Does Mouthwash Weaken Teeth

Ailaikdemiusik ...

since I was a kid and heard an old radio that sat on the refrigerator in my kitchen. Music has always had for me a strange power: he was able to induce my mood is, I changed the frequency and sometimes left me stuck for a day or two with a melodic phrasing no way had it out of my head. In this connection it got here the last song that I had this happen. Takes several days to resonate in the head, either at home, on the bus, the subway and out of work. I like their urban pulse and the dark sensuality property of their interpreters. I am seduced by the raw sound minimalist guitar and the voice deep and disturbing Gahan. The accompanying image is a photo of my grandmother. It was the most I made sense and correspondence with the music. Enjoy it.



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These are the ones that my heart feels bound, with all the strangeness and the contradictions that the brutal nature of love requires .

أوفيس كرك2003

Women II Women ...

I wrote this years ago.

"I know your game ... attract, seduce with curiosity, curious to see if what you saw is capable of deslumbrarte. And free as air sneak once you see a pair of eyes captive. Secure your skin, always attentive to security that gives you an unconditional love that you profess and feedback. Fun and practical to the core ..! "

" ... what claw, what generosity and humanity which seems to notice me beating in your spirit. But I also see loneliness, and I see dreams, and I fear being alone, and feel that the old prophecies are realized when buried seemed forgotten, as if recognizing a familiar face and feared. And brimming with passion, courage, which, misdirected, it becomes anger. And is that the damage was much, much humiliation to not react with the old power when pressed buttons that cover the pain. "

We are in the same field game, but all of us blindfolded and groping while we seek can only suspicion, pleasure, apathy, duty, interest or selfishness to keep us from madness.

'Life injury is absurd. "

" The last Kurdish "tango.

" I'm aware of you, women, hard hearts of vinegar. "

" black poet ", lyrics by Antonin Artaud.

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Another week in the wall ... Old and wise

The picture night shows me in the silent Agua Santa, Viña del Mar, just before six o'clock (night is still closed), waiting for the bus to take me to my work in Santiago, a large city 100 miles inland in the direction southeast. It is early fall, so you do not even as cold as a country within months. I live on the coast, at the edge water, like a toad.
The other is for the Santiago urban railway, the Metro. I sleep on a friend's house in Plaza Italia, a focal point of the city. From there I travel in this train to my job in a short distance. It is an underground station with artificial light. In this picture it's morning, but both are dark.