Saturday, October 23, 2010

Gia Mancini Feet Paradise

Villon, Swinburne and Charles Reuben Abel Reches



Dos estrofas del Testamento


Paris or die And Helene,
Whoever dies, dies That pain has
he loses wind and breath
His gall to put out its heart,
Then sue God knows what sweat!
And is that its evils the claim: For
child does, not brother sister
Who you be when its Pleiger.

Death does tremble, turn pale,
nose bend, veins tender
Col. swell, soften the flesh,
Seals and nerves to grow and expand.
femenina Corps, which both are tender,
Poly Suef, so precious, it will
Te expect these evils?
Yes or alive're going heaven.



Fragment on Death

Paris And Helen Be it or dying,
Who soever dies, dies With bread.
That He Lacks breath and wind for sighing,
His gall bursts on his heart; and then
He sweats, God knows what sweat!--again,
No man may ease him of his grief;
Child, brother, sister, none were fain
To bail him thence for his relief.

Death makes him shudder, swoon, wax pale,
Nose bend, veins stretch, and breath surrender,
Neck swell, flesh soften, joints that fail
Crack their strained nerves and arteries slender.
O woman's body found so tender,
Smooth, sweet, so precious in men's eyes,
Must thou too bear such count to render?
Yes, or quick pass Into the skies.

Algernon Charles Swinburne

XL

And so is Paris and Helena,
who die, die suffering:
on its
heart bursts its own bitterness, lost breath, sweating
after God, what a sweat!
and nobody can help him,
then there
son or brother who wants to exchange the body.

XLI

Death does
shaking, pale,
veins will swell, her neck swells,
will loosen the meat, it enlarges
the tendons that connect bones ...
Oh, tender female body!
Shall suffer such torment?
You, polished, fresh and beautiful?
Yes, or live up to the heavens.

RUBEN ABEL reches

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Saturday, October 16, 2010

Chicken Curry Katsu Recipe

Nodier: The bloody nun Jules Barbey d'Aurevilly


Nonna sanglante


A castle dating back Lindemberg, so as to make it uninhabitable. Then appeased by a holy man, he was reduced to occupying one room, which was always closed. But every five years, the fifth of May, at a specific time in the morning, the ghost out of his asylum.

was a nun covered with a veil, and wearing a dress stained with blood. She held in one hand a dagger, and the other a lighted lamp, and descended the staircase, traversed the course, emerged through the front door, we were careful to leave open, and disappeared.

The return of the mysterious time was near to come, when the lover Raymond was ordered to give up the hand of the young Agnes, whom he loved madly.

He asked an appointment, obtained it, and offered him a kidnapping. Agnes knew too much purity of heart of her lover, to hesitate to follow him: "In five days, she said that the nun must do its bloody walk. The doors will open to him, and nobody will dare to be on its way. I know I get the proper clothes, and go out without being recognized and be ready at some distance. ... Someone then entered and forced them to separate.

The fifth of May, at midnight, Raymond was the castle gates. A car and two horses were waiting in a nearby cave.

The lights dim, the noise stops, an hour sounds: the doorman following the ancient custom, opened the door. Shows a light tower in the east, traverses part of the castle, down ... .. Agnes Raymond perceives, recognizes the garment, the lamp, the blood and the dagger. He goes, she throws herself into his arms. He is almost unconscious in the car, he leaves with her, galloping horses.

Agnes uttered not a word.

horses ran out of breath, two jockeys, who tried in vain to restrain them, were overthrown.

Right now, a terrible storm rises, and the raging winds whistle and the thunder rumbles in the middle of a thousand lights and the car breaks taken away .... Raymond falls unconscious.

The next morning he found himself surrounded by peasants who remind of life. They spoke of Agnes, the car of the storm they have seen nothing, know nothing, and it is ten Castle Lindemberg leagues.

He was taken to Regensburg, a doctor dressed his wounds, and recommends rest. The young lover directs research unnecessary miles and a hundred questions, which can not be answered. Everyone thinks he's insane.

But the day goes by, fatigue and exhaustion provide him sleep. He slept quite peacefully, when the clock of a neighboring convent the wake, sounding an hour. A secret horror seized him, his hair bristling, his blood run cold. His door opens violently and, in the light of a lamp on the mantelpiece He sees someone come forward: It's the Bleeding Nun. The spectrum approaches, the stares, and sits on his bed for a whole hour. The clock strikes two hours. The ghost then got up, grabbed the hand of Raymond, his icy fingers, and said Raymond, I am yours you are mine for life. She immediately went out and the door closed behind her.

