In the soft smooth gray Wednesday morning, refusing to wake up in disgust at our small world, moral noiseux, went before the quest for potatoes, place in container bulwark of an armful of Monde Diplomatique, Provence, and various advertisements.
The light was dead and pigeons ranged in levels of the giant staircase of the tower took a shape of crows end of battle. And my clumsiness gourd has blurred photos, stowing in the area between the real and imaginary.
I felt the fresh attack my cheeks, give me a hint of birth wave, I decided to limit myself to the little casino.
the way I'm warmed eyes from the florist, and I'm stuck in a forest vegetation returning in glory, charm, sentimentality, strangeness. A world of stories melted into the city.
I refused decidedly with all my strength, with varying degrees of success, our reality, I took the opportunity to return the sweaters waiting while listening to Mozart Flute (Quartet and concertos) and the thingy that lazily back in a hole Tuesday afternoon, I laid me deciding, in a moment of my reaction to neutral drift, with a hint of effort, or rather the symbol of a suspicion effort in response to the first proposal writing "how to write every day," Pierre Menard http://www.publie.net/fr/ebook/9782814503656/comment-écrire-au-quotidien :
"Taking stock of all that we do not belong to us and we are however appropriate (historical facts, cultural references, advertising slogans, and technical knowledge, etc. ...). Each proposal should take a relatively short sentence whose termination sound is the beginning of the next sentence. "
from a passage of" collective memories of my life "by Michelle Grangaud, I found that clicking and finding myself propelled into http://www.liminaire.fr/spip.php ? article638 .
I installed my little thing, which suffered from being too much or not enough into the absurd, and read after, thankfully, because it would have slowed down, unfortunately because it would have slowed, investments from which no one seemed moved that:
Large companies have beaten the ramparts
By my cornet said Sister Marie-Lucie exaggerate
Manage your pain, to grieve with our help
And suddenly, and two and three!
- Three beautiful ducks go swimming -
People bags and ropes, go your way, we built walls ...
Murmurs are on the wall walling.
Keep you under my panache!
modern choppers, knives and beautiful fleecewear, find everything in the catalog of the Manufacture of Saint-Etienne.
Thine and mine, the land is beautiful.
Bel-Ami in the theater program.
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