Jogging Farm Sleeping

There is a saying that says preside sur de Combucio river and wait for the corpse of your enemy. But if the river is the Tiber er's body is because your if you tinker them mice.

The Best Midi Controller For Traktor

Hugh Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman

I discovered recently that there is a crustacean that lives invisible to the naked eye on the beach feeding on rotting seaweed which has, however, 'a taste for blood human. Jump up to 40cm in height and if you go in its natural habitat, say Ocracoke Island in North Carolina, then you bring him home with you and does not go away ever again '.

and stay there 'nice and ready for your trip while you campers around the fire', and perhaps feel the taste of roasted marshmellows and tequila in your blood. Maybe I made friends with crustaceans of your friends, and decides to throw a party on your face while you sleep in a tent with five other people. He's there 'goodie during the day as you walk through the dunes to get to the lighthouse at Cape Hatteras and that' beautiful and phallic like Dark Fall, but more 'high and not too far the hill from which the Wright brothers have launched the first airplane in 1903. Li 'there is too much wind and the crustacean, which we call narrative as Hugh, hides behind your ears.
We also rode the ferry, Hugh and I, 'cause the captain did not see a short skirt from who knows' how much. Open the way to a family of dolphins that I was afraid to invest but to feel the physical physics and biology Junoesque to no risk.
Returning home the summer ends and begins the rainy season and Hugh, taken by great sadness, he spends his nights to overeat and write love letters to his girlfriend and 'round in Turkey with the Colombian neurologist and his wife. For comfort I took him to see Hitchcock's North by Northwest in a small cinema that shows films of the past and we sipped wine and ate hot dogs. The next day was well pleased, and organized a picnic on my left arm while I was swearing in C + + trying to write a program for one of our experiments.
Sunday I'm going to hear Richard Dawkins speaks of development at Duke.

White Coat Keep Clean

D'Iseppi midwife and long afternoons of September

In this exact moment Michele D'Iseppi, known as agl'intimi Uccio, he enrolled in the Higher Education Management in Nursing and Midwifery, who knows why, then. E'domenica afternoon, long and smells of coffee: Carla copy of the thesis that good Mazzacuva Silvia and I have written in just three days. We made four for Carla, everyone, and thank her for who he lemonade? With Avicenna.
I have already taken the Erasmus
glass of our party (in the meantime, D'Iseppi was assigned the number 55365 and will soon receive the newsletter to be paid at any UniCredit branch)
and placed in the bell of the glass in the rain (it was yesterday, a Saturday of rain). Our
Erasmus Day on Friday was magnificent and beautiful, they played a lot of friends beerpong and talked in the living rooms, while others dress up as girls and went Estragon. Silvia Marco in particular, but even more from oil: it was magnificent and beautiful, and everyone wanted to touch on different points. The donated flower necklaces and hats; D'Iseppi consumed for the contentment of ginlemon € 48 (the same Iseppi On this afternoon joined a course of advanced training in obstetrics).
I fell in love, in order, to: giulia-venereal-disease, clear Pedersoli Mazzacuva, oil, Mazzacuva, Mazzacuva, Savo, Mazzacuva. Carla
limonò hard on Avicenna;
("not allowed to modify the application after the close of the application and pay back the funds disbursed" law by D'Iseppi Almawelcome voice broken by tears) and then all together
lemon multiplex . Then
Erasmus Day ended, leaving everyone with a sigh cut off, and Marco oil, beautiful blond, barefoot, took a plane and went to London, leaving for consolation, only this long afternoon smelling of coffee.

want to remember him.

("Holy shit," said D'Iseppi "You can disicrivere in some way")

Blush On With Foam To Apply

Back to Reality Whatever Part II

Decomodification, Radical Self-Reliance, Radical Inclusion, Radical Self -Expression, Communal Effort, Leave No Trace, Participation, Immediacy.

Read these, the principles of Burning Man, before leaving, and I think Burning Man is at least a cult, the birth of a sick guru televangelist.

But this is what they tell you from the site, the official description of the burning man by himself. And even if the burning man himself (his press office) is unable to give an idea if credible, how can I?

past few days I found myself confronted with the problem. I also found posts on forums with advice on how to answer the fateful question, "Burning Man? What is it?".

