Brain Hemorage Effects Respiration On Friday, friends and flames added

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I step over here to clean some dust and collecting garbage, which ultimately live almost permanently in the house of the Adoration, and I said, because as you come say something is not ?

So I'll say something, but not what.

- Have you already seen this picture of Misha
http://img159.imagevenue.com/img.php?image=93969_Misha_122_364lo.jpg

appears that Rome has made underwear for the qhat is left of life as a boy grateful but the picture is clean laundry hanging for her fans to know that you plan to use (I say)

- Thursday, SPN new chapter but we'll see tomorrow. Well, not if we will be very accurate, when the 18 came the plague said, fuck, look who it is! and then cover the screen with his hand, which only saw a corner, very accomplished, totally disgusting, and I have to go far to ask that you may tell me.

- Speaking of which you already know that Jensen has told the Germans to be home this summer? And in Texas. SDavid Tennant series will have 4 chapters, children, girlfriend and changing clothes scene after sport. Deadly need for hormones. I come to think of making a will, the community is left to the ifigenia85 but it says that she will die, the hard drive to be shared, library geek to shelenis which is the only one who will appreciate and debts to the sister, that's what this family.

And with this and ... to the next, which could be tomorrow or within a month.

Remote Administrator 3.0

ESSIONS if heading north side of town, where in the great meadow called Green Fields boys and girls, naked in the bright air, feet and ankles, muddy, long arms and nimble, snorting horses exercised before the race. The horses did not use any tack other than a bridle without bit. Mane were fringed with silver streamers, gold and green. Were flapping their nostrils and coceaban and boasted among themselves, they were very excited, because the horse is the only animal that has adopted our ceremonies as his own. Far away to the north and west the mountains stood against Omelas almost cornered the bay. The morning air was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks was still burning with aa description such as this one tends to make certain assumptions. Given a description such as this one also tends to seek the king, mounted on a splendid stallion and surrounded by his noble knights, or perhaps lying on a golden litter carried by slaves muscular. But there was no king. They did not use swords, and had slaves. They were not barbarians. I do not know the rules or the laws of that society, but I suspect that they were singularly few. And were arranged without monarchy and slavery, they could do without the stock exchange, advertising, the secret police, and the pump. But I repeat that it was not simple people, or pastoral herders, or noble savages, or utopian soft. Were no less complex than us. The problem is that we badlyto custom, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. That is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can not beat them, join them. If it hurts, repeat. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to adhere to violence is to lose sight of everything else. Almost we lost, we do not know to describe a man happy, nor celebrate the joy. What I can tell you about the people of Omelas? They were not naive and happy children while it is true that their children were happy. They were mature adults, intelligent, passionate, whose lives were sordid. Oh miracle! But I wish I could givesift better. I wish I could convince you. Omelas sounds in my words like a fairytale city, long ago and far away, once upon a time. It might be better if according to your own imagination can imagine, hoping that the city is to rise to the occasion, as indeed I can not conformed to all. For example, what about technology? I think there would be no cars or helicopters in and on the streets, it is natural, considering that the inhabitants of Omelas are happy people. Happiness is based on a just discrimination between what is necessary, which is neither necessary nor destructive, and what is destructive. In the middle category, however - the unnecessary but destructive, comfort, luxury, exuberance, etc. - might wellhave central heating, subway trains, washing machines and all sorts of wonderful devices not yet invented here, floating light sources, power without fuel, a cure for the common cold. Or they might not have anything like that: it does not matter. As You Like It. I am inclined to think that the inhabitants of coastal villages in the area have been coming to Omelas during the last days before the Festival on very fast little trains and double-deck trams, and Omelas railway station is actually the tallest building Smart city, although simpler than the magnificent Farmers' Market. But even though no trains, I fear you think Omelas far too idyllic. Smiles, bells, parades, horses, bah. In this case, add one orogy. If an orgy help. There is no reason to hesitate. Do not add, however, beautiful temples where priests and priestesses almost naked out in ecstasy and ready to copulate with any man or woman, lover or stranger, who wants to join with the deep divine nature of the blood, although that was my first idea . But in truth would be better not to have Omelas temples, at least, no temples with priests. Religion yes, clergy no. Indeed, naked beauties can wander without offering himself as divine delicacies for the hunger of the needy and the fascination of the flesh. To join the processions. The tambourines resound above the copulations, and the glory of desire be proclaimed on the gongs, and (a detail nothing trivial) that the offspringenen delicious gobs in the face; of benign gray beard of a man hang two crumbs of rich pastry. Youth and girls have mounted a horse and are gathering around the starting line of the track. An old, short, fat, smiling, is delivering flowers in a basket, and tall young men wear flowers in your hair shiny. A child of nine or ten years is sitting on the edge of the crowd, alone, playing a wooden flute. People stop to listen, and smile, but no one talks because the child never stops playing and never see anyone, dark eyes sunk deep in the sweet and elusive magic of the melody.

concludes, and slowly lower the hands wielding the wooden flute.

ar there. Some understand why, and some do not understand, but we all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars, the skill of their makers, including abundance of their crops and the warm air from their skies, depend critically on this child's abominable misery.

usually explain this to the children when they are between eight and twelve years, when they seem able to understand, and most of those who come to see the child are young people, but often there are adults who come or return to see the child. For precise explanations are received, these young spectators are always shocked and sickened by the spectacle.a word of affection. Young people often come home crying, or so angry they can not mourn, when they saw the child and faced this terrible paradox. Cavil perhaps weeks or years. But over time begin to understand that even let the child the freedom not afford many things and little vague pleasure of warmth and food, no doubt, but not much else. It is too degraded and imbecilizado to really enjoy the joy. Been afraid too long to be free of fear. Indeed, after so long is likely to be unhappy without walls that protect, not dark to your eyes, sit dung. The tears shed by the appalling injustice dry when they begin to understand the terriblethis or north into the mountains. Continuing. Omelas leave, still walking in darkness, and not return. The place to which they go is a place even less imaginable to most of us that the city of bliss. I can not even describe it. It may not exist. But they seem to know where to go, leaving Omelas
.

English original title: "The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas" © 1973

, 1975 By Ursula K. Le Guin. Translated by Carlos Gardini.

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The episode seemed to me full Doctor of ideas, some successful, but generally disjointed

but all the time I thought that Omelas go over 1% andI've always wanted to believe that I would be one of those, he would press the button

not forget.

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