Free then he screams, he calls, we are increasingly convinced that it is fool increasing its evil, and emergency medicine are in vain.

The next night the nun came again, and his visits were renewed, and for several weeks. The spectrum, visible to him alone was no preview for those he was sleeping in his room.

Raymond learned that Agnes However, exit too late, had vainly sought in the vicinity of the castle where he finds that he had removed the Bleeding Nun. The parents of Agnes, who do not approve of her love, took advantage of the impression made this adventure on his mind, for the determination to take the veil.

Finally Raymond was released from his fearful companion. They brought him a mysterious personage, who was passing Regensburg was shown into his room at the time where the nun was to appear bloody. She saw and trembled at his order, she explained the reason of his importunities: English nun, she left the convent to live in disorder, with the lord of the castle Lindemberg: unfaithful to his lover, as his God She stabbed him: murdered by herself she wanted to marry his partner and his body remained unburied and his wandering soul asylum without a century. She asked a little earth for one, praying for each other. Raymond promised them, and seen no more.

CHARLES NODIER



the Bleeding Nun

A ghost used to appear in the castle of Lindemberg, rendering it uninhabitable. Later, calmed by a holy man, merely to occupy a single room, which remained closed. But every five years, May 5, at one o'clock in the morning, the ghost out of his confinement.

religious
was a veiled and wearing a bloodstained habit. Carrying a knife in one hand and a lighted lamp in the other, down the stairs, crossed the courtyard, walked out the front door, which still left open, and disappeared.

He was already approaching mysterious moment when the lover Raymond was ordered to give up the hand of the young Agnes, whom he loved madly.

I made an appointment, got it and asked her kidnap. Agnès knew too well the purity of her lover's heart to hesitate to follow:

- missing five days, "he said to the nun bloody give your ride. We open the doors and no one will dare to cruzársele on the road. I know how to get appropriate clothes and go without being recognized. Try to be ready not too far away ...

Then someone came and were forced to separate.

The May 5, at midnight, Raymond was in the castle gates. A car and two horses were waiting in a nearby cave.

The lights dim, the noise stops, the clock strikes one, the goalkeeper, following the ancient custom, opened the front door. In the east tower light appears, runs through part of the castle, down ... Raymond sees Agnes recognizes clothes, lamp, blood and dagger. Approaches, she throws in her arms. The car has almost vanished to, go out together, with horses galloping.

Agnès not utter a word.

The horses ran to run out of breath, two outriders who vainly tried to keep them ended up in the ground.

Then rises a terrible storm, the wind blowing furiously, and the thunder roared in the midst of a thousand lightning, the car, out of control, is shreds ... Raymond faints.

next morning wakes up in the middle of farmers seeking to revive him. He speaks of Agnès, the car of the storm: they have seen nothing, know nothing, and he is ten leagues Lindemberg Castle.

I have to Regensburg, a doctor heals the wounds and advised rest. The young lover ordered thousand goose chases and hundreds of questions nobody can answer. Everyone thinks he has lost his mind.

Meanwhile, spend a day, fatigue and exhaustion will bring the dream. I was sleeping fairly quiet when the clock on a nearby convent, which strikes one, waking him. A secret horror seizes him, he bristles the hair, it freezes blood. The door opens violently and, in light of a lamp that is over the fireplace, you see someone moving toward him is the bloody nun. The spectrum is approached him stares and sits on the bed a whole hour. The clock strikes two. Then the ghost gets up, grabs his hand to Raymond with her cold fingers and says, "I'm yours , Raymond, and you are mine for life ." And then comes out and the door closed behind her.

Seeing
free, Raymond cries, calls, and all are convinced each Again it is not in his senses, his condition deteriorates and the medical aid is useless.

The nun returned the next night, and their visits were repeated in this way for several weeks. The spectrum, which did not perceive any of those who, by order of the young, sleeping in his room, was visible only to him.
Meanwhile, Raymond learned that Agnes had come too late and had searched in vain around the castle, so he deduced that he had kidnapped the bloody nun. Agnes's parents, who disapproved of her love, took the impression that this adventure was in his mind to be decided to take her vows.

Finally, Raymond was released from his fearful companion. Brought to him a mysterious personage who was passing in Regensburg, bringing it into the room at the time the nun was to appear bloody. This saw him and began to tremble, following an order from him, explained the reason for their importunate appearances, was a English nun who had left the convent to lead a wild life with the lord of Lindemberg; unfaithful to her lover as his God, he had stabbed, killed in turn by his accomplice, who wanted to marry, his body had remained unburied and abandoned soul wandered for a century. Asked a little earth for prayers for one another. Raymond promised both and never seen again.