I noticed that if you opt for the answer "lack of communication", you figure if the pull of those who lived because things you people. If you opt for the more pragmatic answer (and more realistically efficient) "if you're really interested, googolalo" do the figure of the bastard. If you try to describe it really, you always seem to have not said enough, and you'll end up with the break down the barriers dell'attention span (and testes) of the listener.

I am working on a balanced routine under a hundred words. Me learn and goodnight to the bucket.

However those principles, which at first reading seem so ridiculous, you recognize them quickly, everyone, in their absolute reality and everyday practice. And then you wonder whether they came before the egg or the hen the principles of the community.

Decommodification you do not notice even before arriving, since all the commodification necessary for your survival you have to do in the days before the departure, all of it. An orgy of buying, because no one sells anything to BRC, apart from the ice. There is no money. If you are cornered, you can rely on Communal Effort, that is the help you get from others. And it comes, then you're never to close (unless under the influence of some strange substance you decide that you'd just have to transform into a fountain, and waste water games in the mouth half your daily reserve). For the rest, you are alone, that is, radical Self-Reliance. You must think of all your body needs in advance, and presented to you on playa material with everything that concerns your survival as a human being. And then you can not play games with your mouth water because it violates the principle of Leave No Trace, which is absolute and inviolable, and whose full extent Give yourself across the face on the last day, when, sore and drained of serotonin, the MD of the night before, you have to pass three hours bent mondine to sound worse than in the combined net operating every square inch of your camp looking for pagliuzzine, pezzettolini paper, biological and rimasuglietti plastichine, as you alternate with others to do baby-sitting service to the poor Chinese the night before has left the field with a jacket of blue LEDs and 16 cases of acid in your pocket, and has re-emerged from the sand storm just a couple of hours ago, naked, dangerously dehydrated, her arms to heaven and another world behind the eyes. Covering because she cries and says that the world is bad here (pointing to his temples) and then blow your nose in your chest (which everyone wants, ricordiamocelo, even the Chinese)

Participation get a little hand ' later, because the first two to three days brc steps to observe them, somewhat amazed (or without Esterre). But it is virtually impossible not to participate. The community is interactive by design. Even the most reluctant will be involved, drawn by someone, somewhere, maybe the guys from the field that offers mojito and body painting, they're on the street and ask you if you have better things to do than berti a frozen mojito and let you paint the body. And of course you have nothing better to do.

Many works of art and installations are based on interactivity. Pedals on the Esplanade and you come across a weeping willow in white LEDs, with attractive foliage conveniently arranged to face height, and of course we run in yelling "weeeee" and to the touch, the leaves of the willow will surprise you with sweet notes of carrillon . For each path between the boughs, a different tune. Or you meet a huge structure morfofitica that ends in three arms with touch-screen, and illuminates complex pattern to the rhythm of a strange music. You approach and find that the screens are only sequencer, from which three residents of the playa may enter regardless of sample and change the music and lights. If you start to fuck things and put too unmusical to the case, the whole structure suddenly stops and starts breathing fire from dozens of mouths hidden. As for blame. Or see the huge flames rising in the distance one after the other in meters and meters high, you come closer and find out what is a giant hammer up more or less like building Garrovo, activated by Martelli taken by the public, to send the flames more or less high depending on the strength. And here I stop but I could go much avanti.La's hard to imagine is that the hundreds of thousands of hours spent in realizing this, have been spent pro bono, private citizens, just to interact with you.

Immediacy of course is quite straightforward, because you realize quickly that many small events around you are unique, and if you do not see them now do not see them anymore. As the parade DC comics, with hundreds of superman running at arm's length between the fields, or the band of rabbits across the esplanade to the tune of We Shall Overcome, closely followed by the protest of the carrots, carrying banners and singing " less stick, more carrot, less stick, more carrot. " As above, I could go on but I do not.

Radical self-expression, too, you see it now, but it's longer and more difficult to internalize. Why yes, now you know that in this place if one feels the need to dress like a carrot or superman or sexy maid or a strange mixture of rags or anything, they can do, or spend months building a huge unicorn engine with which to cross the playa in equestrian glory, and then burn it in the final campfire, too. But we put a little 'to understand that whatever you feel like you do, not the crazy out there but you, you can make it. Any behavior, within the limits of respect for the physical security of others, is lawful. And then you find yourself asking, but what the fuck I want to do. And the easy excuse that gives you the world you can not use, and if you want to do something you can not really say "yeah but this is not done, it is indecent / risky / absurd / out place / disgusting / inappropriate / misunderstood / etc ambiguous. Because there you are measuring your world and your actions. And that is exciting and frightening. The Burning Man is like a huge magnifying glass on your superego, that slams you in the face and in the long run you burn it as well.

