted to attend ... Judas was that this was fulfilled, not by those coins that never asked for or wanted, but because the birth of Jesus, Son of God, will blaze the fate of his people from the council. And this did not happen ... double disappointment for Judas ... Jesus could not do, his word and his divinity were able to convince the council ... more than enough proof that it actually was not the Messiah. But Judas, beyond that or not Jesus was the son of God, loved him as a man loves another man, as a dear friend who, believing child of God, had given to a torture and certain death. To all this it should be added, that not being the son of God and what could I do that man, Jesus, for the freedom of the people he so loved Judas? ... Nothing. Then had no alternative but to his own death. Judas believed, more than any other, but even-that Peter denied him three times, in the divinity of Jesus, and his disappointment was overwhelming.
He is, in his great love of equals, a man pained by the misfortunes of the man, who was able to look forward, not upward like a slave, not down as a master, who paid the hardest consequences. After all, if Jesus was the son of God, then is not dead and is alive at the right hand of his father. If it was, then buried the hopes of an entire people for freedom from slavery and at least went down in history as one of its most striking characters. Judas, however, is the common man faced the tragedy of history, one that no more faith in yourself, try to change the world, blinded by their own hope of a better life for those who always loved his people . 
is interesting. Judas, Judas despised, is the only one in my opinion, he deserves some respect in all these stories of sin and torture: Judas loved his people, to every man, woman and child to suffer, that as much as he loved with human love to the suffering, hated with equal force to those who What made them suffer was this enormous humanity that should do it unless the son of God. Loved his people, who came to Jesus through that love. For Jesus was bringing promises of salvation, freedom, justice. And he joined Judas but before long, saw nothing but business as usual, promises, beautiful words and no action. But still, for the sake of his people, neglect to give Jesus one last chance, if Jesus was really the son of God, if he really was going to fulfill his promises of salvation, justice, freedom, then he was joined by the people Quie to shake off the yoke of the Roman Empire enslaving, and his word would have the strength to convince the council this How else could raise the dead and to multiply the loaves, I could not convince a group of priests scholars of these words? But he had to take him there. Jesus never wanted to attend ... Judas was that this was fulfilled, not by those coins that never asked for or wanted, but because the birth of Jesus, Son of God, will blaze the fate of his people from the council. And this did not happen ... double disappointment for Judas ... Jesus could not do, his word and his divinity were able to convince the council ... more than enough proof that it actually was not the Messiah. But Judas, beyond that or not Jesus was the son of God, loved him as a man loves another man, as a dear friend who, believing child of God, had given to a torture and certain death. To all this it should be added, that not being the son of God and what could I do that man, Jesus, for the freedom of the people he so loved Judas? ... Nothing. Then had no alternative but to his own death. Judas believed, more than any other, but even-that Peter denied him three times, in the divinity of Jesus, and his disappointment was overwhelming.
He is, in his great love of equals, a man pained by the misfortunes of the man, who was able to look forward, not upward like a slave, not down as a master, who paid the hardest consequences. After all, if Jesus was the son of God, then is not dead and is alive at the right hand of his father. If it was, then buried the hopes of an entire people for freedom from slavery and at least went down in history as one of its most striking characters. Judas, however, is the common man faced the tragedy of history, one that no more faith in yourself, try to change the world, blinded by their own hope of a better life for those who always loved his people .