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Thursday, October 14, 2010

Do You Capitalize Hair Stylist

and




Nativity Nativity
est toujours pour l'ignorance ou l'imagination française portrait of Gérard you fameux ; The beautiful Santa kneeling, with his white rose macerated, who keeps his eye English, in the quiet snow headband, a little too melancholy, which is not from God, for he has no melancholy, and these hands noblewoman who, very properly attached to the breast, say a little too homespun in which they settle, they were made to the purple. This is the Teresa Gerard. Chateaubriand and painted for the company was back in Christian reading the Engineering of Christianity, the Blessed Teresa of rhetorical-religious book, but it is not the Teresa of Tradition English and history. [...].

Indeed, close the chest partially open. Wipe the sweat of blood dripping from the flax of this band. Tarissez those tears in those eyes swooning to Heaven, and who, firm and responsive, able to descend suddenly the earth, and you have the second quantity of Saint Teresa, you Teresa Foundations! The Foundations of Teresa and Martha Will, calm and all-powerful, after the Love of Mary, after Mary of Sorrows and the Seven Joys! Teresa's Foundations is one of the most majestic state that women are seated on the floor or a stool, instead of sitting on a throne! [...]

If men like Cuvier and Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire are giants of investigation and depth in the natural sciences, in the outer world of life, St. Teresa is a colossus of the same order, the opposite of science within the inner world of spirituality. She cracked, as they were drilled in their sphere. She returned to the roots of the heart in us spreading his. It was not only, as those who have not read are kind enough to concede her superiority through imagination, through the provision poetic, exalted by prayer and finding in heating the maceration of the Rule and the Cloister expression that looks like burning in a censer at her unquenchable, the cry that terror almost every heart and to believe that the Corps has a roar like Love! No, it was still powerful woman in the stale reason, when the Rapture, which removes the spirit to heaven and this body mud volatilized in the air, let go and put it on the floor was a great teller human a spirit tempered and honed to discover. The Seer in whole did not see the supernatural world. She saw the other also. She plunged into darkness souls for it transparent. He knew she had to for the lead, this great director, who has conducted and submitted to a government of men unknown,-the government of Love! Her life as she has left us, this long poem written while elk, is one of the finest books of English literature, certainly, but it is also the most beautiful Treaty of applied psychology there in some literature whatsoever.

(Women and moralists. Alphonse Lemerre, 1906.)

Jules Barbey d'AUREVILLY .

Poema audio: Vuestra soy, para Nací Your ... St. Teresa of Jesus by Nuria Espert



Santa Teresa Santa Teresa

to the French imagination and ignorance continues to be the famous portrait of Gérard, the beautiful Santa on his knees with his macerated white rose, with English eyes that retain the quiet under the snow veil, too much of that melancholy that comes from God, since He is not melancholy at all, and those hands of noble daughter, quite correctly, together on the chest, say, a little too much, the cloth on which they were made to glow purple. That is the Teresa de Gérard. Painted for Chateaubriand society and had returned to Christian reading the Genius of Christianity, is the Santa Teresa of the rhetorical-religious book, but Teresa is not the English tradition and history. [...].

Not the Teresa you see there could well be called Heloise. It is the ardent Visionary Life, the rain of tears that never stops falling, or tortured Ecstatic, the fiery poet who gave us communion after the Book of Exclamations in which the sentences are just shouting and Santa Teresa is not the Book of Foundations. The Santa Teresa of Foundations was devoured by fire from the other Teresa for the look of the poor men who always have trouble accepting that one being has two great things. In effect, shut the gaping chest. Wiping the sweat of blood that glows in the linen veil. Secad those tears in those eyes staring at the sky and, strong and caring, become suddenly down to earth, and you have the second grandeur of Santa Teresa, Teresa will have the foundations. The Foundations Teresa and Will Martin of the serene and powerful, after Mary of Love, after Mary of the Seven Sorrows and Seven Joys. The Foundations Teresa is one of the most majestic State women are seated on the floor or on a bench instead of sitting on a throne. [...]

