"Ce n'est pas un monde qui disparait, c'est la disparition qui est devenue notre monde" ( course / interview dans "Le Enroll des anges") La Voix " CosmoZ riffs stones. The day before she had the tug fleet turned into blotter instead of Junquera. What I had read on the train going to amble from one lobe to another. I thought then just this video of Paula, his second minute exactly (Va por Vd Estimada Berrendita ) and Juli, to his great circus of apples and oranges. with middle Vazemsky , citing Leiris talanquère behind his cabinet in storage media, with the shadow of the horn in his hand "of Escalabère", a simple ladder and a pile of books in his last bar. Dimitri torus accent and "musica callada" the silent letter of the word "Poetry". he moves and returns it. parar, mandar, y templar RECOG . even far from the bulls, a bull-pen is never meaningless.
Mobile ... need a backhoe to be called moral as by the time pestillencent here. wely it the scapegoat, but the supporters of this festival in Bordeaux do not care. hedgehog, Pring, goulash and mint tea to all floors. ole extra cojones!
dikav for the program is moving the campagnole right there.
and hey, where would the vines without the Travellers? and poetry without wine? Friday and saplings are bent to one ambush Jurançon Monein and Lacommande. It grid to Uchat steaks, petting a golden eyes breasts Pyrene, one hears the words chuquent Manseng that hanging around penaille silky drills sorted on the porky, the mist is allowed to rise.
to extract the program, plonger faut ici the pipette.
"That I was born in San Roque and call me Canela, I have chest fragua garganta y in the candle. "
sometimes it goes. sometimes, not. someone up there, someone, son throws at the end with small stone chips transparent, sound and transparent precious . son.je anything that looks up, see my carcass in the skylight. it feels rich when you listen to the rain begin to fall. I spent thirty euro wine fair. Côtes du Rhône purple rolling, big-plant jute piss pond, bergerac of gouyat, anjou fire Riesling locality, gaillac head plum ... I'm a rough boy aficionado. not go to their agreement, their tea parties in the park you smells denise. in August the Bay of Angels. angels, water. jaja is the compound to eighty-five percent of Hdeuzo. € 30 times 85 divided by one hundred, I spent 25 euros in ground water, drops, Celestial, in urine of a snail. Vallauris ago kilns where Don Pablo's baked earth, but most of chimneys. Merchants Templars. a dormitory. butterflies colorful ceramic fifteenth area. everything is for sale, sleep and the past. remain man and goat, 13 steps to the terrace where Eugene and he drank a trago, amigo, que tal las noticias, salio en madrid in hombros gregorio Sanchez, hijo de uno de los nuestros I Pablo? war and peace, a number 1000 El Ruedo and land another El Mundo Obrero, the portada Jose Ortega a vinyl Caracol, vials of dyeing barber, libraries, libraries, an elephant stuffed somewhere. coffee, spoons, sugar, teach horse head on the street and into the bottle of limoncello snow smokes. I will go strut my banner in red and white, for what? I think the car adorned with horns, where the painter, children, strolling in the streets for festivals. they are photographs. it is where this jalopy? Nice "The counter dishes" was closed. Bilbao there was fourth for 10, tickets for apartado, pffuiii, you see the bull said Rafael five seconds, you will come to the Bayonne with me, 5 seconds? Alain thought past the stuffed Miura. look, added Rafa, ludo do the toro ... joder macho, cross yourself a little more anyway. I advanced on the horn of the Burraco Zahariche Alain continued to scrutinize his eye glass crystal ball. ouuffff! regain the belt. 5 seconds is abysmal. Leandro wants out of the abyss, purgatory contracts skin pueblo, it lacks those damn seconds carve a hero gray and blue, the eye and the mascara bocho. to Sigean the vines were uprooted and rosalies are still there. I want a churro filled with sand. Grandpa falls asleep in the shade of olive terraces and have a taste of pyrite. not matter! no parade liquette Sorteo, I'll make the rascal, I am tertulia misanthrope, I'm dry. hours to think you can not, we can no longer write. it is at the bottom of a ravine. always dream. before I could fly. I had a sex life in the sheets, sleep. I ascended, I went down, I brushed the ground, I never crushed me. A villefranche we made love in the shower. water was white. as a page. Calle del perro.les squid in ink with a little green yellow oil which highlights the edge of the plate. small ranges. who fail to wipe the servilletas not even mouth. Ponce had been seen, and Sepulveda, we ate upstairs, Rincon, Cano had been drinking anise. chico / chica. smooth and jointer. red collar and green collar, sperm whale in a puddle ice going down to the ass of the glass. it was already come a week or two before it had rained just a little more than to give the race, we had watched the flooding of 83 yards, lifting up his eyes, long, and then we were not taking reparti.on highway to pay a few more zuritos. Alain kept my cigar, we will smoke around the grill, weeping with his father's feet Merlot slaughtered. we say that it is the smoke. three branches will be thrown into the river to lure shad. and frighten our top-the-heart. Cendrars you read around the embers, Alain and I put my hand cut in the skirt of stemware. chasing happiness. expression with two bullets. injury in two places. he leaves. we hunt. there anything in the gastric juices of a singer? Madrid Carmen Polo had built small, very small pisos that gypsies are water and light when they came to sing. they bowed their heads. She pocketed commissions, fat. Angel was playing against the top walls of Las Ventas del Espiritu Santo. then returned Barrio de la Concepcion through the backyards where the language of bleeding duende son hanging on a clothesline. he still thinks that the shock at that moment when everything changes when you hear a scream and that clings to his own belly and say that's it, eso es! , We have always sought. when he wants to remember it even harder to play dice with chance of gin and tonic. you do not feel we're going to die? Ali threw me. we did more for bezef? they want us to die, like we're old and Saltillos they come to save us but we do not want to plunge the sword deep inside. you believe, you think we should go to their bull-pride? flamenco live, I bought the disc Canela San Roque.je listening twine eternal. I calculate that there are three or four bulls Osborne between heaven and me. La Condesa made me laugh out loud. it should be so beautiful when she entered the room of Paula Street Sanatorio Bocangel. it's hot, naked I crossed the t-shirt of the Ateneo Republicano Vallekas and I climbed into anteriore grade. I take the stairs, I know now that I'm dreaming, the eye opens. I dive, I would so shave the sand, hovering above the boos ... glass is noiseless. I've put the last bottle. a dog passes between my lips.