Friday, April 18, 2008
Where To Buy Schwartzkopf
Samuel Nunez, Poet. Poem
Galleguillos Nuñez Samuel was born in another era. Rather, under the stars and when the time walking slower. There had to pay to be happy. Enough beaded necklace and a blanket to make partner. A whistle, a crest, a lemon, a handful of nuts. To love is like a conversation. They spoke at length with friends, some music, some journals, of certain letters and certain songs. It was in the wave like a leaf in the wind. Not much was known here in the ass of the world because it too came through the senses. The words and the school is served, it was poetry, and the unhealthy habit of talking back and forth, the only spaces that limit today. The world was on track except for some balls to be resisted, and they kicked ass in Vietnam, and top votes in Chile. It was not Red Stone because he came back. Grass is best traveled in the Valley to infinity. The landing was forced. Handrail only poetry. The poetry blog serves to go searching the life bits and pieces, flashes, notes, footnotes, small telegrams in a strange communion between words and the speed of life. When Samuel tries to write a poem comes out, does not fit, but when it deploys its web timid air of the day catching small insects wonderful wings or elytra quivering shimmer. Samuel Nunez's poems are like a hug, a kiss, and a friendly smile, warm greeting as a brother, or sometimes a frown, a lump in his throat, and that does not work the academy but the purity of the soul, closer to classical Chinese poetry to the naturalness of the Beat Generation, with which certain dwellings of culture tend to assimilate. Samuel is a mediocre city and an exceptional poet, a proud looser, a free fearful of his own wings. So when we read the poems of Samuel Nunez have to do in the heat of the day to day, without losing the ability to ride our little haven in a corner of the micro, on a park bench or on the parapet of a bathroom accessory . Samuel music lover, because it is a full-blooded rocker because he knows, like me, who do not fit in the tonteritas rock so necessary in the pop, rock in the vein is outward, like the poems of Núñez. And there, as they wanted the learned lounging-beauty in minimalism, a distance rarely seen, as accurate between speaker and object. No drone or fuss, neither intemperate song (which some mistake for earthquake), shreds no simple narrative of life. Maybe that's why his poetry like and love. Far from the experiments seudovanguardistas, does not neglect the fact that language builds or destroys worlds. Nor was he very interested in their successful epigrams, or dyes haiku, or naif narrative and uncanny ability of the texts. Reading and talking to Samuel Nunez, one can see that every poem of his is a balancing act, no catharsis or self-therapy, but the act of balancing full life in bursts of outrageous talent. In an almost obsessive irrational genius. Samuel is not inspired nor construct his poems: rather they gestated from the germ of life insomniac, so that in some strange belly mature and go on living, then, between Samuel and the poem there is little to do, left to drift as the bird driven from the cliff-a few will die in the attempt but others remain in the sky over the memory of someone, somewhere in the world, and it seems that Samuel, that is enough to keep him uphill. 
Galleguillos Nuñez Samuel was born in another era. Rather, under the stars and when the time walking slower. There had to pay to be happy. Enough beaded necklace and a blanket to make partner. A whistle, a crest, a lemon, a handful of nuts. To love is like a conversation. They spoke at length with friends, some music, some journals, of certain letters and certain songs. It was in the wave like a leaf in the wind. Not much was known here in the ass of the world because it too came through the senses. The words and the school is served, it was poetry, and the unhealthy habit of talking back and forth, the only spaces that limit today. The world was on track except for some balls to be resisted, and they kicked ass in Vietnam, and top votes in Chile. It was not Red Stone because he came back. Grass is best traveled in the Valley to infinity. The landing was forced. Handrail only poetry. The poetry blog serves to go searching the life bits and pieces, flashes, notes, footnotes, small telegrams in a strange communion between words and the speed of life. When Samuel tries to write a poem comes out, does not fit, but when it deploys its web timid air of the day catching small insects wonderful wings or elytra quivering shimmer. Samuel Nunez's poems are like a hug, a kiss, and a friendly smile, warm greeting as a brother, or sometimes a frown, a lump in his throat, and that does not work the academy but the purity of the soul, closer to classical Chinese poetry to the naturalness of the Beat Generation, with which certain dwellings of culture tend to assimilate. Samuel is a mediocre city and an exceptional poet, a proud looser, a free fearful of his own wings. So when we read the poems of Samuel Nunez have to do in the heat of the day to day, without losing the ability to ride our little haven in a corner of the micro, on a park bench or on the parapet of a bathroom accessory . Samuel music lover, because it is a full-blooded rocker because he knows, like me, who do not fit in the tonteritas rock so necessary in the pop, rock in the vein is outward, like the poems of Núñez. And there, as they wanted the learned lounging-beauty in minimalism, a distance rarely seen, as accurate between speaker and object. No drone or fuss, neither intemperate song (which some mistake for earthquake), shreds no simple narrative of life. Maybe that's why his poetry like and love. Far from the experiments seudovanguardistas, does not neglect the fact that language builds or destroys worlds. Nor was he very interested in their successful epigrams, or dyes haiku, or naif narrative and uncanny ability of the texts. Reading and talking to Samuel Nunez, one can see that every poem of his is a balancing act, no catharsis or self-therapy, but the act of balancing full life in bursts of outrageous talent. In an almost obsessive irrational genius. Samuel is not inspired nor construct his poems: rather they gestated from the germ of life insomniac, so that in some strange belly mature and go on living, then, between Samuel and the poem there is little to do, left to drift as the bird driven from the cliff-a few will die in the attempt but others remain in the sky over the memory of someone, somewhere in the world, and it seems that Samuel, that is enough to keep him uphill.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
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