If men like Cuvier or Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire are huge and deep research in the natural sciences, in the outer world of life, a Santa Teresa is a giant of the same order, the polar opposite of those sciences, in the inner world of spirituality. As they excel in their field, she noted in his. Exposed the roots of his heart to show. There was only, as those have not read have the goodness to grant her superiority by imagination, by the provision poetic, exalted by the prayer and was in the hot maceration Senate Rule and fiery expression that it resembles an unquenchable censer, the cry that haunts almost every hearts and make us believe that genius has roars as Love No, it was also firmly attached to the woman's reason, reason as men conceive, when the Rapture, that lifts the spirit to heaven and volatilize into the air this body of silt, abandoned and left on the floor. It was a great human teller, a warm and sharp mind to discovery. That Seer around not only saw the supernatural world. I also saw the other. Eyes sunk in the darkness of the souls that were to her transparent. He had to know to lead them, the great director who led them and subjected them to a government unknown to man: the government of Love His Life as he has left us, this long poem full of outbursts, is one of the most beautiful books, no doubt, of English literature, but is also the most beautiful philosophical treatise of all literatures . Translation

Fronten Michelangelo.


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Saturday, October 2, 2010

Free Abortion Clinic Boston

Teresa of Jesus Reynaldo Hahn and Marcel Proust

PROMENADE

Je ne connaissais Marcel Proust depuis peu de temps, quand nous fumes invite, l'un et l'autre, à passer quelques jours à la campagne chez joins amie. J'avais entretiens dans rares us admired the ingenious courtesy of Marcel, his miraculous speed of understanding, his sense of humor, but I did not suspect his genius, which I had the revelation that little by little, and I do not even doubt it was someone special. I knew he was writing, but he did not speak, I did not read it and it was nothing like the men of letters that I frequented.

The day I arrived, we went together we walk in the garden. We were passing a rose border of Bengal, when suddenly he paused and stopped. I stopped too, but then he began to walk, and I did the same. Soon he stopped again and said with this childlike sweetness and a little sad that he always kept in tone and voice: "Are you angry that I have a little back? I would like to review these small Roses. "I left him. At the turn of the driveway, I looked behind me. Marcel had turned back to the roses. Having toured the castle, I found him at the same spot, staring at the roses. Head bowed, his face serious, he blinked his eyes, frowning slightly as a passionate effort of attention, and his left hand he stubbornly pushed between her lips after her little mustache black, he nibbled. I felt he heard me coming, he saw me, but he would neither speak nor move. I spent so without uttering a word. A minute passed and then I heard Marcel calling me. I turned and he ran towards me. He joined me and asked me if "I was not sorry." I reassured him, laughing, and we resumed our interrupted conversation. I do not sent him questions about the episode of roses; I made no comment, no joke: I vaguely understand that it was not ...

many times thereafter, I witnessed similar scenes! How often have I observed in these mysterious moments Marcel he communed with nature; with art with life by these "minutes Deep" where his whole being concentrated in a work transcending and penetrating suction alternate, came in, as it were, in state trance, where his superhuman intelligence and sensitivity, sometimes with a series of lightning flashes acute, sometimes with a slow and irresistible infiltration, succeeded to the root of things and discovered that no one could see - that this person now will never see.

REYNALDO HAHN




WALK

It was recently that I knew Marcel Proust when both were invited to spend a few days in the field in a friend's house. In our few conversations he had admired the ingenious kindness Marcel, his miraculous speed of understanding, sense of comedy, but never suspected his genius, which is only gradually revealed to me, and did not expect it to be someone special. I knew he was writing but he did not speak to that, he had not read anything you and he does not look anything like the writers that I frequented.

On my arrival we were together for a walk in the garden. We passed a row of rose bengal when suddenly, he stopped and paused. I also stopped, but then he began to walk again and I did the same. Soon stopped again and told me that sweetness and a little sad child who always kept the tone and voice: "Do you mind go it alone for a moment? I would like to see those little roses. "I left him there. At a bend in the road I looked back. Marcel had receded to the roses. After going around the castle returned to find it in the same place, staring at the roses. His head bowed, a grave expression on his face, eyes narrowed, brow furrowed slightly as an effort passionate attention, and with the left hand between his lips stubbornly got the tip of the black mustache and nibbled. I realized that I listened closer, I saw that, but I also realized that dared not speak or move. I passed, then, without saying a word. A minute passed and then I heard my name was Marcel. I turned around, came running to me. I reached out and asked me if "I was not angry." I assured him, laughing, that was not well and we resumed our interrupted conversation. I did not ask questions about the episode of roses, made no comment, no joke darkly that should not be understood to ...

many times I went, later, similar scenes! Marcel watched many times in these mysterious moments that entirely communed with nature, art, life, and in those minutes "deep" in his whole being concentrated in a transcendent work of penetration and aspiration alternating entered, so to speak, in a state of trance, where his superhuman intelligence and sensitivity, sometimes by a series of intense flares, sometimes a slow and irresistible infiltration, reached the root of things and found out what nobody could see what no one now will ever see.

Traducción of Carlos Cámara y Miguel Ángel Frontana

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