Then you can easily see its gradual reassembling your return in any reality.

Stairway To Heaven Korean Drama Vietnamese

in London has many

It all started with this address:

26 Whymark Ave, Wood Green, N22 6DJ

London (of course),

Tube Station: Turnpike Lane

That, incidentally , is my home address. Yes, because last night I have a house. Sterle 93 a week before meter (or almost), just minutes tube by my university. To see this on the map is so far from the center, my little house. And in fact it will take two days foot walk good.
The owner, like all home owners here is turkish Cypriot. Do not get me wrong, they are not all Cypriots, but more often than Turkish. Or Jews. For example, I had to do with Amir, who ran the pub coolest Kentish Town (near Camden Town always) and the upstairs tenant on a tower-house with beer-garden private. Inside, a huge loft for myself and 8 between Australian, New Zealand and who knows what else. Outside, peeling paint and lots of beer. Prices. The only drawback: no contract. I should give my money to the menager of the pub in a sealed envelope to lock the room and wait until I'm called. When I wrote to Amir: where do I sign, he replied "nothing to sign." When I asked him to meet, he replied: "There's no need. The room has gone." So that was the other fly in the ointment. No contract, no room.
At home, however, the real one, a room I have it all right. Huge. With sofa and double bed and large window. Do not get me wrong, my house also has its own mole. For example, I can do more than one washing machine per week, otherwise I have to pay 3 pounds to Erkan, the turkish Cypriot (very attentive, loyal and diligent, I will tell you). Or if I want to hold someone I have to pay 5 pounds a guest. This, he said, to avoid situations squatting. Well, this is a great new, but pass protection with the help of my new coinquini, hopefully. A Latvian, one Polish, two Portuguese and one Italian. It 'a kind of home-Ryanair flight to pay a bargain price, but if you want extras releases something. We can stand as a compromise? I tell you on Saturday, when I move and meet my new roommates. Yes, because in all of this I have never seen any of them. Freddie Kruger is lurking.
Erkan
Before-the-turkish Cypriot community, there have been in order: the Icelandic aside and let the dream house, my dearest and unattainable. The home of good pubs that jew-god-have-it-in-the-grace-even-trying-uncle-Adolfo-home-to-London. A house can not remember anything except that in my notebook it says "NO shithole." Another that I have not had time to see because it was already taken by someone a few minutes before they reach you for viewing . Then what? The House of Friends, beautiful, two mezzanine floors, big living room mega mega coinqulini ultrasimpatici (mexico & clouds) that made the selections drum smoking lazily on the couch while the bystanders, nervous, trying to do their best to appear interesting. Including myself. Imagine style.
After that, home of 40 sq m on two floors with 4 bedrooms, bathroom, kitchen and closet. 40 square meters, again, if you had escaped, with dog shit at the door and the poor families of Arabs who came home with 8 children. Mothers covered from head to foot, a few meters from the amazing Brick Lane. But those few steps led to another world, precisely because of shit and dog gang baby against the wall you squared.
But the most beautiful house was the one that I have not seen. I arrived about nine and a half meters. It was the last outpost of civilization, near Wembley. But not too much. I, white, dressed in white, in the ghetto. Around me only blacks who walked with his legs apart, with gold chains around his neck and crocchietti at the crossroads and teeth chattering with fear. Police sirens in the distance, obviously, and the unpleasant sensation of being followed. I took the first bus to escape from there, never go to the appointment.
Much worse than the truck overturned under the bridge, San Donato, Biassoni, much worse. O doped doorstep Fallen, Bagnoli, much worse.

So, before all this, you know that London is deeply deceptive. Weakens you, scares you, kill you with his endless journeys on the metro and you down, so down for a couple of days. Then, of course, have you deceived the first. So you happen to live Ryanair in-house and thank God could do it just passes 370th pound per month. When, with that figure, in Bologna you have breakfast with mum Clerks to buy the building or building Accursio Garrovo.

Outside the sun is shining, the better advantage.