is better? Will's worse? one wonders every year.
Let's face it: Life is always dangerous!
Erich Kaestner
In this sense, a happy and healthy new year!
Simone
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Systolic And Diastolic Close Together
Happy New Year!
is better? Will's worse? one wonders every year.
Let's face it: Life is always dangerous!
Erich Kaestner
In this sense, a happy and healthy new year!
Simone
is better? Will's worse? one wonders every year.
Let's face it: Life is always dangerous!
Erich Kaestner
In this sense, a happy and healthy new year!
Simone
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Driving Licence For Scooter In The Netherlands
Merry Christmas
Christmas is indeed always associated with stress. Everything should be especially nice. The tree must be decorated, the presents are bought. But between all the stress, one should not forget the things that make the spirit of Christmas really is, even if - like me - is not necessarily religious. These are very small things, like calling an old friend you have lost sight of, or just to say thank you to those who are always there for when you need them and very unselfish. For that is but what it really is Christmas. I wish
you all a Merry Christmas and a great party among the people you love.
Greetings
Simone
Thank
for M.
It was dusk and glow in the windows, lights.
soon falls the day and night spreads in the country.
A cold wind bites her feverish faces.
And all the world seems ready for Christmas.
My heart beats softly, but persistently, to me seconds.
Your eyes show me the way out of the past.
Every word and all of the completed hours are
me gifts for eternity. The time
of the search is over: now begins to find.
do you manage to retain confidence in my braid
and stick a plaster on the toe grazed.
blow once more and then it no longer hurts.
And like a splintering ice crystals on my window sill,
have you, healthy and loved with a smile, tell me.
© Simone wedge 12.24.2009 
Christmas is indeed always associated with stress. Everything should be especially nice. The tree must be decorated, the presents are bought. But between all the stress, one should not forget the things that make the spirit of Christmas really is, even if - like me - is not necessarily religious. These are very small things, like calling an old friend you have lost sight of, or just to say thank you to those who are always there for when you need them and very unselfish. For that is but what it really is Christmas. I wish
you all a Merry Christmas and a great party among the people you love.
Greetings
Simone
Thank
for M.
It was dusk and glow in the windows, lights.
soon falls the day and night spreads in the country.
A cold wind bites her feverish faces.
And all the world seems ready for Christmas.
My heart beats softly, but persistently, to me seconds.
Your eyes show me the way out of the past.
Every word and all of the completed hours are
me gifts for eternity. The time
of the search is over: now begins to find.
do you manage to retain confidence in my braid
and stick a plaster on the toe grazed.
blow once more and then it no longer hurts.
And like a splintering ice crystals on my window sill,
have you, healthy and loved with a smile, tell me.
© Simone wedge 12.24.2009
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Japanese Women Girdles
бабушка
in the living room window towards the light burns. None of these work lights where you bring a thread through a narrow needle's eye to a button on the white Sunday shirt sewing or reading the newspaper. It is dim and warm. Too hot to do everyday things but cool enough to keep each other's hands.
I have no gloves on. Forgotten, despite temperatures that must be now reached minus 20 degrees. Simply forgotten. And it gets even colder. The stars are packed in the clouds. Empty snow, weary clouds. There must be a wonderful feeling to pull the white mass around, hineinzupressen the tip of the nose and breathe in the winter.
My shadow comes from one leg to the other. He can not bear to remain in one place. Perhaps because he then becomes aware of its secondary nature. Maybe it is just cold. Everything sparkles and glows
. I crush all snow Christ, under my thick leather soles. Crunches and cracks and smells of the kitchen of my grandmother. Cinnamon and hot cider. And their massive arms, which I take the air. And her laughter in my heart. It utilizes the entire free space. Flits from ventricle to ventricle. Playing hide in the capillaries. It tickles and I tremble in my thin jacket on.
My shadow is getting impatient. It moves away from me, just enough that the connection is not broken. He's right, it's time. My fingertips are numb. I have trouble making a fist. The body at my feet no longer move for minutes. A trickle of red discoloration of fresh snow.
I grab his collar and pull him to me approach. His right eye is swollen shut and their skin glows purple just below the red I to propose. The pain races through my icy rights, goes through my arm, shoulder, collarbone and takes his place. In the courtyard of my heart. The light in the window is gone, as the laughter of my grandmother.
© Simone wedge 2009 
in the living room window towards the light burns. None of these work lights where you bring a thread through a narrow needle's eye to a button on the white Sunday shirt sewing or reading the newspaper. It is dim and warm. Too hot to do everyday things but cool enough to keep each other's hands.
I have no gloves on. Forgotten, despite temperatures that must be now reached minus 20 degrees. Simply forgotten. And it gets even colder. The stars are packed in the clouds. Empty snow, weary clouds. There must be a wonderful feeling to pull the white mass around, hineinzupressen the tip of the nose and breathe in the winter.
My shadow comes from one leg to the other. He can not bear to remain in one place. Perhaps because he then becomes aware of its secondary nature. Maybe it is just cold. Everything sparkles and glows
. I crush all snow Christ, under my thick leather soles. Crunches and cracks and smells of the kitchen of my grandmother. Cinnamon and hot cider. And their massive arms, which I take the air. And her laughter in my heart. It utilizes the entire free space. Flits from ventricle to ventricle. Playing hide in the capillaries. It tickles and I tremble in my thin jacket on.
My shadow is getting impatient. It moves away from me, just enough that the connection is not broken. He's right, it's time. My fingertips are numb. I have trouble making a fist. The body at my feet no longer move for minutes. A trickle of red discoloration of fresh snow.
I grab his collar and pull him to me approach. His right eye is swollen shut and their skin glows purple just below the red I to propose. The pain races through my icy rights, goes through my arm, shoulder, collarbone and takes his place. In the courtyard of my heart. The light in the window is gone, as the laughter of my grandmother.
© Simone wedge 2009
Thursday, December 10, 2009
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